Prologue
Anastacia
The heavy weight lifts off my body, and I can finally breathe. It won’t be for long, though.
He’ll be back.
He always comes back.
“If it doesn’t happen this time, I’ll kill you,” he seethes. The jingle of his belt echoes in the empty, damp room as he pulls his pants up. “Useless bitch.”
I know better than to respond or react when he’s getting ready to leave. He hates that. So I lie still, stare at the ceiling, and wait for him to leave.
He will leave.
But he will be back.
I used to keep track of how often he visited, but hours turned into days that turned into weeks, and I’m pretty sure I’ve been here for months now.
Maybe years. I have no idea. I lost track a long time ago.
Sometimes I wonder if I’m the only prisoner here, other than the men, but I swear I hear women screaming and crying. It could be my head playing tricks on me, though, because sometimes I go so long without eating that everything is fuzzy. Especially when he uses me like this—over and over without a break. I made the mistake of throwing up once, while he was on top of me, so now he withholds food so that won’t be a problem.
I’m not stupid. I know what he’s trying to do. He’s never outright said it, but the comments are clear.
He wants something from me.
Some days, when he’s really rough and vile, I wish it would just happen—that he would get what he wants so he’ll leave me alone. Because if it happens, he’ll stop, right? But then I get angry with myself for thinking such a thing.
Look what I’m going through.
Do I want a child to deal with this? Absolutely not. I wouldn’t want anyone to go through this. I’d rather he kills me, like he just promised, rather than bring a child into this situation. I can only imagine what he wants a child for…
But itiswhat he wants, and for a long time, I thought he wouldn’t stop until he got it.
But he just said… if it doesn’t happen this time, he’ll kill me.
Maybe I can’t have babies.
It’s a surprise I haven’t gotten pregnant with all the times he’s raped me. In the beginning, it was multiple times a day. Now it’s once a day, but I think there have been a few skipped days—it’s hard to keep track of time since there are no windows in this room. There are times when it gets very quiet, and I’m certainI’m alone… but they wouldn’t leave me alone in this room with a simple lock on the door, would they?
I never leave this room. This eight-foot by eight-foot cell with cement floors, walls, and ceiling. One thin twin mattress rests on the ground in the center, with a pillow that smells like pee and a blanket that makes me itchy instead of warm.
I used to fight hard, and I swore I would do anything to stop him and get out of here.
Now, I feel nothing.
It’s just part of my life now.
Everything before they took me doesn’t seem real. It feels like a dream. Like a movie I watched or a book I read. I used to love reading. I wish I could read more. Getting lost in stories about dragons and princes and princesses. Queens. Kings. Knights. It was all so fantastical. There was always a happily ever after, always a happy ending. No matter what those characters went through, in the end, I knew they would end up getting what they wanted. That’s why I kept reading—why I loved it so much. That was the joy of it. Their happiness was my happiness. Because I knew if it happened to them, it could happen to me too.
I’m not so sure I’ll ever get what I want now.
Well, that’s not true.
I’ve wished for death on more than one occasion.
Maybe I’ll finally get that.
