Angry tears flood my hot cheeks, and I silently pray to God, whom I don’t know is even listening to me right now.
“God, please, please get me out of this place. I really hope you’re listening right now. Why is this happening to me?” I sniffle through my stuffy nose as the tears continue to flow freely.
That’s one of the reasons I hate crying. Another is because what good does crying do for you? When you’re in this great big world, you’re all alone. Like if you jumped into the endless depths of the ocean, floating beneath the surface—nobody’s there for you. Nobody cares about your tears, your struggles, or your smiles and accomplishments.It’s all on you to break the surface for that precious air and salvation. But sometimes, crying is our only way of release, and damn if it doesn’t make you feel better sometimes.
This room is pitch dark, as if the monsters are lurking beyond the shadows. Watching, studying me, and waiting for me to break so they can suck me into their all-consuming darkness. Fuck you, shadows!
Something flickers and catches my attention from the corner of my eye. I’m not even sure if I truly saw it. I scoot on my ass to the other side of the wall, giving myself a better view of the back of the room and eye it wearily.
“H-hello?” I call out. My bottom lip quivers.
A lighter sparks, and the burning cherry of a cigarette blazes from across the room. I inch back further into the corner, letting the shadows devour me. Hoping—praying they can’t see me. This place is my worst nightmare coming to life, and more than anything, I want to wake up and be home safe in my bed. I don’t know what Graves injected me with, so maybe I’m hallucinating from the drugs, although I feel completely lucid.
I blink to clear my tear-blurred eyes, and a masculine hand presses firmly against my mouth, keeping me silenced. All hopes of this being a hallucination vanish, and the alarm bells start blaring in every nerve ending of my body. I can only see the outline of his large frame thanks to the dim hall light seeping from under the door beside me.
He shushes me, blowing suffocating cigarette smoke in my face. The toxic secondhand smoke invades my nostrils,making my eyes water, and I want to cough. I let out a trembling whimper, and the dim light reflects off his sparkly white teeth as he gives a menacing grin.
“I only want to hurt you.” He whispers darkly with a strong English accent.
Something about his accent and the way he says that makes my toes curl. What the actual fuck is wrong with me? I should be terrified, screaming, or anything else besides hot and bothered by this asshole. If he says he wants to hurt me, then that’s reason enough to be trembling and scrambling away. Although I wouldn’t get far, considering I have nowhere to go, and by the grip he has on my face, he would inflict some serious damage.
Despite the butterflies dancing in my belly, I shake my head frantically, squinting my eyes closed and silently beg him not to hurt me. Because while the nerves between my legs are idiotic, my brain still functions properly.
He chuckles darkly before snarling and growling, “Yes. Now get up.”
I shakily get to my feet, wobbling like newborn Bambi. My whole body trembles with fear for what is about to happen. I eye him carefully, watching his every move. He flips a switch on the wall, illuminating a huge chandelier with a million glistening crystals that dangle like raindrops. I take in the large room with velvety red walls and black accents.
Why am I not in a cell like all the others?
After taking in every fine detail of the room, I slowlybring my gaze back to the man who is staring at me with an emotion I can’t quite decipher.
“Who are you?” I ask.
He grumbles low in his chest, getting agitated with my questions and blatant rebellion. I wait for his answer, beginning to think I won’t get one.
“They call me Rocky, sweet thing. Now quit wasting my time and get up.”
My teeth clench tight, dmn near shattering my molars. I don’t like this guy, and I want to punch him in his big, pointed nose to make it gush. God, that would be a wonderful sight to see. The more I stare into his empty black eyes, the more this hatred grows in my soul. My nostrils flare as I bite my tongue until the coppery tang coats my mouth. I shake my head ever so slightly in protest.
His eyes go wide, and his eyebrows damn near reach his receding hairline. “No?” He asks with an exaggerated frown. “Alrighty then. My way it is, although you never really had a way to begin with.”
I bring my arms up to guard my face, expecting another blow like Graves delivered in the hall, but one never comes. I chance a glance up through my lashes and find him towering over me, glowering down at me like a rabid animal, pumping his fists as if trying to prevent himself from beating me to a bloody pulp.
My head flinches down, jerking my shoulders up to cover my ears when his hand snaps out, fisting a chunk of my hair. I scream out as pain pricks my scalp, and I instinctivelyreach up to grab his wrist. I dig my nails into his flesh as hard as I can, drawing warm sticky blood that seeps under my already broken nails.
“Let me go!!” I scream.
“I see Dr. Graves’ drugs haven’t kicked in yet.” He says as if speaking to a psych ward patient instead of an innocent abducted woman.
“Just leave me alone, please!” I beg and whimper. Praying he still has a little heart left and feels sympathy for me.
“You see, I can’t do that. I’ve already paid Lilith for my time with the new untouched intake.” He grins menacingly. “Do you know how rewarding it feels to be the first to break you?”
My gut twists at his words, sending a wave of nausea up my throat. How can anyone find joy in being raped? That’s sick and disgusting. How many has he “broken”? Do I even want to know? He paid for me. Like I’m some cattle being auctioned off for slaughter. Fuck this place, fuck Lilith, and fuck Rocky too! Fuck everybody who got me into this bullshit. Nobody has come for me, and nobody is going to. I mean nothing to anybody.
“You’re so damn beautiful when you fight. You little whore.” His lip peels back on the last word.
He pulls me up by my hair until I’m sitting on my knees facing him. He takes his free hand and unbuckles his belt. I know exactly where he’s going with this, and there’s nothing I can do to get away. I look down at the artwork I’ve done with my hands. They’re a cacophony of my driedblood, broken nails, and now his fresh blood smeared and caked in the knuckles. I feel good having inflicted a little pain on this bastard. I’d love to see him bleed more.
