Survived...I was twelve years old when it first happened. My mother had only recently separated from my father (a man who never gave a damn about us). My mother soon met a man, whom she married.
We lived in a very narrow apartment, only one bathroom, and two bedrooms. I slept in one of the bedrooms, alone. While my mother and HE slept in another-my mother was pregnant at the time, with his child.
I think it was a genuine innocence of my young age; I didn't even think of locking the door. He came into my room one night. I woke up to the feeling of something moving across my arm, when I opened my eyes and saw him. He had the most frightening look on his face. I don't think I'll ever forget that. I'll skip the glory details...after he was finished. He pulled up his pants, gave me a kiss on the forehead, and walked out.
God...it didn't stop there. I lost count.
And you know what the worst f***ing parts of it was? It didn't stop with him. and my mother never did anything about it.