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Chapter Three
Lelu
The girlon the bed has her back against the corner with her arms wrapped tightly around her legs, trying to hide as much of her body as possible. Her lifeless eyes stare blankly through a curtain of dirty hair at the window across the room. She digs her toes into the mattress and her fingers into the flesh of her legs. She’s naked, and it’s cold in the room, but she’s so numb from everything that’s happened that she doesn’t feel the frigid air anymore.
The man in the room above watches the girl from the computer on his desk. Even though he just left her thirty minutes ago, his body radiates with pleasure, and his dick turns hard as he looks at the angles of her malnourished form. His hand moves to his lap, and he rubs himself through the dirty denim of his jeans. His blood heats with the anticipation of the next time he allows himself to touch her.
“Soon,” he whispers to himself.
Today marks the five-year anniversary of having her, and he celebrated by being especially cruel. Every day, his need for her grows until it consumes his every thought.
His chair squeaks when he unzips his pants to grip his hardness, and the girl below lifts her eyes to the ceiling.
She should be scared, and when he walks through the door again, she will be, but at the moment, with her body still hurting from the last time he was in the room, she can’t find the energy to be fearful.
Silent tears slip down her cheeks, but she pays them no mind. The fluid leaking from between her legs dampens the dingy mattress below her. She doesn’t need to look to know blood is mixed in with his semen. The toilet across the way taunts her, but her willpower to move is nonexistent. There’s no point anyway. As soon as she washes away the nastiness, he’ll come right back in and mark her again. He likes knowing she has his sperm on and in her.
She moves her eyes away from the toilet, and they land on the small cuts on her arms. Some are old and have scabbed over, and some are new, the blood coagulating over the wounds. Her legs, back, and stomach carry the same marks.
The girl lets her head fall back against the wall, and she closes her eyes. She’s so tired but doesn’t want to sleep. There’s no telling when he’ll be back, and she hates being asleep when he comes. Bad things happen when she’s asleep. She not only has to live in this nightmare while she’s awake, but she lives it in her dreams as well. There’s no escaping the torment she endures.
Just like many times before, the girl tries to conjure up memories of before she was taken. It’s become a game to her, one that she’s slowly losing. Her memories are fading fast, and she’s afraid she’ll soon forget them all. Even now, she’s not sure if the short clips she does remember are true or if her mind is just playing tricks on her.
She’s not sure how long she’s been in this room, only that it’s nearly the only thing she remembers now. She can no longer recall what the sun, clouds, trees, or grass look like. Her body has been without clothes for so long that even the notion of wearing them is foreign to her.
Despite her desire to stay awake, the countless hours of torture have drained her both physically and mentally, and she slips into unconsciousness, only for the torture to continue…
A squeaking noise wakes the girl, and she cracks open her bloodshot eyes to see a mouse scurrying across the floor. Seeing rodents is common, so it doesn’t faze her. She silently thanks the mouse for waking her from her disgusting dream.
She releases the grip she has on her legs and stretches them out in front of her, moaning when the joints ache from staying in the same tight position for so long. The mess between her legs has now dried, leaving her skin sticky. No longer able to put off cleaning herself, she gets up from the bed slowly and heads to the toilet. There’s no sink in the room, so she’s forced to use the dirty water from the commode. Using the murky water doesn’t bother her like it used to. Grabbing the small piece of cloth that hangs from a shelf, she dips a corner of it into the bowl and uses it to wipe away the blood and semen from between her legs. Afterward, she drops it on the floor.
Her eyes catch the window across the room. On wobbly legs, she slowly walks over to the pane of glass. Her stomach cramps, reminding her she hasn’t eaten in days. That’s how it is there. He only feeds her enough to keep her alive, sometimes as little as twice in several days. The food is bland—dry bread, an apple, plain rice—but she no longer tastes it. Like using the toilet water, the lack of variety in her diet doesn't faze her anymore. At first, she thought she'd die from the hunger pangs alone, but little by little, her stomach shriveled until the thought of eating made her gag.
Once she makes it to the window in the wall, she peers over the seal and finds what she always does when she looks inside. The sight has her stomach cramping even more. A girl lies on the bed, curled up in a ball, weeping softly. Her hair is dingy, and her body is riddled with new and old marks, just like hers. Tears spring to her eyes, and she tries to force them back. Crying is weakness, and the girl on the other side of the glass is nothing but weakness. They are one in the same. She represents the little girl inside her who’s terrified, the little girl who wants to give up and go to sleep and never wake up. Every day, they both get weaker. The need to survive is dwindling, and she wonders if soon there will be nothing of her left. She’s tried so long to stay strong, but oftentimes, she wonders what’s the point. There’s no one out there looking for her. She’s all alone in this terrible world.
She wants to shake the girl and tell her to be strong and not to give up, but she knows it’s useless. There is no hope. Her internal struggle is weakening.
A clicking sound has the girl’s head whipping to the metal door to her left. A hollow feeling forms in her throat, and her heart pounds so hard she can hear it in her ears. The door slowly creeps open, but she doesn’t have to wonder who is going to walk in. He’s the only one who ever comes in the room.
Bile rises in her throat when she sees the bucket he’s carrying. She both loves and hates that bucket and what it represents.
Her back goes ramrod straight, and she immediately goes into the position he always wants her in when he walks in the room; eyes to the floor, hands clasped behind her back, feet a foot apart. He likes this position because it allows him to see her body without anything in the way. It makes her feel disgusting, but she’s used to it.
His feet come into view, and he sets the bucket down beside him. She keeps her head lowered, her eyes on the dreaded bucket as his sweaty palm goes to her throat. Inwardly, she cringes, but outwardly, she remains calm.
The man looks at the girl, down her neck, over her small perky breasts, her slim stomach, to the apex of her thighs. He frowns when he sees she’s wiped away his seed from earlier. He doesn’t like that. He wants his cum on her all the time. It’s where it belongs. It reminds them she belongs to him and no one else, and she’s only allowed to wipe it away when he says she can. He’ll have the pleasure of covering her with it again.
The fingers he has wrapped around her throat tightens. The girl whimpers, and it has his cock straining in his jeans. In the beginning, he didn’t want to hurt her but had to because she fought him tooth and nail. Now, when he sees the fear and pain in her eyes, it excites him. Sometimes, the excitement becomes too much, and he has no control over his actions. He likes seeing her pain, but he doesn’t want to completely destroy her. His time with her is nowhere close to over. It’ll never be over. She’ll be his forever.
His mother used to choke him when she forced herself on his cock. She would turn on the television and sit on his lap. She always choked him until his vision went blurry and he almost passed out.
He takes a step closer to her and uses his thumb to force her head up. Her dull eyes meet his. His frown deepens when they show no emotions. He wants to see the fear, the pain. They stimulate him.
“Lelu,” the man says.
When he first saw her years ago, he barely held himself back from taking her, but it wasn’t time yet. Things had to be just perfect. In the end, he ended up taking her early anyway. He just couldn’t pass up the opportunity. When he first brought her here, the fear he saw in her reminded him of the fear he felt when his mom first played with him. He was six years old when she came into his room and made him take off all his clothes and get on the bed. He had no idea what his mom was doing, but he adored her and did what she asked. When she removed her own clothes and crawled on the bed with him and touched his private parts, that’s when the fear slithered in.
He’s noticed the girl’s fear leaking out of her over the past few months. He doesn’t know if it’s because he’s broken her and she’s given herself up to her fate, or if she’s becoming stronger and refusing to show her fear anymore. Either way, he wants the fear back.
