CHAPTER 1
DELILAH
Not all evilcomes in the form of an easily identifiable villain. Sometimes, it comes from the people we trust most. And from the institutions that were supposed to keep us safe. It was a hard lesson I had to learn, but one that embedded itself into my marrow as a naive teenager. When I still thought my life would turn out like how I always dreamed it would.
I was sixteen years old when I was yanked out of a deep sleep from rough hands, intent on terrorizing me. My insides froze with a fear so visceral, I could feel it seep down into my bones. I’ll never forget the guttural, primal scream that wrenched free from my throat. How it burned and vibrated against my vocal cords.
How these men had gotten into my house, I didn’t know, but I knew I had to fight with everything I had.
I could barely see in the dark, but I could sense that there were multiple men from the way they talked to each other, working together to stop my thrashing.
“Shut up, you stupid bitch!” One of them said, gripping both my arms above my head. Their hands dug into my skin so hard I knew it would leave bruises.
I tried to kick, but I was pinned down with one of the man’s hips.Every thrash of my body seemed to excite this monster because I felt him harden against me. The sick fuck found pleasure in scaring me.
“We’ve got a feisty one, boys,” he said with a chuckle and slight southern twang. His face was so close I could smell the coffee and cigarettes on his breath. It churned my stomach and nausea roiled up my esophagus, threatening to spring free.
“Let me go!” I cried out.
I was no delicate flower and would fight with everything I had if that meant a chance at survival.
“Stop making this harder than it has to be, Delilah.”
My blood ran cold.
That was my father’s voice, and it was coming from the doorway. Why would my father be here allowing this? It threw me. That instinct to fight became subdued and the small hesitation was all the men needed to wrench my hands behind my back and zip tie my wrists together. My shoulder blades screamed at the unnatural angle I found myself in and my thoughts churned anxiously.
Why was this happening? And why was my father so okay with the way they were treating me?
Sure, my father and I didn’t get along most days. We’d even had a fight earlier in the night. He’d smacked me so hard across my face for my supposed disobedience, that I’d gone to bed with a splitting headache and throbbing cheek, dreaming of the day I could finally escape this hell hole. But in reality, I hadn’t done a thing to deserve that treatment. He didn’t like my tone when I asked for someone to pass the salt.
“Dad?” I asked, feeling a sting of tears in my eyes at his betrayal.
“It’ll be alright, Delilah. Just stop resisting and go with the men,” My mom said.
Now I really wanted to vomit.
They orchestrated this, I realized.
“Mom?” My voice broke as a piece of duct tape was placed over my mouth, and a bag was tugged over my face.
I couldn’t see them. I couldn’t see anything and had no choice but to submit to being taken. The men dragged me out of my own house, bound and gagged—with my parent’s full consent.
My heart was beating hard against the cavity in my chest. How could they do this to me?
I wasn’t a bad kid. Sure, I questioned them sometimes, but this was extreme. Even for them. My parents hadn’t always been the most loving, but they were my parents. They were supposed to protect me from the monsters. Not hand me over to them.
In the vehicle they’d dragged me out to, I knew I wasn’t alone. Several others sat next to me, whimpering. I could feel their bodies next to me on either side, their arms and legs pressed into mine. Skin on skin. Sweat on sweat. Were they betrayed by their parents too?
My mind whirled as I put together the pieces of what was happening to me. I’d heard about things like this before. Living in Kingston, I’d heard the whispers of kids being taken in the night. Problem children that needed straightening out. Kingston Prep was legendary for that in the worst way. It was the stuff of nightmares, and the source for every horror story I heard. And now, I was being taken there. I knew it in my gut the way you know a storm is coming.
It seemed my parents finally had enough of me and my ‘disobedience’, and they were shipping me off to be fixed.
The blow to my face that my father had dealt me earlier in the night ached and I knew it was swelling. My father firmly believed that children should be punished and as his only child, that meant I was his own personal punching bag. If he had a bad day at work, he would seek me out and find some excuse to teach me a lesson. I learned plenty from him. Like how even the people who were supposed to love you, could break you in ways you didn’t know were possible.
My mother was no better. She stood idly by as he inflicted his wrath onto me, quoting scripture as if that made his actions okay. To her, I was a disappointment. A problem that needed major intervention. I was another one of her prayers that had yet to be answered.
Well, she could wait forever for all I cared.
