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“Bye,” I call, waving with my free hand and steering Callie towards the car with the other. I help her into her seat, even having to do her belt up for her when her hands won’t stop shaking. I hate it. I just want to wrap her in my arms and hold her, but I also want to get her out of here.
Before pulling out of the car park, I send a message to the others and then gun the engine. I just need to get my girl home and safe.
I got sick.
I am sick.
Twisted.
Thank god there are no mirrors because I don’t think I can stand to look at myself ever again. I can barely tolerate being inside my own skin.
They allowed me a short, two-minute shower after today’s ‘session’ but it wasn’t enough. I had the water as high as it would go but it couldn’t burn away the shame I feel. I scrubbed my skin red raw, but even that didn’t help.
I feel like I’m crawling in my skin, and the mental wounds that are being inflicted will never heal. Fear and dread are my constant companions, and as the sessions increase, I know I’m beginning to confuse what’s real.
Logically, I know that I’m in survival mode right now. That I don’t have a choice and that compliance is far less terrifying than disobedience, but…I’m not feeling very logical right now. Not with those sounds and images playing on repeat inside my mind.
My mind which feels like it’s going to splinter and break.
I don’t know how much more I can take. How much I’ll be forced to endure. What their end game is.
When all that’s left is fractured remains, who will I be?
