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Past
Age 14
Since that night, the night I died, I’ve been in this room, tied to a bed and naked. I don’t know for certain how long I’ve been here; days and nights tangle together even though I’ve tried to count, but it’s been months… four months, more or less. Four months of hell. I gave up on crying or yelling weeks ago. No one will hear, no one’s going to save me, and no one will believe me.
In the middle of the night, as I shudder with cold and hunger, I think about Nick. I think about his eyes that always shine bright, I think about his smile and how that warmed my heart. My eyes burn with the tears, and I smile through them as I remember the chocolates he shared with me.
And then, I stop thinking about him.
I stop because he’s too good to be brought into this moment, even if it’s only in my memories. I stop because he shines so bright, he warms so well to be in this place where only darkness and coldness live. He’s too pure to be in my mind where every innocence has been ripped off and where there are only rage and broken pieces of the girl he used to know.
He doesn’t know this girl, and he shouldn’t be in a stranger’s mind. He shouldn’t be comforting me.
I force every thought about him deep down in my mind, under the blanket of darkness. I silence every laugh and every word we shared with the evil’s whispers, curses, and grunts of forced pleasure. I replace his every kind touch with the cruel handlings. And finally, I let my hopes die along with my childish, innocent love.
When the door opens I turn my head and look at my monster, but tonight it’s not one monster I see, it’s two. I immediately recognize the sheriff of the town, but my naivetes have died with my innocent. With one look at two men, I know neither of them are here to help me tonight.
Turning my head, I focus on the cross in front of me. I glare at it. I curse at everything it represents, and I’m furious at everything he’s let happen to me right under his eyes.
As I’m abused and humiliated in every way possible by two men who should have been my protectors and the voice of everything right, I glare at everything that supposed to be holy.
In this room, there’s nothing holy.
***
3 weeks later
It’s one of those lucky days I’ve been fed. Even though I’m not sure if it’s luck or part of the torture. I don’t know why I want to stay alive. Didn’t I get enough of this nightmare? Wouldn’t it be better to end this torture now? Shouldn’t death sound like a sweet promise to me instead of a dreadful threat?
I chew the bread while my head’s full of these questions and my eyes focused on the cross across the room. It’s the usual place of my eyes. I don’t want to see the faces. I don’t want to look into their eyes and see any emotions in there. I don’t want them to be like human beings. For me, they’re monsters, and I want them to stay that way.
“Come here, we need to get you cleaned up,” Mary says. I hate her name. How can she have a name so pure while she lets something like this happen in front of her eyes, in her knowledge?
I don’t fight as she frees me from the cuffs. Why would I fight? What good would it do to me? Who would believe a fourteen-year-old against the father and the sheriff of the town, the two men this town adores and worships without question?
My knees buckle when she brings me to my feet. Dizziness takes over me for a second, but her rough grip on my arms centers me. I let her drag me to the bathroom. I stare at the tile floor, focusing on the black stains between white marbles as she sponges my body.
“It doesn’t happen to everyone,” she starts talking. She does that all the time. I don’t know if she expects me to indulge in a conversation with her or she just wants to fill the silence.
“It only happens to some of them. Some rotten ones like you. You should blame yourselves for all the things that happen to you. You have evil in you, a sinner who desires to sin. You’re the devil’s hand, tempting even the most religious guys to sin. I don’t pity you. You deserve all this and more. You deserve to burn in hell,” she grits out with so much vengeance it almost makes me smile, the ridiculousness of the situation.
“And you know what? Everyone in this town would think the same way. Even your own mother knew how dangerous of a girl you are. Even she was afraid of you. I don’t blame her. You’ve been here for four months, no one stayed here that long. You keep tempting the men. The evil in you is strong,” she spits out.
I wait for her to continue, but silence fills the room until she breaks it.
“You haven’t bled for three months,” she says slowly like she’s uncertain.
I keep staring at the black stain.
I see from the corner of my eye that she opens and closes the drawers in the bathroom closet. And she comes back with a small stick in her hand. “Pee on this,” she says.
I frown but do as I’m told like the puppet I am. Being like a ragdoll is strangely liberating in my situation, thinking I don’t have any control in this. Because if I feel like I can change this, it will be the death of me. It will give me hope and hope makes you feel alive. I don’t want to feel alive, if I do, then I’ll have to feel everything they do to me.
The silence stretches in the air as she paces in front of me. When she finally stops I hear her gasp.
“You’re pregnant,” she whispers.
My head jerked to her way, zeroing on the stick in her hands.
