Nessuno
I hadn’t always been this obedient, timid, fragile little slave. There was a time when I fought, when I struggled against the claws of this wretched world, trying to keep it from sinking into my soul. But the harder I fought, the tighter the evil wrapped its tentacles around my humanity. Squeezing it. Smothering it. Until finally…killing it.
Now, all that was left was this empty shell. A vessel of nothingness. A nobody. Nessuno.
He had chosen the perfect name for me. He was my savior. My angel. At least that was what I thought when I had the innocent mind of a ten-year-old girl who had just witnessed her mother die. Of course, that was what I thought when he was the man who saved me, carrying me out of a war zone unscathed and still breathing. It was the one day of my childhood which I remembered clearly. I remember his face as if I had only seen it yesterday. It was the tattoo of a cross I saw on his neck behind his ear which made me think he was an angel sent from Heaven to save me.
After being saved and pulled from a hell where my mother’s corpse remained, my angel took me to a strange place to meet a strange man. I remembered standing next to my angel, glancing up at him. Tall. Handsome. Powerful. I could still remember how it felt to have him hold my tiny hand, his skin rough, and his grip tight. I felt protected, as if I had nothing to fear as long as he stood beside me, holding my hand. And why wouldn’t I? He saved me. For a little girl who had seen what I had, having that kind of security meant the world. No matter how brief. And it was exactly that. Brief.
When the man in front of me asked who I was, my angel let go of my hand and nudged me forward before answering, “Nessuno.” Nobody.
In an instant, my world crashed down around me, my heart broken. The stranger in front of me grabbed my wrist and yanked me closer while staring down at me with eyes that seemed to mirror the deepest pits of hell. And while I looked into the black orbs of endless darkness, I knew I would never know light again.
It was so many years ago, but I could still remember that day as if it was yesterday. That was one memory I chose not to compartmentalize. I clung to it. Made sure I thought about it a hundred times a day. Not as the moment I vanished into perpetual darkness, but as the only time I had ever felt secure. Protected. It was the best feeling in the world, no matter how brief. And because of that, I relived that moment over and over and over inside my head. It was the last good feeling I experienced. The last moment of sheer hope.
I lay still while the man who claimed to be the doctor moved around the bed, looking at me, inspecting me, touching me. I hated being touched but could do nothing to fight it. All I could do was be the meek slave I had been programmed to be. Submission, obedience, acceptance, it had all been beaten into me. It was solidified into my psyche through cruelty. Years of abuse and pain had shaped and molded me into the well-trained empty vessel I was today.
To obey was my only talent.
To please was my only purpose.
To exist without living was my only fate.
And even now as I found myself in this unfamiliar place with all these strange people, I didn’t make the foolish mistake of thinking this might finally be my chance to get pulled out of the deep pit I had been in for so, so long. I was in hell, no matter where I went.
“Nessuno,” the doctor stilled beside me, “what happened to you, girl?”
If I was a naïve little girl who believed there was still some good left in this world, I would have mistaken the tone in his voice for concern. As if he actually cared about what I had been through. And I was that naïve little girl once. But that girl died the day he handed me over to the devil himself.
I remained silent, my gaze glued to the wall. Truth was, if I had to answer his question, tell him what had happened to me, it would mean I had to relive it. And all those memories were safely tucked away. Compartmentalized.
He sighed before placing his hand on my shoulder. It wasn’t expected, his touch. My body tensed, and I pinched my eyes closed as every nerve erupted in flames. He felt it. He felt the silent reaction and removed his hand before taking a step back.
“I think, for now, all you need is a good rest. I could give you something so you can get some sleep, if you like.”
Sleep. A wonderful state of escape. The only time I was free of the chains I’ve been bound by in this endless, pitiful existence I called life.
It wasn’t often I was offered something that would help me sleep. They preferred me aware and conscious, screaming and begging. That was what got them off. My pain. My humiliation. Violating me while I was sleeping wouldn’t have been near as fun for them. They liked watching me, my face, my tears. They wanted to see me break…witness my ruin.
“Nessuno, would you like something to help you sleep?”
My only reaction was letting my gaze drop from the wall to the ground. I was confused. I didn’t know what the right answer was. Did I want something to help me sleep? Did I want to sleep in the midst of all these unfamiliar faces?
Did I want to say yes? Did he want me to say yes? Would I be punished if I answered what I wanted to answer? Should I rather keep my silence, let him decide?
Yes. Silence was my friend. It made me Switzerland, choosing neither this nor that. Letting them decide for me had always been the better option. After all, I was nothing, and nothing didn’t have the luxury of making choices.
I stared at the wall once again and heard the man sigh. “I know this might not be easy for you to believe, but we do want to help you, Nessuno. You can trust us.”
His words meant nothing to me. It didn’t even stir the slightest bit of emotion inside the emptiness I carried around.
“Okay. Since you won’t decide, I’ll have to decide for you.”
And there it was. The truth. He never wanted me to decide for myself in the first place.
He moved around the room, and then I heard the creak of the door, another pair of footsteps entering.
I felt him before I saw him. I knew it was him by the way his cold presence crawled across my skin.
“How is she?”
I remained still.
“From her vitals, I’d say she’s doing better than when we found her. But she’s not talking. I can’t help her if she doesn’t tell me what happened.”
“But she spoke earlier. Why won’t she speak now?”
Because you demanded it.
More silence, and then, “Earlier, when she spoke, she spoke to you, Antonio.”
Antonio. His name was Antonio…to others. To me, he would be Master.
“Yeah, so?”
“Maybe you should try talking to her…alone.”
Please, no. I don’t want to be alone with him. I don’t want to talk to him. Please don’t let him make me talk.
There were a few seconds of agonizing silence while I felt his gaze on me, slithering across every inch of my body.
“Leave us.” His voice was low, hard, and I could hear the warning echo off those two simple words.
“Okay. But take these. It will help her sleep, and I think getting some rest is the best medicine for her now.”
I heard the doctor’s footsteps as he left, and the lock of the door. Knowing I was alone with the man who I knew owned me by the fear I felt in every bone, caused my lungs to struggle to take a breath. Lucky for me, it was a feeling I had gotten used to long ago. Experiencing fear every day for years made it easier to deal with. Easier to manage. In fact, my fear was the only indication that I was still alive. Experiencing terror and pain was proof I still existed.
I lay silently on my left side, still staring at the wall, when he moved closer. The closer he came, the harder it was for me to breathe.
“Is he right? Will you only speak to me?”
My lips twitched, the words begging to be spoken. But from the tone in his voice, I wasn’t sure if the question was rhetorical or not. Another lesson I’d learned—when unsure, choose silence. Ninety percent of the time, when they wanted you to answer a question, they would ask it again—only the second time there would be a threat laced within their words.
He moved closer. I could see him from the corner of my eye. The dark material of his suit, the white cuffs of his shirt. He was tall, his shoulders broad. For a second, I wanted to move my glance from the wall to his face. But I knew better. I knew never to look unless commanded to do so.
“I know Nessuno is not your real name.”
I swallowed.
“I know you can understand me since you spoke to me earlier.”
Because you demanded it.
“I want to know your story, Nessuno.”
No, you don’t.
“I want to help you.”
Liar.
He stepped out of view, and I could hear his footsteps as he paced around the bed. Seconds turned into minutes, silence filling the space around us. And all he did was pace, walking up and down, not saying a word. Was he wondering what to do with me? How he would use me, utilize me to feed the darkest, most depraved part of him? The longer I lay there, and the more he paced, the faster my heart started to beat as uncertainty began to spread through my thoughts like a dreaded disease.
Uncertainty, doubt, being unsure of what would happen next was the cruelest fate for someone like me. If I knew what lay ahead of me, when something would happen, I would have an idea of when it would be over. I would know how it would end…for me. Whether it be pain, humiliation, violation, or heartache. At least I would have known. Knowing was better than not knowing.
Finally, he stopped, stepping in between me and the wall, my gaze now focused on the black buttons of his suit.
“Look at me.” This time the command was clear. It spoke to the obedient little slave in me, so I did as I was told. I looked up at him.
His face was hard, yet his features young—youthful. I’d been used by young men before, but never owned by one.
It was the young ones who were the cruelest. The most vicious. The most out of control. They hadn’t mastered the art of patience, experienced the absolute euphoria after suffering long moments of anticipation. The older men did. They knew how to extract every last drop of depravity out of each and every moment spent with me. Nobody.
The longer my gaze remained on his face, the more difficult it became to not look away. The five o’clock shadow on his face seemed out of place, along with his disheveled ink black hair—as if his fingers had been pulled through it a hundred times. It was strange since my first impression of him was that he was a perfectionist, a man who obsessed about detail. And by the way his suit fit him like a second skin, obviously tailored especially for him, it was easy to see this man thrived on control. Excellence. Precision. Complete and utter power. That was what made him so dangerous…to me.
The long strands of my raven-colored hair hung down my left shoulder as it always did. Ever since the day I had been mutilated, it had become a nervous habit of mine to pull and drag my hair down my shoulder, hiding the left side of my face as much as possible.
He crossed his arms, the suit jacket taut across his broad shoulders. That was when I caught sight of the tattoo on the top of his hand. A wolf.
I narrowed my eyes. I’d seen that symbol before. But where?
“Let’s start with something simple, then. What is your real name?”
I sucked my bottom lip into my mouth, my thoughts spinning whether or not to answer him truthfully. Every memory associated with that name involved pain. So much pain.
It was so cold. My body trembled, my skin slowly, torturously turning to ice with every passing second. With each breath, the air burned the inside of my nose, all the way down to my lungs. Rubbing my hands up and down my naked arms did nothing to ward off the cold. Not even the promise of a little sunlight which hung at the end of the horizon did anything to warm me.
“What is your name, girl?”
I shivered and pressed my lips tighter together. I will not say it.
I heard the sound of the whip slice through the air before I felt it lash against the skin of my back. The pain that radiated from my flesh, all the way through to every bone in my body, was excruciating. It felt like the whip had cracked me in half. But I was determined to fight. I would not give in. I would not let the demons break me.
I bit into my bottom lip, swallowing the screams which threatened to echo out of my mouth.
“Let me ask you again. What is your name?”
After inhaling deeply, I steeled myself for what I knew was about to come. He wanted me to say it. My new name. But I refused. I refused to give in to his demands.
The demon behind me roared, the crack of his whip resounding all around us. Four consecutive lashes sliced across my back. This time I couldn’t stop the screams. I couldn’t contain the pain anymore. Blood rushed through my veins in agony, fire erupting all over my skin, burning with a fury which sent me to my knees.
“I don’t care how long we stand out here in the cold, how many times I have to whip you. But I will break you. Once I’m done with you, little girl, you will be who I want you to be.”
Another strike hit my back.
And another.
And another.
I no longer felt the cold. All I felt was the raging inferno burning like hell across my skin. The warmth of my tears thawed the cold on my cheeks. The screams pouring from my lips melted the ice in my lungs. With every lash, my fingers dug deeper into the muddy ground, pain possessing every nerve. I cried and screamed so loud, my ears rang. But the whipping didn’t stop.
“What is your name?” he screamed, his harsh voice carrying much farther than a little girl’s cries. Mine. My cries.
“What is your name, girl?”
“I won’t—”
But the crack and strike of the whip broke through my sobbing cries. I wanted to get up and run. I wanted to escape. But the heavy shackles around my ankles forced me to stay where I was—on my knees, naked, and at the mercy of a wretched man with no conscience.
The whipping stopped, and I tried to take a deep breath. But it hurt too much. The slightest movement made the broken skin on my back pull taut, and the burning wouldn’t stop. All my senses were overpowered by pain, and for a second, I thought he might have left. It was only when I tried to push myself off the dirty ground that I realized he was still standing behind me.
“Going somewhere?” A boot lunged against my spine, kicking me, forcing me back down. “I told you I’m not stopping until I break you. But it seems like you’re a stubborn little cunt. I might have to try harder.”
He stepped in next to me, and I saw the end of the whip hanging down, drops of crimson dripping from the leather, staining the dirt. In that moment, I wondered whether fighting him was worth it. Whether I, a little girl of only ten years old, would be able to continue struggling against the devil himself—if I even had half a chance to win this fight.
“I’ll ask you again. What is your name, little girl?”
I swallowed hard, tasting the blood from where my teeth pierced my lip.
Just one more. Just one more try. One more attempt to fight.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying my best to ignore the brutal sting on my back. Tears slipped down my cheeks, staining the earth beneath me. My silence was the only answer I gave him as I bit my tongue, the brutal pain possessing my body urging me to let him break me. To do anything he wanted, just as long as the punishment stopped. But my will was stronger than the pain.
I braced myself for another ruthless beating, but it didn’t come. There was no sound of a whip slicing through the air. No strikes that landed across my skin.
The whip disappeared from view as he walked back, the crunch of his shoes stepping on dirt and dead branches causing me to bite down, grinding my teeth so hard, it felt like they would break in half at any moment.
Then I heard it. The sound of a zipper followed by the jangle of a steel belt buckle that fell on the ground. “If my whip won’t break you, I have something else that will.”
I thought the pain on my back was the worst. I thought the cries that came out of my mouth while getting whipped was the loudest…but I was wrong.
I was dead wrong.
That day, I became Nessuno. Nobody. For years, I refused to acknowledge that little girl, but now my new master demanded it. How was I supposed to make the shift from being who I had been trained to be, to go back and think about the little girl who died outside in the cold that day?
He took a step closer. “You can’t tell me your real name, can you?”
My gaze dropped to the floor, his shiny black shoes in my view. He was right. I couldn’t.
With a gentle touch, he lifted my chin. “Look at me.”
It was hard to look up and into his eyes. But I did, and I could barely take a simple breath as that one moment seemed to stretch on for eternity.
Dark eyes with endless depth searched my face. “Why me?”
My gaze dropped to the floor once more.
“Don’t look away from me.”
I swallowed hard, unable to gather the strength to look him in the eye as if I was his equal—which I wasn’t. My purpose here was to submit.
“I said, look at me!”
I jolted at the snap of his tone. He was losing his patience with me, which meant I was displeasing him.
Immediately, I looked up at him just as he demanded. “I’m sorry, Master.”
He stumbled back as if someone had punched him in the gut. “What did you just call me?”
Oh, God. I failed. I could see it on his disappointed yet bewildered face. I screwed up…and now I would pay the price.