My mom didn’t seem to care too much since she was reassured that I was in good hands. Every day after school, I would go straight to Nino's house and stay there. His parents usually arrived home from work around 8 PM, and they always seemed happy. I would see them talking about their day, sharing stories about work, and sometimes, they would even buy me small gifts—like toys, marbles, rubber bands, and collectible cards. They treated me like their own son.
I could see the joy on Nino's face whenever his parents showed me kindness. They seemed genuinely happy, and I have to admit, in those moments, I felt happy too.
After dinner, I would go home, sleep, wake up, go to school, and repeat the same routine every day. It all started to feel normal—like this was just how life was supposed to be.
I missed my friends. I missed playing video games. Back then, having a phone wasn’t common, so as a kid, I loved going out, walking around, and exploring places with my friends. Nino would sometimes go out with his own friends too, which gave me a chance to sneak away and be with mine on weekends.
I knew I wasn’t supposed to, that Nino had forbidden me from playing with them—but I just couldn’t help it. I wanted to be with my friends.
Until one day, Nino had to go home early. He was looking for me, and he knew exactly where to find me. I was in the middle of a game when he suddenly stormed in, furious.
"You son of a ****! I told you, didn't I? You're not allowed to play!" he shouted.
I felt my heart sink. I knew I was in trouble.
As I followed him back to his house, I could already feel the anger radiating from him. Then, out of nowhere, he pinched my ears—hard. It hurt so much that I ran and hid under their bed, hoping he would cool down.
But to my shock, he grabbed a belt. And then, he started hitting me.
After that happened, I stopped going out with my friends and only spent time with Nino. Every day, it became our routine—I would go to his house, and we would have fun "sex" in the way he wanted.
One day, I noticed something different. He was seeing a girl.
When he introduced me to her, he casually called me their "Ampon"—their adopted child. I just stared at him, confused but silent. I knew they have a relationship.
I saw them kissing, but strangely, I didn’t feel anything. I didn’t care. I really didn’t care.
But despite having a girlfriend, his treatment toward me never changed. Nothing changed.
The abuse continued.
I started my first year of high school, Nino was more involved in my life than ever. He was incredibly supportive—at least, that’s how it looked on the surface. He even gave me a phone.
It was 2011 or 2012, and having a colored phone at my age was rare. The brand was Byrd, or maybe Bird—I don’t remember exactly. My teachers were surprised, and my classmates thought it was cool. I should have felt cool too, but I didn’t.
Instead, I felt alone.
I avoided interacting with anyone. I spent my lunch breaks by myself. I developed a strange habit—I loved digging in the dirt, creating holes over and over again. I didn’t know why, but something about it felt right. It became my daily routine at school: I’d find a quiet spot, sit by myself, and just dig.
One day, Nino visited my school and caught me in the act. He saw my phone lying in the dirt because I had kept it in my pocket while digging, and it must have fallen out. He was furious. He stormed over to me, yelling, demanding that I stop.
But I didn’t listen. I didn’t want to listen.
Then, one day, I lost the phone completely.
When Nino found out, he was seriously. He took his belt and beat me again.
But that day, I didn’t care.
It wasn’t my phone anyway.
The only thing I felt was fear—fear of his anger.
Wait for part 4
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