To embrace the future, you must relive the past.
The disembodied voice hit me at the same time as a mental screen reel of my life. I gasped at the first flash of an image, hands coming up to grip either side of my head. It was my birth, Deloria looking heartbroken as her child was whisked from her before she’d even had a chance to love her.
My heart slammed against my chest, the pain on my mother’s face enough to send anyone to their knees. By instinct, I reached for her, but this wasn’t real life. It was a memory and there was nothing I could do to comfort her now.
As that image faded, and I sucked in some air, trying to calm myself, the next memory slammed into me: Louis stealing us away, the rubies encasing my people, and the events that followed. It didn’t stop there; every moment of my life was relived, each one a different color, depending on the emotions they evoked in me. Happy memories were yellow, sad ones blue, and the ones that destroyed my soul were a dark gray, like the stormiest of clouds.
"You must be strong enough to banish the darkness," Grams whispered, and her support gave me the strength to straighten my shoulders and ask, “How do I banish them?"
"Face them," she said, and I felt a shove from behind, sending me plummeting down.
A scream escaped as I tried to figure out how I was even falling. She'd pushed me into a stone, not off a cliff. When I slammed face first into a bed, a musty scent rose to my nose, choking me with the intensity. It wasn't just because the bed smelled like sweat and piss, but because it was familiar. It had been near fifteen years, but I remembered it like it was yesterday.
The two years of my life that almost broke me. The two years of my life I’d been a prisoner. Shackled to a bed in such an awkward spread-leg position, it had taken me months to learn to walk properly again when I was released.
The two years that stole my innocence and damn near my soul.
The men who’d held me captive had raped me every day, and I knew it was only due to my supernatural genetics that I had survived. None of the other children they'd "adopted" had lived … information that had come out years after I was rescued. The men were never captured though, even with me helping the task force as best I could.
Those bastards had powerful connections and were masters at hiding. Each time they stole a child, it was in a new location with new identities. It was my greatest regret and failure to not put a bullet in both of their brains.
The scent wafted up stronger and I choked on it, feeling like I was being suffocated. Screams lodged in my throat; my lungs didn’t have enough air to expel my fear. Kicking didn’t help, it just cut at my ankles and wrists.
Nothing helped. I was trapped.
“Grams,” I whimpered, my voice sounding like a little girl. “Grammy, save me.”
I’d cried for her a lot in those first days, but she’d been beyond a place to help me.
As the darkness washed through me, part of my mind detached from reality.
I felt like I was a child again. A prisoner. It was real.
When a heavy hand slammed onto the center of my back, holding me harder into the disgusting mattress, the scream finally broke free.
I’d screamed in the first few months of being raped. After that, I’d just gone to another place whenever they came near me. I survived by detaching. I survived by building hatred toward men.
I survived by planning my escape, and one day I succeeded.
Never again had I been a victim, and not because I grew strong but because I was cautious. I never allowed myself to get too close, preferring to stick with large group home situations. I’d spent years alone, without love, all so I was safe.
I’d come too far to ever go back there again.
“No more!” I bellowed, sweat and tears washing into my eyes as I found the strength to lift my head.
No. More.I was no longer a child, and if they wanted to rape me this time, they would face a fully grown woman with her own strength and power. Ripping my hands and feet free, the resistance faded like it hadn’t been there to start with.Not real.I was separating the two realities in my head now, and … it was just a memory.
Flipping over, I faced Mr. B.
They called themselves Mr. A and Mr. B because not only were they disgusting fucking pedophiles, but they also lacked all creativity when it came to aliases. Mr. B was the shorter, stockier of the men, with piercing blue irises that haunted me in my nightmares. He was also the one who loved my emerald eyes.
He reached for me, as he had done every day, wanting to trace a hand along my spine. Nausea threatened to emerge from my mouth, but I forced it down, needing to deal with this once and for all.
I’d waited years to fight these demons; this might be as close I’d ever get.
"You're dead, motherfucker," I said, drawing on the strength of the gems.
I struck out, my fist landing in his throat, and as he choked and disappeared, I rolled off the mattress, landing directly on Mr. A. He was even more depraved than Mr. B, with his crooked teeth and dull brown eyes.
