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Despair hit me like a ton of bricks in my chest as she slowly lowered me into the water on the false pretence of rinsing my body of the soap. I helped her and willingly went into the water without a fight and with a smile on my sad, lonely, seven-year-old face. Her smile turned into a sneer as she forced my body under the water and pushed her weight on top of me.
I remember thinking to myself, Why? Why do I need to be under the water? I even gave her an excuse that maybe she was washing my hair. My lungs began to burn, and I heard her laughter and joy. She was happy I was in pain and panicking as my body started to flail in self-preservation. All I needed was one more gasp of air.
I didn’t die that day, even though it felt like an eternity under the water with her weight on my shoulders. I remember looking at her with wide eyes and wanting to ask her why she did that to me. But she just continued washing me as if nothing happened. As time progressed, my parents, so-called friends, and even some strangers would torture me when they visited. My mother wouldn’t say a word as her friends spoke nasty words to me.
Every passing day, I hear, “Worthless, you won’t become anything. You should just kill yourself. Save everyone the trouble of having to see your ugly face.”
At eight years old, I tried. Lord, I tried to fucking end it all. Nobody loved me anyway. My parents hated me. My sister despised me. I had no friends. What was the point in living if all I would grow up to be was a failure? I tied that rope above the rafters in the ceiling and pulled on it to ensure it was tight. I pulled the chair to the centre of the room and stood on it, wrapping the rope around my throat.
I remember my last thought being, You are worthless; end it all already, and you won’t feel powerless anymore. I pushed off the chair and swung for a moment before the rope broke, and I crashed to the floor. I remember thinking I was so worthless I couldn’t even die right.
After that incident, my father left my mother, and she made my life a living hell. She blamed me for him leaving, saying he couldn’t stand having such a disgrace for a son.
I was forced to clean the house from top to bottom every day while my sister was treated like a queen. She was given everything in life, never had to work for anything, and could do nothing wrong. While my sister would get cakes and snacks and new toys, my mother would lock me in my room for days with a piss bucket in the corner and force me to starve.
The torment lasted until I was ten years old, when my mother finally died. Ironically enough, I found her hanging from the rafters in the broom closet where she took her own life, just like how I attempted to take mine at eight years old.
I snap back to reality. The feelings of dread and worthlessness linger as I work to push my past back into the box inside me.
I sigh and grab the shampoo bottle beside me, squeeze a good amount into my hands, and lather it into my hair—time to get this greasy shit sorted. I stand under the water and let the shampoo fall from my hair and down the drain. I grab the conditioner next and repeat the process. Where is my body wash? I look around to find my body wash and notice it’s on the floor by the plug. How did it get there? I bend down and pick it up. I have to make sure I get every single bit of vomit. After showering, I grab my towel off the radiator and wrap it around me.
I head towards the bedroom to get dressed. I’d like to know what type of meeting this is going to be. I reach for the wardrobe and open the rusty doors by the crumbling handles.
I notice a pair of black jeans hanging loosely on a coat hanger and a navy blue T-shirt on the shelf below, and I grab both items. I also grab my grey pullover hoodie. I reach down to the bottom half of the wardrobe, pull open the top drawer, and pull out a pair of socks and boxers. Once I have acquired the clothes, I stand back and shut the doors. I turn around and throw the clothes on the bed. I let out a breath. Let’s get dry and see what these fuckers want. I grab the towel from around my waist and start drying myself, dropping it to the floor once I’m finished. I grab my boxers and put them on, followed by my jeans, T-shirt, and hoodie.
Once dressed, I grab the towel from the ground and roughly dry my hair. It’s not like it matters what my hair looks like, but I like the messy look anyway. I have been told multiple times that I should get a haircut, but I like my hair the way it is—long top, short back and sides.
I stand up and walk towards the one shoe by the window.
Where is the other one? I start looking around my room for the matching shoe, and I notice it underneath the bed, so I walk back over to the bed. I crouch down and reach under to grab it. Once I have both shoes in hand, I sit back on the bed to put them on. They are black high-tops. I could wear my favourite shoes daily for the rest of my life and not get bored.
Willow bounces her way back into my room. Oh great. She’s back. I stop what I’m doing and look at her.
“Have you ever heard of knocking? What do you want?.” I asked annoyingly.
She looks at me with wide eyes.
“We’re all waiting for you. Are you ready?”
I sigh and stand up, straightening out my hoodie.
“Fine, let’s go,” I stated.
She walks out of the room, and I follow. This better be worth it. She was waking me up so late at night.
She ushers me into the main hall, which was once decadent and probably used by Christians for their worshipping, but for us, someone has turned the room the complete opposite. It’s pretty sordid and disgusting, with a desecrated altar at the centre where people inject or take drugs, and the others would take advantage of them. It seems pretty hot when I’m out of my face, and I have little reservation. This evening, I’m more clear-headed and anxious – maybe a little scared.
Everyone is around the altar. Another young girl is lying on the fabric, draped across the altar completely naked, in blackout as several men and women begin to explore her body. She wiggles and moans under their touch, seemingly enjoying their advances.
I scan the room and spot Lennox and other high-ups of the cult I belong to, The Royalty. Lennox sees me and waves me to walk over to him.
As I walk away from Willow, she grabs me by the arm. “Wait.” I turn towards her.
“What?” I say.
“Will you have some fun with me after your meeting?” She wiggles her eyebrows at me, and I pinch the bridge of my nose.
I shake my head. “Doubtful. Go find someone else to sink your teeth into tonight, sweetheart.”
