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CHARLOTTE

Song- How Villains Are Made, Madalen Duke

“ H ow does that feel, you dirty whore?” A deep voice whispers in my ear.

I let out a whimper as my brain spirals to the place I never want to go to.

The place that will destroy me if I go too deep.

My survival is attributed to my refusal to ever open that door.

Ten years I’ve been numb. Molded into this woman I no longer recognize.

I’m angry. I’m hurt.

I can’t let myself feel the pain. That won’t keep me alive, and it won’t save my daughter.

One day the time will come, and I’ll process my past.

But now I’m fueled by hatred and the thought of revenge.

I’ve never been allowed a moment to be soft.

I am simply a vessel. I cannot open that door.

I cannot let the monster in.

“Filthy. Fucking. Slut.” Each word is said with venom, and it’s a punch to the gut.

Winding me and closing in my chest.

No.

I push Vlad out of my brain. He won’t be the end of me.

“Is that what you like? A big dick using you? Huh? Is that what you need?”

I shake my head as my eyes burn from holding back the tears. I won’t cry, they won’t break me.

The girl next to me moans loudly, having the opposite experience to me, and it sets off panic.

My hands go numb above my head, the cold seeping into my bones as I shake them, and a searing pain rips into my wrists from the raw, angry red scars.

The nights tossing and turning, trapped in my bed with the devil.

“Fuck,” I cry out.

My throat closes in; I can’t swallow. It’s like he’s breathing heavily in my ear. His stale cigarette breath. His offensive aftershave.

“Whore.”

This time, the taunt is in a Russian accent. Well, to me it is.

The line between reality and my nightmares is blurring, the chilling sounds of my dreams now echoing in my waking hours, a terrifying fusion I can’t seem to break free from.

I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head, trying to breathe. But the more I try, the harder my chest tightens.

My heart has never raced so fast.

Blood is everywhere when I close my eyes.

Dead body after dead body.

My mom. My dad.

Isabella.

“Slut. Whore. Cheat.”

This isn’t real. I keep telling myself over and over.

My heart hammers against my chest, a frantic bird trapped in my ribs, its rhythm so strong I feel it pulsing in my neck. It’s all I can hear.

Vlad’s dark brown eyes bore into mine, and a scream escapes my lips as he violently tears open his belt.

With a cruel smirk he taunts, “You want this, don’t you, you dirty bitch? You deserve this.”

The blood rushes from my head to my toes, leaving a dizzying, tingling numbness.

While the dildo vibrates, I feel a mix of pleasure and desperation, my body reacting with involuntary twitches and trembling movements. I can’t. I can’t fucking do this.

I gasp for air, a burning sensation in my lungs, bile rising in my throat, a bitter taste coating my tongue.

A searing inferno consumes my body, while simultaneously, a glacial shard of ice impales my heart, creating a contrast of unbearable heat and bone-deep cold.

“No. No. No,” I cry out in desperation.

I hear Vlad’s deep chuckle echo through the room. Taunting me.

“Help me,” I whimper.

Visions of Vlad grabbing Isabella spring into my mind. The more I fight, the weaker my body feels.

A flash of light blinds me before it fades to black again.

I try to speak.

Begging for help, but my body won’t let me as I fall limp.