Chapter Four
Melina
The pain from the needle was minor. Irritating might be the best way to describe it. I’ve thought of getting a tattoo before, but I knew my brother would burn it from my skin with a blow torch. There was no reason to give him an excuse to hurt me. And I’ve seen the results of his favorite torture method and cringe at the memory of the screams.
I pull the blanket tighter, thankful that I have it again. Even with the added protection, I’m uncomfortable on the cold floor and the tattoo on my back stings. He said weeks. He. I don’t even know his name. Should I care? Probably not but there seems to be a lack of manners in today’s torture session. I actually giggle until the sound becomes sobbing. Why the fuck am I being such a baby?
Sniffing loudly, I inhale deeply and pull myself together. I will not give into weakness. I’ve survived my father and my brother. The man marking my body has no idea that he’s nothing in my world of constant emotional and physical pain. Shifting beneath the blanket, I rest my eyes on the bucket against the wall. I need to relieve myself and I don’t know why I keep fighting it. Emptying the bucket gives the asshole power over me, or at least that’s what my crazy mind thinks. Body waste is a personal thing and he’s taken even that away from me. I curl up tighter and refuse to use the bucket, for now. The darkness is comforting. The creak of the house above me makes my eyes drift closed until my exhausted mind goes as dark as the room.
∞∞∞
His low voice wakes me and even before I open my eyes, I smell food. My stomach decides to growl, which makes him grunt before speaking. “Eat up, and I’ll allow you to walk around the room and stretch a little.”
Wow, someone’s in a good mood this morning. I take the plate from him and shovel eggs into my mouth. When the eggs are done, I eat the bacon. It’s good, but I was starving, so anything other than dead bugs would taste delicious.
He’s in another pair of jeans today with a black T-shirt. It’s crisp with perfect creases on the arms. I’d swear he ironed it or has someone do it for him. The lines of his jeans suggest the same. I glance down and notice black loafers. They look comfortable. He hands me a coffee cup and I suddenly want to be nice to him. It’s a horrible idea, but I can’t help myself. His shoes make him appear likable for some reason. I must be losing my mind. I drink the offered coffee fully aware my bladder could burst at any moment.
“Could I have a few minutes of privacy before my walk around the room?” I ask carefully. He knows what I need and I’m embarrassed that he’ll act like Diego. My brother would stand and watch until I pissed myself and then he would laugh. The laughter would turn into anger and then he would beat the shit out of me for soiling his lovely floor or carpet or fucking dirt. It wouldn’t matter.
My captor only grunts in reply. When the coffee’s gone, he takes the cup and plate from my hands and carries them up the stairs. Thankfully he leaves a small flashlight behind. I squat on the bucket, which isn’t easy because my ass is too small and I come close to falling in each time I use it. I’m also worried the sides will cave in and I’ll make a complete mess, so I use my legs to support me in a squatting position that’s extremely uncomfortable. I pull paper from a single roll he gave me the first day. Day before yesterday, I guess, even though it feels like an eternity.
I clean myself and shift back to the floor, pulling the blanket tight. I’ve almost decided he isn’t returning, when I hear a noise at the door at the top of the stairs. I count his steps and turn my head away before he reaches the floor. He calmly unlocks the chain holding my foot and places his fingers beneath my armpits while lifting. I want to jerk away but stop myself. I’m biding my time and I plan to strike when I have the best chance for escape. It will come, I tell myself silently. I only need to be patient and make him think I’m compliant. I’ve had many years of practice. If I can fool my brother, I can fool this man.
“Turn around and lower the blanket,” he says abruptly. I do exactly as told. Such a good little victim. Always do what you are told and rebel in small, undetected ways to bide time. It’s been my philosophy since my mother died. He peels the plastic wrap from my back and admires his work for the longest time.
Does it make him feel powerful to see what he’s done to my skin? “Stretch your legs and don’t touch my equipment,” he says.
The tattoo burns a bit. It’s terrible that I actually want to see it. He leads me to the small sink by his equipment and the bed. He pumps green something into his hands, gets them wet, and washes the area he just uncovered. I remain still and silent while he takes care of my skin. When he’s finished, he nods for me to begin walking. I move around the outer recesses of the room, holding my blanket tight while he watches. The blanket rubs the tattoo uncomfortably but I don’t care. I need the privacy the blanket provides.
It feels good to stretch my legs and I stretch my arms too. I ignore my captor as much as possible, but it’s impossible not to feel his presence. I do, however, look at his tattoo equipment.
I fought him yesterday when he took me to the tattoo bed and the last thing I cared about was the size of the room. Today I need to know what I’m up against in order to escape. No windows. One door at the top of the stairs. It doesn’t give me much to work with. I need him to allow me out of the room.
I examine everything, looking for some type of weapon in case I’m lucky enough to escape the chain. I won’t give up even though nothing I see gives me hope. I eye the stool. It might work to bash his brains in but chances are good he’d take it away before I did any real damage. Sterilizing disinfectant rests next to the tattoo gun. It could work on his eyes if I’m close enough. I don’t think he locks the upper door behind him when he comes downstairs, because I only hear his keys jingle before he opens the door. If I incapacitate him, I might have a chance. If I blind him permanently, even better.
Questions roll through my head: Who’s upstairs? Where am I? What are his plans after he finishes scarring my body? Maybe I can trick him into giving me information. He stands like a statue while I circle the room. No expression, only his cold, green eyes following me.
“Time’s up,” he finally grunts. I walk back to the wall where he’s now waiting. It’s so damn hard to just simply comply, but he needs to think he’s terrified me into compliance. I sit down and stick out my foot like a good little hostage. He attaches the manacle, locks it, and stands. His gaze burns into me even though I don’t look up. He moves slightly, and from the corner of my eye I notice he takes something from his pants pocket. An apple appears by my foot.
His expression never changes. “I won’t be back until tonight’s session.”
An apple.
I stare at it until his flashlight is gone and I see nothing but blackness. It’s actually comforting and I allow my mind to wander like I did as a child when life was at its shittiest. Hell, my life has always been at its shittiest and my only escape was when I became old enough to go to school and then when I was old enough to work. Not that my brother liked it, but it was easier to keep me occupied and out of his hair than to just torment me for hours each day. Oh, he kept close tabs on me. There were spies everywhere and if a guy so much as looked at me, Diego immediately knew about it.
I guess I need to put a feather in my kidnapper’s cap. He somehow found a way around my brother. I almost smile. With nothing but blackness, I have too much time to think. He wouldn’t be marking my skin if he planned to kill me, would he? It means I have a chance. A chance that could mean escaping my brother too. It’s that small hope that chases away my demons and allows me to hold onto sanity a little longer. I don’t think I can handle days on end down here in the dark.
Positive thoughts soon turn to negative. Diego would go ape shit if my captor killed me and left my tatted body for him to find. Not because my brother would give a damn if I died. No, he would only care that he wasn’t the person to end my miserable life. He’d also be pissed my body was left less than perfect. Hell, he’d cremate me so no one would know his precious baby sister was mutilated by a hand other than his own.
Diego loves perfection. He loves sterile and he always relished my virginity like it belonged to him. He’s sick that way. My father was sick that way. I’m a pawn in the wicked, twisted world my father started and my brother continues. A gang that murders, sells drugs, and abuses women. As the only daughter to my father’s empire, I was a key to his future success, or so he thought. He died before he could marry me off to one of his repulsive business partners, thank God.
At least my brother is pickier. Diego has big plans, but he’s not in a rush. Why would he be? I’m too much fun to torment. Thank God neither Diego nor my father discovered I lost my virginity in high school in a janitor’s closet with a senior who needed one more notch on his bed post. As first times go, it sucked, but I was so relieved to have the deed done that I didn’t care if the act was less than stellar. The biggest factor for me was choosing the guy to take my virginity. I didn’t need to enjoy it. I only wanted it out of the way so my first time wasn’t rape. It was a huge victory at a time I desperately needed one. I can count my small victories on one hand but I will always relish that closet as the best. I also relish the day my brother discovers I’m not the virgin he expects to sell to one of his partners. It doesn’t matter that he’ll kill me. I’ve known that would eventually happen most of my life.
Fuck Diego and fuck the douche upstairs who put me down here.
Fuck them all.