Prologue
SELENA - AGE 13
An icy chill creeps up my spine, and I clutch my arms around my shivering semi-naked body, pulling my bent legs more tightly into my chest. The unforgiving cold stone floor numbs my butt, and I wish it had the power to numb the silent screaming in my head.
A sliver of light filters through the iron bars welded to the small overhead window, casting a gloomy spotlight on the dank, depressive space.
I don’t know how long I’ve been locked in here this time, because the moments when I’m lucid are few and far between. I rub at the bruised skin in the crease of my elbow, hating how much I want to feel that needle penetrating my soft flesh. At least when I’m drugged, I can escape to a different world. Exist in a realm where there is only bliss. No pain. No suffering. No longing for death.
Because death would be easier than this existence.
A whimper escapes my swollen, bloodied lips at the sounds of scurrying in the corner, and I scoot sideways, pressing myself up against the wall, clambering to get as far away as possible. The rough stone is coarse against my skin, the flimsy, soiled cotton bra and panties I’m wearing offering little protection, but still I press closer, unwilling to become rodent food.
Piercing screams ring out in the hallway outside as approaching footfalls send my pulse racing.
But not in the good way.
Never in the good way.
I shiver uncontrollably as tears roll down my face. I brace myself for it, but no matter what I do, I’m never prepared.
The creaking of the lock turning induces a full-blown panic attack, but I try to control it, because that will only make things worse.
I count to ten in my head, cautioning myself to calm down as I swipe at the hot tears dampening my cheeks.
Mud-spattered boots come into view, and I struggle to breathe normally as I stare straight ahead, praying he can’t see the way my body trembles as potent fear surges through my limbs.
He gets off on fear.
Thrives on the power he has over me.
Delights in knowing how broken and damaged I am because ofhim.
So, I try my best not to be that girl. Even if it’s who I am on the inside.
“Get up.” His gruff voice is the voice I hear every night when I wake in a cold sweat. It’s a voice that will torment me for the rest of my life—no matter how short-lived that turns out to be.
I climb awkwardly to my feet, ignoring the gnawing hunger clawing at my stomach and the weakness in my quivering limbs, holding onto the wall to steady myself. I think this is the longest he’s locked me in isolation because I’ve never felt this frail before. This close to death.
I flinch as he reaches out, tugging on a strand of dirty, mangled black hair. “You stink, and you look like shit.” His lips curl up in a sneer. “But we’ll fix that.” His dark, dark eyes—endlessly swirling with cruelty and sheer evil—appraise me with a calculated lens. “It’s time.”
Two spoken words have never inflicted such sheer terror before.
“No, please.” I drop to my knees, bending my head and kissing his booted feet. “I’ll be a good girl. I promise.” I hate how much my voice quakes. How feeble I sound. How vulnerable I feel.
He yanks me to my feet by my hair, but I ignore the stinging pain ripping my skull apart, biting back my painful cries as I attempt a smile.
I despise him.
I hate it here.
But the devil you know is better than the devil you don’t.
“Don’t send me away.”
“It could’ve been different,” he says, letting go of my hair and gripping my face in his large, sweaty palms. “We were prepared to make an exception for you, but you never learn. And we’ve run out of patience.”
“I’ll try harder,” I screech, beseeching him with my eyes. “Don’t send me away!”
