The Voice In The Room

I don't understand why others don't have the same relationship that I have with God. I can accept that they don't, but at sometime, I would expect them to tell me that God talks to them, and not through a pastor, preacher, or somebody like that. When I was about 10 yrs old, I think that it was the first time that God spoke to me. My aunt's husband has been sexually abusive to me from the ages of 10-14. After my foster sister(who got "sent away"), who was living with the us through her 16th and 17th years of age, told her friend, what he was doing to her; and before I became a permanent ward-of-the-state. (He's the reason why, I became a permanent ward-of-the-state.) This night was different, this night he came into my room. It was after 2 a.m., I know, because it's always after 2 when he's done drinking and the bars close. He raped me, then fell asleep on top of me. With his dead weight on top of me I could not breath, I worked my way out from under him, and crawled into the corner of my room. The room that (on a clear day) I could see the ocean from, between the 30 ft evergreen and oak trees that filled the few acres, beyond our yard. I sat in the corner, in a ball, with no pajama bottom to protect myself, they were somewhere in the bed, underneath him. I wanted to be free so badly. I thought about killing him. I only knew, what I saw on TV. I wanted to beat him in the head with a baseball bat, but, then, I thought, that was TV, those were adults, hitting adults, what if my little body can't hit that hard, and he wakes up. Then I thought about stabbing him, and again while I was thinking, well, what if I don't stab him right, and he wakes up, and while I was thinking this, the room seemed to fill with smoke, except for my level, which seemed to remain clear, like, above my level it was like miniature thick, black rolling thunderclouds. And a voice spoke to me, and said, "If you don't, I'll protect you"(the cloud, and the voice were not the same, the voice was one thing, the cloud was another thing) It was so audible and clear, that I immediately thought back, in my mind with the same intensity that it spoke to me. "What about tomorrow?" I didn't realize until recent times, that the voice I heard in that room, was so audible, and I knew that no one else was in there, to protect me then, so the obvious question to the ten year old was, "What about tomorrow?". And the voice repeated itself. "If you don't, I'll protect you". When I decided not to kill him, the dark cloud seemed to have left the room sucked through a pinhole in another dimension, from up in the room, I thought I heard it leave. So, I sat there, in the corner, almost until dawn, when he decided to wake up and leave my room. He would continue the abuse, with threats that, if I didn't do what he wanted, he would have me "sent away" like he had done to my foster sister. I didn't know it then, but God, (the voice I heard in the my bedroom that fateful morning) keeps promises. And the first time I was belligerent enough against my aunts husband, he convinced my aunt to send me away. (My behavior, in school, was unsatisfactory to say the least). And I had other issues, like bed-wetting. I was driven by my aunt to the police station, where I fought with all my might, It took about 5 cops to subdue me to get me in the police car. They drove me to the Monmouth Boy's Club of Asbury Park. I had gone swimming there, in their pool in the summer. I was a member and had played games there after school. But, I never knew what was upstairs. A juvenile shelter. I was checked in, it was about getting dark now, at this time. It was not jail-like, it was spacious, and had a ping-pong table and many pool tables. But, I was alone. So, I don't remember much of the intake, but I remember, after the intake, sitting in the semi-darkness of the space, alone, to afraid to cry or show any emotion, and hearing noise coming from downstairs. The club was supposed to be closed, well it was when the cops bought me in. So, I set out to investigate what the noise was. My shoelaces were taken, and so was my belt, but I flopped downstairs, in my sneakers, holding my pants up, as the noise grew louder. I still couldn't identify it, sounded like people, but I couldn't be sure. It was coming from the gym. I got to the gym door and opened it, and there was a karate class taking place. A kick-boxing class to be precise. Directed by none other than, 3x world kick-boxing champion, Billy Bernon. He came to me and put his hand on my shoulder, kindly, and said, "Where did you come from?" I said, from upstairs, he asked, "From the shelter" I nodded, but I was looking around, wide-eyed, the ring, the people, the noise...I asked, can I stay, he said sure, and as he lead me to a group of kids my age and size, I thought, "no one is ever going to touch me again". Between the ages of 10-14, I was in and out of the shelter above the gym at the Boy's Club of America, in Asbury Park. Every time I told my aunts husband, no, often enough, I'd end up there, and every time, I'd learn more and more of how to protect myself, via the promise of the voice in my room, that fateful night.