Page 10

“W-WHAT is going on? Why am I here? Please help me. I need help,” I try to scream with a shaky voice, but I can hardly get my words out.

My mouth and jaw feel like I have been to the dentist and had some teeth pulled, and now I'm waiting for the medicine to wear off.

One man turns around, looking at the other; they both stand on either side of me. They each roll their eyes. Rude.

So much for keeping my mouth shut.

“Look who’s awake.” A man's voice is vague as I'm still adjusting. Their eyes follow their conversation. I'm too weak and tired to take any of the information in, and I'm sure they wouldn’t be stupid enough to talk about information that's not for me.

“I’m aware. We wouldn’t be in this room if you had just done what you were told.”

I’m lying on a table freezing my ass off and these two men can’t stop arguing about how they did not do their jobs right.

A normal person who just got taken from her house would be scared, and yes, I am scared.

Over the years, I have just taught myself to make insanely dark jokes in situations like this. Soon after they stop nearly killing each other, my legs and arms are unlocked, and I'm taken off the table, dressed in a ripped hospital gown covered in blood. I'm not so sure it's the same blood as mine.

“Come on, I don't have all day; he’s waiting for you.”

Who is waiting for me? Now I'm freaking out. My pulse is harder, and my chest tightens. I feel I may pass out, or I'm having a heart attack. I'm too young to die in this place. What is this place?

Who took me and why?

I’m taken to a room; my father stands with his back to me, talking to someone else.

Why would my father kidnap me?

My father turns around, looking at me. I shake, scared. He looks furious as if I have done something wrong.

“Good, she’s here. I hope she doesn’t have any scratches. He won’t like that,” my father says to the two men still standing beside me, pointing their guns at me.

Who is he and why won’t he like it?

“Now let's get started, seeing she is ready,” the man on my left says. My father smiles, walking toward me.

His hand comes to my shoulder, making me flinch and want to puke at the feel of his touch.

“Don't touch me!” I slap his hands away.

“Ash, now is not the time.” He rolls his eyes back, walking away, turning around to lean against the front of his desk, resting his hands on either side.

“Not the time for what?” I shout, trying to step forward, but I stop. The barrel of the gun is at my stomach, holding me still.

“We don't have time for you to have a tantrum. We can talk about this later.”

Is he for real right now? He vanishes and leaves his kids, and now I’m listening and doing what he says.

“What the hell is going on?” I stand back, crossing my arms.

“Let's stop pretending you don’t know what happened to your mother. The real story.” His eyes darken. He looks at me without making a move. How could he know that I saw what happened?

I kept my mouth shut and didn’t tell anyone.

“You should have stayed in bed, and we wouldn’t be here.” His tone is angrier this time.

The door opens as a man walks in, taller and older than my father, with a black beard and short, curly black hair. He comes up to my father, placing himself beside him as he looks me up and down, licking his lips.

I'm left with an uneasy feeling. It's at this moment that I'm sure I know what's about to happen and there isn't any way I can stop it.

My heart beats fast. I have no idea why or what my father is involved in, but I seem to be the damage control.

“Is this who you were talking about?” The man nudges my father as they both smirk, and he nods toward him, confirming he is right.

“This is Ash. Look after her and treat her well." My father stands, walking further toward me and stopping inches away. My breathing hitches and I want to run, but where the fuck would I go?

“Ash, make daddy proud and be a good girl, or don’t; either way, you won’t make it out of here alive.

” The anger rises in me. If I didn’t have a gun with me, I would fight him, but it’s too late.

My father walks away, and the man walks over to me, trying to grab my arm.

I slap it away, walking backward. He takes offence at me walking away.

“She’s a fighter. I will have her trained in no time.” The man smirks, grabbing my hand with force as he drags me away.

“Please. I promise I will keep it a secret!” I yell, but he turns his head, not able to look at me.

The door closes. I’m dragged into a dimly lit room down the hall from my father’s office. We get to a door; the man opens it and throws me inside. I land on the bed, hitting my head.

“Let's get a few things straight. From this moment on, you are mine. I paid a lot of money for you. Don’t disappoint me.” Rage builds inside me. The past month has been the worst, but here, today…

I'm living in actual hell.

I can sense the man coming up behind me. He’s inches away. His hand lies on my left shoulder as my body flinches. I turn around and I’m forcefully pushed onto the bed for the second time. The man towers over me.

“Strip for me, slowly. I want to see every inch of your skin.” The man licks his lips. I could puke at any second.

“While I'm not allowed to take your virginity or do anything to you vaginally, you do have a fine-looking ass, I can’t wait to explore.” The coldness of the word makes my skin crawl. How can someone say that to someone so young and smile like he’s getting off on it?

My body freezes, not wanting to do what I'm told. I'm scared that if I do what he says once, I won't ever say no. What if I am a good girl for him and that's it?

I am a good girl for any man who wants their turn.

“Little girl. Fighting me will only get you hurt,” he growls, biting his bottom lip.

I sit looking at him, making no movement to undress. It makes me shudder as I look at the grin on the man's face.

He’s enjoying me being scared, and I can't turn it off or fake it. I have already moulded my body to act.

He walks over to me, grabbing my hand. I'm taken harshly off the bed to my feet before I’m turned around and thrown with force on the bed again, my face buried into the blanket as his hand firmly presses it down. I’m struggling to breathe.

The man rips my black leggings down, and the same with my pink underwear, parting my legs. His hands brush my ass, making me feel so incredibly uncomfortable.

Tears fall from my eyes onto the blanket cover.

“The more you fight me, the more I will punish and hurt you. Little girl, I don't want to hurt you. It’s in your best interest to relax.” His words are like sour milk that’s been in the fridge for a week and left a tangy smell.

I refuse to answer. When he pulls my hair, my head lifts off the bed, hanging, back until I’m forced to throw my neck back against his tight grip on the back of my head.

The man gets up and walks to the other end of the room, where he opens the black matte wardrobe, revealing it to be full of dresses and heels. He picks up a pair of black Jimmy Choo heels and brings them back toward me.

I go back to being frozen. His grip is back on me, my legs spread open again.

“Just know I warned you. Now I have to teach you a lesson.” The heels are taken toward my back. He traces the pointed edge on my lower back, scraping me until his hands on my ass again. Tormenting me.

The man's firm large hands spread my ass cheeks open, holding them in place while the thin heels shoved into my hole, making my body jerk from the pain.

“Please stop. I’m begging you, please just leave.” My head presses harder down on the bed, while I cover the sheets in my tears.

“NO, NO, NO, fucking no. Please, I'm begging you, don’t do this!” I scream so loud, all my energy is gone; I don't have it in me.

Three times he has thrust into me, each time more painful than the last.

I relax, giving up the fight, letting the man take what he wants, closing my eyes, and thinking of anything but this moment.

“Come for me, Little Girl.” The sour words make my stomach curdle as he pulls my hair, jerking my head toward him.

He presses a kiss to my lips, grabbing my chin to force me to obey.

I feel sick, like all I want to do is throw up in his mouth.

He kisses me over and over, angry, desperate.

He tastes like cigarettes and pizza, making me feel more sick.

Minutes after, my body starts to shake, making me cum right on the shoe the man retrieves from inside me.

I feel dirty. I didn't ask for it and I didn't want to cum, but it was a normal body reaction, one I have no control over again.

The man smirks at me, throwing my face back down and leaving me on the bed, not giving a care in the world that he just took advantage of a fifteen-year-old.

Even after I said no. I told him to stop. I tried. I fucking tried but it didn’t work, he overtook me.

I screamed over and over. I tried to fight him off me, but it wasn't any use. Once again, a man was in control and had his way with me, and there wasn’t a thing I could do. No matter how much I screamed the words no or tried to fight him off, he won like they always do.

If there is one thing I have learned, it is that men take what they want, no matter the consequences.

I lay on the bed in the same position as before. I’m sore, weak, and unable to move.

The door opens, but I don't flinch. Someone sits on the bed rubbing my back. A voice vaguely speaks.

My mind is numb. I can't tell how long I have been lying here, but I'm in so much pain, my stomach feels like I'm getting punched over and over.

I don't have to move to know that.

I want to die; I don't want to be alive—that’s the only thing circling my mind at this very moment.

“This may hurt. I’m sorry. Let me get you cleaned up.” All I hear is a shallow male voice, deeper than the last one.

I’m too weak to fight. A hot cloth is placed between my thighs as the man cleans me, doing the same to my ass.

“What’s your name? Mine is Killian,” he asks, carrying on cleaning with the hot water and towel.

“Ash. Where am I?” I ask, half knowing the answer but hoping I am given more information.

My eyes look at the heels in the rearview, lying on the floor covered in my blood. My breathing hitches, remembering what just happened, and yet this man isn't trying to hurt me, even though I know just because he's not now doesn't mean he won’t take this as an invitation for later.

“Nice to meet you, Ash. I need to get you in the bath. Will you let me?”

He asks as if I say no, he won’t just take me there, anyway.

I don’t answer. The room is silent. It’s only now that I look up and take in where I am.

The walls are off-white and dirty. The bed I'm lying on is low and nearly on the floor. The floor is brown wood, covered in scratches. The sight of my surroundings in my new home brings me nausea in the pit of my stomach.

“Will it matter if I say no?” My head curls as I try to turn around, but I’m in too much pain. I give up.

“No, it won’t.” He picks me up, cradling me and walking me out the door. Down the hall, we take two lefts until we come upon another door. He kicks open to a bathroom, the bathtub already filled, and I’m lowered in.

The water is hotter than I would have liked. I sit with my knees to my chest, my arms hugging them. Killian walks over, placing cloths in the water before he wipes my body clean.

I have the urge to ask him to add bleach to the water, but I don’t think bleach could clean me.

Nothing could clean away the touch of the man's hand all over my body in every sacred place, but now there is his.

My body is nothing, at least not to me anymore.

It's the man's pride and pleasure, and I just worship the ground he walks on.

If I were to dunk my whole body in the water and stop breathing, would he save me, or would he know this is a better choice than having a man violate your body at any given time?

I have no worth on this earth. All I am is a child under a man's command, but worse, I am molded to take it like a good girl.

How long until he has my soul, dignity, and my very reason to live?

Tears gather at the back of my eyes, falling without warning and dropping into the water. I feel dirty, used. Just like a dirty whore!

What kind of father sells their teenage daughter to a grown man and lets them rape and beat them up?

The man carries me back to my room, leaving me curled up on my side.

I’m taken to my arms, and the red patches from picking my skin form.

My fingers graze my skin. When I find multiple bumps, I'm unable to stop myself from digging my nails, picking them over and over.

My eyes squint when the pain gets too much, but I carry on until I'm left with blood oozing out of my arm in various places.

I apply pressure to my arm with my hands, trying to stop the bleeding.

The constant pain is there.

Sometimes, even the worst pain can feel good.

When I sit picking my skin, I feel as if I’m giving myself the punishment I deserve.

The voices calm down when I do what they say, but sometimes I wish the voices would leave.

I don't like hurting myself, but it's all I know. I’m not built the same as anyone else.

Pain is the very thing I have known since I was a child.