Yunithecat

I was still getting used to Iggy. He was a lot nicer then mom but still I wasn’t used to him. I still didn’t know if he would hit me. I did hate that I couldn’t talk to him. I could talk but . . . I just couldn’t. I lost my voice. As much as I wanted to talk, I just couldn’t. Iggy knew I could but was too afraid to. Every time I spoke I got hit before. My mother hated me and she was an alcoholic. So she’d often hit me but then Iggy saved me. He always said I should talk when I want to. Not when others said they wanted me to. France and America always wanted me to talk, but Canada and Iggy said I should ta