Food was hard to get. My parents eat most of it, and many nights me and Sammy were starved. At two Sammy had come to understand that if Mom and Dad where angry he would be beaten, if they were bored he would be raped, if they needed money he would have to have sex with strangers, and that any given time he could have drugs poured down him. He also understood that food was a rare treat, and that if they felt like it he could be put in the cupboard or the trunk of the car for days. It was a hard life for a two year old but he understood. I was six at the time, and I tried to give Sammy most of the food I was given. I also use to steal him food from the shop. The only thing that mattered to me was that Sammy was eating. I didn't worry about myself. I also tried to get all of his beatings and special "visitors". This worked one out of four times. I did my best to protect Sammy, and give him a good life. At this point Sammy was always in my bed with me....unless of course our parents decided to keep one of us in their bed all night.
Sammy never asked questions at this time, he just accepted it. But the acceptence didn't take away his tears at night. Also he had started to wet the bed which made my parents mad.The first time it happened we had been sleeping in my bed and my father had come into my room for whatever reason he had, and seen the wet sheets. He must of pulled off the blanket to sexually abuse one of us. The next thing I knew I was awoken by my father screaming "you useless bloody animal" at Sammy and draggging him out of bed. I coined on that Sammy had wet the bed. He was two years old and yelled at for bed wetting, which is very comman around children of his age. It wasn't fair at all. I tried to reason with him and take the blame for Sammy's bed wetting, but my Dad had all the evidence that it was Sammy. He hit Sammy's head hard and roughly yanked off his pajamas. I knew there was nothing I could do, and by arguing would just make Dad madder which could hurt Sammy more. Dad kicked at Sammy's small penis. "I'll cut it off you disguesting boy!" he screamed, luckly he didn't. He did however wrap Sammy in the urine soaked sheets tightly. Sammy panicked and screamed. My Dad left shortly after that, I never understood why. He was normally worse.
Sammy wet the bed again a few nights after. My mother found him this time and stripped him and beat him with her shoe. The shoe had hard pointy heels with left bruises and cut into the skin. I decided to pee myself in front her so she would turn her angry to me. It worked. I was stripped, dragged around the house by my penis, beaten, and then tied to the door and beaten more. They left me on the door for hours. Sammy came to talk to me while they watched TV. He didn't understand that I had just taken a beating for him. In his mind we had both ust done the same thing and been hurt for it.