When I Hate You Means… You Hurt Me

Gloria ‘Faye’ Brown Bates… just before going to Hell



When I Hate You Means… You Hurt Me

By Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee




“No, no, no!  Please don’t, please don’t hurt me!  Oh, my leg!”  The little girl was fighting to get away from the young woman who held her hand.  Held her hand to keep her captive… while she beat her.  Each time she struck the child, she drew blood.  The piece of stove wood was rough; it cut the girl’s legs each time it made contact.


The little girl had come into the bedroom that sat directly over Hell… this is where the portal was.  Where the portal/doorway was… was never discovered by the little girl.  What she did know was… the devil’s daughter lived in that bedroom.  She was mean; evil.  Sometimes… she was just as nice.  Sometimes… she loved her.


All she wanted to do was to come into the bedroom, listen to the young woman’s record player.  She was caught, couldn’t escape fast enough.  The young woman was her aunt. She was a teenager… ill-natured.  She was mean to the bone; she could be as good as gold.


The aunt beat the little girl until her rage subsided.  She let go of her, throwing her to the floor.  “You damn little b___”, stay out of my room!  Don’t you ever touch my record player again”!


The little girl sobbed, tried to stand up.  Her little girl body had taken one of the most severe beatings it’d ever known.  She had known beatings… The pain, oh the pain.  She stood up, looked at the aunt she loved.  Her little face was red, blotchy from the furious tears that rolled down her face.  “I’m going to tell my mama!  I’m going tell my mama; she will beat you up”!


The aunt began telling her she wasn’t going to tell anyone… if she did, she’d whip her ass again!  The little girl told her aunt as she began edging toward the door, “I hate you, I hate you”!  As she slipped through the door toward freedom, she screamed at her aunt, once more.  “I’m telling my mama when she comes back”!


She walked to the red, vinyl couch in Grandma Alma, George’s home.  She climbed up on it.  Her legs burned, stuck to the vinyl.  She began to notice her legs, her arms.  She had open cuts on her little girl skin… blood was sticking to the couch.  It made it hard for her to slip around to ease her hurting body.


She sat there quietly for several moments; in her little girl mind were thoughts of her aunt smiling at her, being nice to her.  She began crying her heart out… her aunt had hurt her, making her bleed.  She thought her aunt loved her.  Her aunt forgot she said she loved her.  As she cried silently, her little shoulders shook.


No one noticed the little girl sitting there on that red, vinyl couch.  Someone was always crying there… that’s just the way it is when you live in Hell.  Gnashing teeth, screaming, cussing, anger, hatred.   It was the way of life.  Someone got their ass beat every two, or three days.  Only this time, it wasn’t in the Arena where Grandma Alma, George sat.


Her aunt had beat her in private where no one could see the demon she was.  She didn’t think about the little girl growing up to remember her for what she did.  Children are nobody; who believes them… anyway.  Only… her niece had frightened her when she said she would tell her mama on her.


Her niece’s mother was this aunt’s sister… and she knew if she didn’t talk the little girl out of telling her… she was going to get the hell beat out of her.  The little girl’s mother was always going off for weeks, months… leaving the little girl there.  No one wanted to take care of her… she damn sure didn’t.  She wanted to have fun, not have to be bothered by a child.  She was still in high school.


Faye, the little girl, fell asleep on the old, red vinyl couch.  When she got spankings, slapped around… she always found a place to curl up, put her thumb in her mouth… went to sleep.


Crying made her sleepy.  As she fell asleep, her thoughts were of seeing anger on someone’s face toward her; cuss words coming from their mouths at her.  Nobody loved her.  She began crying again, silently… her little body shook.  She began rocking herself to sleep.  Faye began pinching the center of her chest.  Since being in hell, she had begun doing that.


She was too young to wonder ‘why?’  As an adult, she often thought about it… strange enough, when she was diagnosed with cancer… that was the area a mass was found on her lung, resting against her heart.  Of course, that had nothing to do with it… but, it was strange…


She awoke to the gentle touch of her aunt’s hand.  “Faye, wake up… I’m sorry”, she heard her aunt say.  Faye began sniffling once again, burst out crying.  Her aunt gathered her up in her arms.  “I’m so sorry, Faye.  Please don’t tell your mama.  I have something for you”.


In her aunt’s hand was a watch; a Timex watch.  Faye looked at it, back to her aunt’s face.  She had hurt her… in her mind she saw her aunt go to the wood box, grab a slender piece of wood.  Faye looked down to her little legs… they stung.  There was dry blood on them.  Her body hurt.


“I’m going to tell my mama on you!  You hurt me, she’s going to beat you up!  I hate you!”  She didn’t take the watch her aunt offered her.


One day, Faye heard someone say, “Faye’s mama is here”!  In her mind, she felt instant happiness!  Her mama was here to get her!


She ran to the old screen door, pushed it open.  “Mama!”  She ran into her mama’s open arms, began telling her what her aunt had done.  She never knew the effect it had on her mama… she just knew things began to happen fast.  Her mama had let go of her, walked quickly up on the porch, went inside Hell…


She heard cussing, flesh on flesh as someone was being slapped.  Faye’s stomach felt sick; she felt afraid.  She went up on the porch, peeped through the screen.  There in front of the red, vinyl couch was her aunt.  She’d been knocked to the floor!


Faye opened the door, went inside.  Her mama, aunt were never aware of her… they were screaming at each other.  Not only that… Faye saw some teeth laying on the floor… the wooden floor.  Blood…  Her aunt’s mouth had blood on it.


Faye felt anger toward her aunt; she hated her for hurting her.  She walked over to her aunt, and hit her with her little hand.  “I told you I was going to tell my mama!  I told you, she was going to beat you up!”


From that day on… her aunt held that against her.  She paid her back through the years every opportunity she saw.  Through time she worked to turn her mother against her; make passes at her husband when she married as a young woman.  Faye’s aunt hated her. At one time, she tried to turn Faye’s own son against her… it didn’t work.


Faye never hated her through time.  As she got older, what she thought was hatred… when she thought she hated someone… she discovered what she meant when she said, “I hate you!”  She meant… I loved, trusted you, you hurt me.

13 thoughts on “When I Hate You Means… You Hurt Me

  1. That was mighty painful to read, Gloria. Mighty painful. I am so sorry to know that you had to endure so much…and it kills me to wonder too long about the countless others that have been to suffer in this way through time..even right this minute. God Bless You!

    • CJ… I don’t dwell on these things at all. Only when I write… I ‘go inside’ and become the little girl again so, I can look around, feel those things again… sometimes, I cry as I write. But… isn’t that what writing is about… when you write ‘real’ things? I try to describe how it really was. Sometimes… it takes a little while to shake it… when I finish a story. I think that’s what acting is about… believing, feeling as you do. It means so much to know that people care about a little girl many years ago… I know the little girl wishes they’d all been there then… to know, to help. :)))

  2. Wow! 😯

    If it had been me you told your aunt would have lost more than her teeth!!! 😦

    Nice to know your mum stood up for you though: Mine was more interested in her own survival…

    Love and hugs!


    • Little children, pets suffer when all’s not right with the grown-ups…in my opinion, that’s when ‘the little ones become the furniture kicked around, beaten’.

      My opinion on ‘why?’ is…… because furniture doesn’t give them the satisfaction of screaming, moaning, crying out in pain.

      My other opinion of ‘why?’ is… they wanted to hurt something… and when they ‘heard that pain’… they knew they’d succeeded.

      Prenin, I’m so sorry you suffered as a child, and through time. Love, Gloria

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