Two
Aria
The room is dark and quiet. Even though I know at least one person is home, it’s calm. I try to stay relaxed but it’s hard. It’s during quiet times like now, my heart starts beating erratically and I know if I don’t get what I need soon, I will have a full-blown panic attack. You would think I would welcome the quietness but the problem with the quiet is, it’s like the calm before the storm. My brain goes into overdrive wondering what will happen once the storm arrives. How, with each storm, I’m destroyed little by little, and one day the storm will be so strong, it will leave nothing but destruction in its wake.
Laying on my bed—which is nothing more than a mattress on the ground with a single sheet and pillow—with a worn-out copy of my favorite romance novel open, I try to focus on the words, but I can’t. My hands are shaking and my heart feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest. It’s been quiet for too long. I read the same line three more times and give up, closing the book. I remember when I begged for the book, saying I needed something to do down here in the quiet isolation. He forced me to earn that book in ways I can’t even bring myself to think about. Now I can’t even concentrate long enough to finish reading a book I have read dozens of times. At first, I lived in fear, my brain conjuring up the worst-case scenarios. Now that I have lived them, it’s hard to switch my brain off. The drugs help. I know I have become addicted to them, but when it’s the only way to shut your body down, the addiction doesn’t matter. Survival is all I know now.
I hear the front door slam shut and know he is home, and by the way he is stomping around there’s a good chance he is pissed about something. I close my eyes and pray he won’t come down here. There’s nothing he can give me that is worth the consequences of him coming down here. His assistant, Derek, is the only person I need. He gives me the drugs I crave to calm my nerves. He will make my hands stop shaking, my heart stop beating so loudly, and he will help my body and mind turn off. Derek gives. Weston on the other hand, takes. He takes and takes from me, and at this point, I feel like I have nothing left to give.
The door creaks open and a bright light shines through. I quickly cover my eyes. I can’t even remember the last time I saw light other than through the small slats in the windows that give off just enough natural light for me to read my book. My world which used to be a bright canvas has been stripped of all color. The heavy footsteps make each step creak as a shadow makes its way down. When I see it’s Weston, my heart plummets.
Take.
He’s here to take.
Not give.
“Spread your fucking legs.” He stalks toward me. Then roughly grabbing a hold of my ankles, he pulls my body toward the edge of the bed, my head hitting the cement wall then getting dragged down.
“I-I need something.” It’s stupid to beg for what I need, knowing he doesn’t give a shit but I am desperate. He only drugs me to make me stop screaming, stop fighting him. He prefers me almost comatose so he can do whatever he wants to me.
“You need to shut your fucking mouth!” He backhands me so hard I almost blackout. “I can’t wait until you turn twenty-two so I can get rid of your fucking whore ass!” Twenty-two seems to be the magic number. For what? I have no clue, and while I have no clue how long I’ve been down here, I imagine I have at least another year or so until I turn twenty-two. I close my eyes and wish for the drugs he refused to give me. If he would have given them to me, I would be somewhat numb during this horrific nightmare.
Take.
Take.
Take.
Even without the drugs, I’ve trained myself to escape my mind during his torture. For several long moments, I am free.
Free from the pain. Free from the darkness. Free from him.
Smack!
My escape has been short-lived. With one hard slap, I’m right back with him.
Weston is done with me though. The essence of his crimes against me are smeared against my inner thighs, a sticky reminder that I’ll never fully escape.
He grabs my face and turns me to face him. He smacks me again across my face and then walks back up the stairs. Once the door is shut, I go to the small bathroom that’s down here to rinse off. I use a small amount of soap unsure if Weston will replace it once it’s all gone. I’ve had the same bottle of soap since he kidnapped me and locked me down here. Once I’m done rinsing off, I dry my body with the one towel I have. I don’t have any clothes, so I can’t get dressed. I take a few sips of the sink water to wet my parched throat then go back to bed. Closing my eyes, I try to imagine my future, what my life will be like if I make it out of here alive, only my visions are no longer clear. The longer I’m down here, the blurrier my future looks.
A little while later the door opens again and I hold my breath praying it’s Derek. Hearing the soft footsteps padding downward, I know it is, and for a short-lived moment I allow myself to sigh in relief. “Do you have something for me?” Derek looks at me with sadness in his eyes. He has never said it, but I don’t think he wants to be a part of Weston’s plans; however, that doesn’t stop him from carrying out the orders. I don’t necessarily blame him for what his boss is doing but at the same time, he hasn’t stopped him or turned him in, either.
“I do.” He places the pills on the nightstand. There are five pills total. He usually brings me the pills twice a day but this morning he didn’t come down, leaving me shaking and in need of the numbness. The escape I crave more and more each day.
“Anything else?” Sometimes Derek will bring me down some coke; not often enough, but when he does, I’m able to escape for a bit longer than I do with the pills. It kicks in quick—only a minute after I snort the white powder into my nostrils I can feel myself floating away to a place where I’m no longer held prisoner.
“Not today.”
“Thank you, Derek.” I grab all the pills and swallow them dry. I have no idea what they are and I never question it. I know Weston isn’t going to give me something that is going to kill me. At least not until I turn twenty-two that is. I imagine they are Xanax or Oxy. I’m not sure but they work. For a little while my body and mind can escape the reality of this horrific nightmare.
He leaves the room and I stare at the ceiling, at the fan whirring around and around, until I finally fall asleep.
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