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Bella

I’m in a dark room. My wrists and ankles are shackled to a rough, cold wall.

My arms and legs are numb because I haven’t been able to move them for days, weeks maybe.

Nothing makes sense in this darkness. Nothing but the fact that I will die soon.

I used to think I wanted to die. And then I didn’t.

And now I’m not sure. I just want this nightmare to end.

All my thoughts are focused on the metal door which might or might not open at any moment. He might or might not come in soon. And use the knife he’s been threatening me with since he brought me here. Bottom line, I might be dead at any moment.

I’ve gone through heroin withdrawal chained to this wall.

I smell worse than the homeless under the bridge where I’d sometimes get high.

I will not survive this.

Through the cold wall I can hear screams.

The sick man’s—Ghost’s—other victims?

Or just the neighbors?

I never should’ve gotten in his car. I know that now.

But I needed to save Blade. He got beaten up because of me and I needed to get him help. I failed. And he might be dead now. That hurts more than all the other things combined.

Let me out! You sick asshole, let me out!

I screamed those words so many times that my voice is just a croak and my throat feels like it’s bleeding.

No one hears.

He doesn’t come to let me out. Or kill me. I don’t even know which I’d prefer anymore. If Blade’s gone, I want to be with him.

It’s the other screams that always wake me up from this nightmare that is actually a true story. Angel’s screams.

Because it didn’t end with me dying.

It ended with the sick bastard who chained me to a wall fleeing, going into hiding.

But not before he killed Angel. My best friend since before I can remember.

She came looking for me.

She found him. Ghost. A serial killer preying on prostitutes and good Catholic girls. We were supposed to be the latter. She was. I wasn’t.

But God wasn’t with Angel when she tried to save me. I don’t think he’s ever been with me. Not before, not then, not since.

Maybe if I hadn’t been dumb enough to get in his car, Angel would still be alive.

Maybe if my family weren’t a bunch of mean men with medieval standards, we’d never have met him.

Maybe…

Maybes aren't going to change anything and they’re not going to bring anyone back.

My family shipped me off to live on the East Coast after I was saved and I still wouldn’t marry the guy they picked for me. They washed their hands of me and I let them.

I didn’t make Angel’s funeral. I didn’t see any of my friends. Not even Blade, the love of my life, the only one I loved more than smack. Almost more.

But I saved him in the end.

By going far away from him and telling him not to follow. Demanding that he never speak to me again.

It was the only way I could save him from my family’s retribution. They didn’t kill him the first time, but they would the next. I’d dishonored them too much.

And I betrayed the love of my life and all my friends.

I don’t deserve forgiveness. I don’t deserve to live.

But here I am anyway.