Then Mom asked, “Just how many boys have you fucked?”Andrea answered, “Well according to my diary, sixty-three boys fucked me three hundred and ...forty-eight times since I turned thirteen twenty-seven months ago. That’s only three times a week.”Mom said, “Holy shit, sixty-three different boys, and you’re only fifteen. I don’t know a single grown woman that has let sixty-three different guys fuck them.”Andrea just shrugged her shoulders.Mom removed her bulky sweat suit and then started unbuttoning. He didn’t respond. I tried to flick on a light and nothing happened. A small butterfly of panic settled in the pit of my stomach. I swallowed a couple times with difficulty. ‘Chance?’ I called again. Still nothing. No other sounds met my ears. The small butterfly of panic grew a little bit bigger. I shuffled softly against the wall searching for anything that could have made the sound. But I could see nothing. When I entered the kitchen I tried again to turn on the lights. Again nothing. The help only does the minimum necessary to keep their jobs. The rooms and equipment are poorly maintained or needing replacement. The state hides the mental patients away to prevent upsetting "the normal's ... the outsider's"I have wondered why am I here? I remember being a Senior VP in some large corporation. I was making serious money in my job. I was married and my husband worked for the federal government. We lived on a small farm outside of a large western NY State City with our two. Of the eight of us, Ben was the one with the absolutely least amount of experience with fighting in melee or hand-to-hand combat. He was tentative in the first drill we did, though he wasn’t tentative at all, now. In fact, he was throwing harder Palm Strikes when Sonja nudged him than he was when Aleena and I did.“Switch!”I handed my pad to Ben and then stepped into the middle. Getting into my stance, I rotated in place until I was nudged. Aleena was the one to start us off, so I turned and.