Page 1 of Sadistic Obsession (Rise of Phoenyxx #1)

P hoenyxx

Moving shadows. Bursts of red... blue... green flash behind my eyes. I don’t want to open them. I won’t. I CAN’T.

“Open your eyes, Little Bitch!” a loud, shrill voice calls out from the cold, dark, dirty room. I squeeze my eyes shut tighter and shake my head from side to side.

I refuse to see them. I can’t see them.

All those people...all those faces...

All I can hear is the laughter, the mocking.

Please just make it stop! This has to stop!

I will not open my eyes! I cannot see. I don’t want to know.

They keep mocking me, and it’s getting worse. Someone, PLEASE God help me!

My wrists are screaming with pain from being hung in the shackles for so long. My hands and feet are raw and bleeding where they have me shackled to the wall.

I don’t know what time it is. I don’t know how long I’ve been here. I don’t know ANYTHING!

I'm just a little girl. I need it to end. NOW.

“Mother of FUCK!” I scream as I bolt upright off the thin, dingy mat lying on the ground. I'm drenched in sweat, shaking violently. I’m completely naked, stripped of anything of comfort.

I am sick of this nightmarish memory that plagues me damn near every night. It’s been as far back as my seventeen-year-old self can remember. My first memory.

I push my sweaty, thick, dark brown frizzy hair back from my face. “I hope to fuck they didn’t hear me,” I mutter. My heart is doing a fucking triathlon in my chest.

I slowly get up and attempt to peer at my murky reflection in the dusty window, trying to make out my face between the steel bars locking it shut. My emerald-green eyes blink back at me, my slightly tipped round nose, full bottom lip, and gaunt, pale appearance are barely visible in the glass.

Great... Just great. I’m in the attic again. What the shit did I do this time to end up in the fifth level of Hell?

My body freezes up as I start to remember. The Old Windbags brought me up here two or three days ago.

The old couple have had me since I was eight, but they’re sure as shit not my parents or any other relation.

I have no memory of before they took me in.

All I remember is being exhausted, sick, and in pain as I was led to their car by a mystery man in a black hoodie and jeans, who snatched me from the shackles and shoved me into their car.

His face was covered, head down, and it was so dark outside.

All I remember is stormy grey eyes and a lock of dark hair falling down his shadowed face.

I am pseudo-obsessed with finding out who the fuck he is. ..even to this day.

Betty and Matthew Solomon. Both are in their sixties.

Matty Boy has a permanent resting dick face, always scowling.

He's tall, over six feet, with white hair and brown eyes.

Betty Bitch is a loud and sadistic shrew.

Only five feet five, but is surprisingly strong for her age and stature.

She has perfectly coiffed, dyed brown hair and wrinkly, hazel eyes.

These sick fucks were so nice at first, even let me choose my own name—since I had no memory of who I was.

“Well, this is it”, the man says, pulling into a long driveway out in the country somewhere.

I gape up in awe at the enormous mansion, craning my neck back to see up to the top.

It has spires, and even a tower! It looks like a castle!

It's old, brick, brownish-tan, and has tons of floors.

The lawns are perfectly cut, and there are flowers and trees everywhere.

“This is your house?” I ask in disbelief.

“Sure is,” the man chuckles. He mentioned his wife but was alone when I was handed over.

He opens my car door and helps me out of it. “You ready to see the inside, little one?” he asks, with a broad smile. I just nod my head, struck speechless by the sight in front of me. He gently places a hand on my back to steer me inside.

I can’t believe how massive this is! Chandeliers everywhere, long carpets, and so many doors!

We enter into a sitting room, tastefully done in shades of cream and beige.

There's a long sofa and a couple of armchairs.

There's also a large TV mounted on the wall, above a fireplace.

My eyes widen as I glimpse the staff filing in to greet me.

They all give me a quick hello, and I smile shyly in reply, before they head off to continue their work.

The man guides me through a door, into a large office. An old lady is there, standing tall, hands behind her back. She frowns as she looks me up and down. “Must she have been brought in like this? In such a state of disarray?” she directs to the man.

“And what could I have done, Dear? She will clean up just fine in no time!” He grins at me.

“So, child, what is your name?” the woman asks.

“Um...I don’t know,” I whisper, eyes on the floor. “I don’t remember anything.” I swallow hard, hoping they won’t get mad.

“Well then...what shall we call you?” the woman asks.

“Pick any name you want,” the man encourages.

I squint my eyebrows in thought, restlessly shifting from foot to foot. I glance up at a huge painting above the large oak office desk, gasping in awe. “What is THAT?” I ask, looking at a beautiful red and orange bird, flying up and away from flames below it.

“Well, that’s a phoenix,” the man explains. “It rises from the ashes each time it dies, being reborn again.”

I start excitedly nodding my head. “THAT! That’s my name! Phoenix!”

“Then so it should be,” the man says with a finality in his voice. “Now come along, young Phoenix, let’s show you around!”

When I was thirteen, I decided I wanted to change the spelling of my “name”.

I stupidly still thought, back then, that I would eventually be let out into the world to meet other people.

I wanted a name that stood out, that was unique, like me.

So, I decided to change the spelling to Phoenyxx.

Although the old coots wouldn’t acknowledge the change, it was solid in my mind.

I have no clue why Betty and Matthew took me in. The compassion and kindness shown to me at first quickly turned to anger, violence, and abuse.

The first time I was tossed up into the attic was on my tenth birthday. I was upset that I didn’t get a gift or a cake.

As I started to pout, Betty marches right up to me, arms folded. “And what is your problem?” she inquires coldly.

“Where’s my present...and cake?” I demand.

“You ungrateful little shit,” she sneers. Grabbing my upper arm in a punishing grip, she yanks me up the stairs.

“Let me go! I’m a good girl!” I protest, dragging my feet against the stairs. Betty stops in front of an old, worn, oak door, digging in her pocket for the key.

“Street urchins who don’t appreciate what they already have go up HERE.”

As the door swings open, my wide eyes fill with tears.

I see a cold, sterile, tiny room, barely the size of a closet.

There's a used, dirty, thin mattress on the floor, and a plastic bucket in the corner.

The only window in the room is locked tight by metal bars.

It's filthy and terrifying. She shoves me in and slams the door shut, locking it behind her.

“You’ll STAY in here until you can give us a sincere apology!” she announces. I scream until I pass out on the cold floor in front of the door.

After that incident, I started being given food and water once or twice a day, depending on my behavior—usually bread or soggy oatmeal and water.

I DO have a bedroom downstairs, but it’s also tiny. Only large enough for a twin-size bed, a round wood table, and a bar attached to the wall to use as a closet. Of course, the door has an outside lock, too, so I’m still fucked.

As I got older, they started to put drugs in my food. They keep me weak and emaciated, so I can’t fight back against either of them...or the random men they allow to “visit” me in the attic.

I don’t know who any of them are, but they’re all sick fucks who like to torture girls. Which leads me back to the reason I’ve already been in the attic for three days.

I always hear them coming down the hall from my room, joking and laughing with the Windbags. This time was no different.

The door opens, and a fat, sweaty, beady-eyed, balding douchebag hurries through. What little hair he has is silver and thinning.

Great- what a way to spend my eighteenth birthday!

He squints at me, shivering in the corner, back against the wall.

A malicious grin crosses his face, and he moves closer.

Grabbing me by my hair, he pulls me out of the corner and throws me hard onto the floor.

“It’s going to be so fun to break you, little girl,” he snickers.

“You going to be good and do what I say? Or will you get that pretty little body all cut up?” He sneers as he flicks out a switchblade from his jacket pocket.

“On your back, little slut!” He shoves me hard backwards onto the mattress, quickly climbing on top of me.

His lower body pins me down as he climbs my body to hover by my face.

“FUCK...YOU...pedo bastard!” I scream.

He reaches down and slaps me in the face so hard, my ears ring. I spit in his mocking face. “Go fuck a duck you old fuck!”

He quickly fumbles with his zipper, pulling out his gross chubby dick.

“Open your mouth,” he demands. I press my lips together in refusal. He then reaches up and grabs my lower jaw, pressing in hard. I still resist. He then plugs my nose closed and waits.

Something transforms in me at this moment. A rush of warm electricity glides through my body, making my fingers and toes tingle. Within a few seconds, my burning lungs and aching jaw force my mouth to open. Instead of fear, a rush of white-hot rage fills me. All I can see is red.

He laughs in triumph, shoving his sweaty member into my mouth and down my throat.

Inch by inch, he fills my throat. I start choking and sputtering, but he keeps going.

He shoves it home, and it’s in so deep; I can’t get a single breath.

He cackles as tears stream down my face.

Then, to make it even worse, he pinches my nose shut again. And holds it.

I start thrashing my torso, trying to dislodge him. Nothing works. I'm starting to see stars in my vision, dangerously close to blacking out. He gets a look of rapture on his face as he moans, making me taste bile. His hand slips from my jaw as he moans and groans.

With an air of confidence and righteousness, I do the only thing I can think to do.

I...BITE...DOWN. HARD. I gnash my teeth back and forth like a saw, shaking my head like a dog.

A growl comes up from my throat when I feel the pop the skin makes when my teeth break through.

I can feel the tendons and gristle as I attempt to bite it off.

It's not easy—at ALL. I don’t have a strong enough grip with my jaw to tear through deeper.

His body is jolted off of me, giving me room to move my arms. I reach up to grab his balls, making a fist, then violently wrench them hard to the right.

He screams shrilly, frantically pushing me away from him.

“My dick! What the fuck did you do to my dick?”

His face turns white when he looks down to see the mangled member. I smile widely, letting the blood spill from my mouth and down my face. I can feel bits of skin between my teeth as I grin in triumph.

He falls to the floor, screaming for Betty and Matthew. He attempts to grab the knife off the floor, but I saunter over with a wide smile and flip it up into my hand. I get lost in the blinding beauty of the blade for a moment. All I can hear is my blood thrumming through my veins.

Betty and Matthew hear the commotion, so they rush into the room. Matthew's face turns green, and he looks away. Betty stalks up to me and knocks me down with a solid gut punch. I fumble with the knife and shoot my arm out towards her, attempting to cut her.

She too easily avoids the blade, sneers in my face, and then she starts kicking me in the head, over and over again. The last thing I hear her say as I succumb to the darkness is, “All bets are off!”