I wanted to punch myself in the head for my mind allowing my twisted life to meld with my escape from it, but I felt enough pain already.
I tried once more to sleep, and after what felt like days of trying, slumber welcomed me.
As a pair, they moved around the dark. The devil and his shadow. Ville was giving orders. Orders on how to abuse me. It was a week since I last saw Hell. A week since I told him I accepted him. I continued whispering those words into his ear as he continued to abuse me. Ville had done something to get into his head, and I had seven days of damage to override in one.
My body, writhing beneath his as he fucked me, started to hurt less, proving I'd found credence, even if Hell hadn't.
He grew tired of hearing me talk, eventually covering my mouth. Showing me how deeply his father had affected him.
Without my fight, he grew bored. The noise in his head, louder than both Ville and me, was encouraging him to get away.
He pulled out of me, leaving an embarrassing leak from me trailing behind him.
Rushing up the stairs, Ville followed him out, wobbling on every step because he was wine drunk.I noticed every smell down here. The alcohol on Ville’s breath. The cigars that stained every sneer that left his mouth. The greasy food he ate in the room above while I starved down here.
The scent of forestry and freedom. Of Woodrow on Hell.
Of death. It was everywhere down here, and the lack of cleaning made it eternal.
I waited for Hell to return. For the noise beyond the kitchen door, of smashing up furniture and violent threats, to make its way down to me. But I remained alone as the war waged.
I could hear Nessie screaming, and it broke my heart. I wanted to grab her and run. Grab her brother, too. But I'd probably never run again. My bone wasn't healing well, and I feared a permanent limp. . . assuming I survived.
The door creaked open, and the irritating sound of clacking heels created a devastating harmony as Wynter moved down the steps, heavier feet following. I braced myself, fearing why they came in a pack.
It was nighttime, late enough for Nessie to be asleep.
Wynter was dressed to the nines, as always. Her slight hobble had faded away, giving me hope, that one day, my leg would take my weight.
Her purse swayed at her hip; such an odd accessory to wear around your own house, I thought to myself.
I looked up at Wynter. Her evil smile visible through the cage.
“My darling husband thought you'd be enough to train him. A way to control his issues.”
I kept quiet, not saying what I wanted—that her darling husband should have used appropriate methods on his son. The kind of methods he trained in.
“A way to guide him into the business and enjoy it. I knew from the start that you wouldn't be enough. That it wouldn't work. You should see thestate of my kitchen! Fucking ruined.”
I removed my gaze from her face and the badly bleached hair I had no appreciation for as it fell over her bony shoulders.
She didn’t like my ignorance. “Look at you. A mess. Worthless. We should have just broken you down like the others. Sell you on for more than we paid.”
My ears blocked out her fake accent, and I think she could tell. She grew angry, pulling me from the cage by my thick hair. I screamed, my hair follicles and knee sending pain blasts through my sensors.
I didn’t try to prevent her actions. Her skinny body would have fallen over if I'd resisted, but I didn't. I wanted this over quickly. . . and that happened by compliance.
Happy with me out of the cage, she stalked away, opening out her purse in the distance. She propped it on the step, dishing out what I could only assume was dog food. Its rancid smell confirmed I was right.
I looked away from her, from the fake friend who never really cared.
I focused on her husband. His goofy smile and bad breath, all too close to my face.
He had chicken again for dinner, I see. I laughed to myself, my sanity escaping through my mouth and the open kitchen door. I clapped twice, applauding it, wishing I could have gone, too.
“Fuck, you're as messed-up as the kid.”
Another thought popped into my head. . .like calls to like. Woodrow and I, both had issues, but deep down we were good people. Ville and Wynter on the other hand, were both evil, rotten to the core.
