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“Get up!”
My groggy brain takes a moment to come to, but when it does, I wish I could slip into a coma and never wake.
“I said, get up!”
Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I quickly pull back the scratchy blanket on my single bed and get into position—on my knees. This is what’s expected of me, and if I don’t obey, I get punished. And so does everyone I love.
Which is the only reason I submit. It’s the reason I do the despicable things that I do.
“Where is it?”
“Where’s what?”
It’s too late by the time I realize what I’ve said. I pay for my error with a slap to my cheek. My head snaps to the left with a sharp crack.
“What did ya say?”
“Where’s wh-what…m-master?” I repeat, my eyes downcast.
“Aye, that’s better,” he says happily. My humiliation gives him great pleasure. “The brooch.”
Keeping my nerves under control, I lick my dry lips. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen it. The last time—”
“Shut yer bake,” he interrupts, not appreciating my lies. “Yer full of shite. Where is thon brooch?”
I prepared myself for this situation as I knew it was coming. By giving the brooch back to Punky, I knew what it would mean for me. But I’ll deal with the repercussions because I did the right thing—for once.
“I don’t know.”
The silence is heavy. I brace for what comes next.
“Ya need reminding of yer place?” I don’t know why he phrased it as a question because there are no choices. That privilege was stripped from me when I agreed to sell my soul to the devil.
My silence usually pleases him, but not today.
He slaps my other cheek, hollering when I grunt under the force. Yet I still don’t snitch. This earns me a punch to my stomach. Groaning, I fold in half, attempting to catch my breath.
“I’ll ask ye again, where is it?”
Gasping for air, I measure my breathing until eventually, I come back into an upright position. This just enrages him further. He wants me to surrender, but I can’t. He wants me to break, but it’s going to take a lot more than him beating me black and blue to break my spirit.
I will withstand everything he delivers because it brings me one step closer to why I’m here. There is only one person who matters; they’re the reason for all of this.
“I-I don’t know.”
“Fine, have it yer way then.”
I hear the familiar sound which no longer scares me—his belt unfastening and slipping through the beltloops.
“Take it off,” he orders, and I don’t resist. What would be the point? It just delays the inevitable.
Slipping the thin nightgown over my head, I cover my modesty as best I can, but it doesn’t matter. He’s seen it all. He’s humiliated me in every possible way that there is.
“Look at the bleedin’ state of ya. Yer disgusting.”
The belt cracks across my back, a fresh lash added to the ones he delivered three days ago. Flinching, I bite down on my tongue so hard, I taste blood. But I don’t cry out for help because who would help me? I’m alone.
Again, he whips me, this time across my arse. The pain is excruciating, but still, I don’t scream. I know if I just submit the torture will stop, but if I do that, he wins. Therefore, I will endure every punch, slap, bite, and whip he inflicts because each one proves that I’m stronger than him.
