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THE CATERPILLAR

A unt Stephanie moves away from me, and the light is nearly dim, but not completely dark, so I can see that she’s heading toward the door. My eyes follow her, and I wish and pray my body could do the same. A tear streams from my eye, as I think about tonight.

I can sense it’s bad, real bad, because she never stays with me. She never strokes my hair and she certainly doesn’t ask for my forgiveness.

I can’t speak, but some guy was in here before Aunt Stephanie came back into the room. His eyes locked on mine.

Mom.

My heart aches, because I wish she was here right now. If she was, then none of this would be happening.

The man’s eyes were wide—scared, worried, even—but he never said a word to me. Behind him was my aunt, watching his every move. He was real tall, big, with dark hair and matching eyes, he had the presence of a silver fox, but not in a "hot" way. It was something else—something deeper. When he was here, all I wanted to say to him was help.

Speaking.

I used to do so naturally for such a long time. Lately, it has become near enough impossible to figure out what to say. I should have learned to sign, when I had the chance back in eighth grade. Then again, it couldn't help me right now, because I cannot move anything, only my eyes. What good are they? Nothing.

What is wrong with me?

What has she put in my food this time?

I may be young, and haven’t stepped inside a classroom for however long, but I’m not completely stupid. No more do I think about even getting a high school diploma, the only thing on my mind is survival. Aunt Stephanie has been extra nice tonight, it makes me nervous, because I don’t know why.

The realization she’s doing all this to me is for money. I remember Mom used to say that the reason her and Aunt Stephanie fell out time and time again, was because of money. I overheard Grandma tell Mom that Aunt Stephanie had some money problems so Grandma had bailed her out a couple of times, and Grandma should stop doing it. Grandma vowed last month was the last time. Then I moved here and she was my permanent guardian and I assumed that it had something to do with her having expensive taste, but I can see now it’s a lot more than that. She loves money, but doesn’t want to work for it.

Aunt Stephanie has never worked, well not that I know of. Not like Mom when she couldn’t come to watch me perform in a school play a couple of times, because she had some big PR client and she had to go to the museum where she was holding the exhibit. She promised she would make it up to me, and she did, more than did with a new phone and a big shopping trip.

Dad was a lawyer with a lot of stress. He promised he would give it up and maybe become some sort of lawyer which didn’t involve defending pricks. I didn’t understand what he meant at the time, but Grandma told me he wanted to be a tax lawyer, or any other type of lawyer with less stress.

Another tear escapes my eye.

My life would be different if they were still alive.

Better than it is right now.

I don’t know what I’m wearing, or if I’m wearing anything at all, because I can’t move my body. Aunt Stephanie did move me around before.

I lie on my back with the sheets against my skin, my body still and waiting. The room is dim, lit only by the soft glow of the lamplight, casting shadows on the walls when the silence is broken by footsteps.

I don't recognize them as my aunt's, because she's the only one who comes into this room. Until tonight, before the other guy came in here. The one I prayed would call the police or even better rescue me. These footsteps are different, they're slow and deliberate, as if they are the beat of a distant drum. Within a short space of time I hear so many footsteps, meaning that not only is one person coming in here, but a few.

"Leave us!" A stern voice commands.

I can hear my aunt whining, but I can't see her, then I hear the door close, and my breath quickens. What does he plan to do with me? Time seems to stand still as I wait for him to make himself known. He does as he moves to my eye view. I'm watching him as he admires me. It's then it dawns on me as his eyes widen: when my aunt said she would make me clean and beautiful, she didn't mean by making me wear something pretty.

I'm naked on this bed, and this man is admiring me. He's over six feet, his shoulders broad, his stance effortless but strong. His silver hair gleams softly in the dim light, thick and neatly styled as the gel reflects in the light, slicked down. His eyes catch mine. They're sharp, the color a striking blue, though not entirely warm. There's an intensity to them that sends a flicker of something through me, a jolt I can't name. For a moment, I forget how to breathe.

He doesn't move, not yet. My breathing quickens, but then I can only see my chest moving up and down. As he gets closer, I realize he's not wearing anything. He's naked as the day he was born, he smiles to the right side of the bed. I can't move my head to see if someone else is at the other side, but they must be, because he wouldn’t be smiling to my feet.

"Beautiful," the voice on the other side of me says. I can't see him clearly, but he confirms what I'd heard earlier. There were more footsteps and there are more people in this room. How many? I don't know.

"Yes, just as we were promised," says a different voice, coming from the same side as the man, but lower down the bed.

The man by my side distracts me as he bends down, moving his lips so close to mine. I want to scream. Leave. But I can't do anything. I hate the way he can do whatever he wants with me. I hear another voice, and I can't make out what he's saying—maybe he is by the door—but fear takes over as I realize I'm in a room with not one naked man, but most likely four.

"Can you feel me touching your feet, precious," the man at the other side of the bed purrs.

My eyes look at the man helplessly, the man in front of me. I catch the faintest trace of his cologne—something earthy, a mix of sandalwood and tobacco, rich and warm. It settles around me, intoxicating, the scent curling into my lungs like it belongs to the very air I breathe. I feel my pulse pick up, my body reacting to him before my mind can even catch up. There's no rush in him—no urgency. He moves with ease as if he has all the time in the world. He's close now, close enough I can feel the heat of him radiating, the space between us growing smaller, the air thicker. His eyes never leave mine, not even for a second.

"She felt you touching her, her eyes shifted from left to right. She can hear us but can't say a thing. Are you filming this? It is beautiful…" he purrs.

"Yes." Another voice. Another person who hasn't spoken.

How many people are in this room? There's something about the way he holds my gaze, as if he's studying me, reading me. His eyes flicker down, just for a moment, and I catch a hint of a smile. As if he knows something about me which I haven't yet discovered. I lie here, my chest rising and falling with each shallow breath, the silence around me almost suffocating in its stillness. I watch him—his movements, his presence—draw closer. I can't look away.

But then, without warning, there's a sound so deafening—a violent crash which makes me jump, my heart thunders in my ears. I don't have time to react. The door splinters, shards of wood flying in every direction, and someone storms into the room. I can tell, because there's so much commotion. This person is unwanted, but I can't hear what he's saying properly because even the man by my side looks frightened as his eyes widen. No more am I his attention, but only the man who has come into the room.

What did he shout as he stormed in?

I freeze, my body locked in place, the blood draining from my face as a cold terror grips me.

My mind scrambles, searching for something, anything to do, but there’s nothing. I’m helpless, paralyzed in place. My voice is gone. My body is frozen.

The man shouts, his voice harsh and guttural, filled with fury. I hear words—snippets—but they’re distorted, tangled in a frantic mess of noise. The sound of glass shattering, the scream of something—or someone—filling the air. My pulse races, my skin cold with fear. I want to move, to do something, anything, but I can't. I’m trapped in my own body, a spectator to the chaos unfolding in front of me.

I hear shouting from the hall—someone else, maybe the police? A neighbor? A friend? The sound of something heavy hitting the floor. A thud. A scream. The man’s furious voice roared again, now joined by the other—a woman’s voice, sharp with panic, desperate. It’s too much, too fast.

Aunt Stephanie?

Then, another crash. The room seems to tilt as though the floor itself is shifting beneath me.

And then, I hear her clearer—my aunt. Her voice, frantic, calling my name. I can barely process the words. Her voice is so high-pitched that it’s difficult to recognize it. The voice I’ve heard so many times, sounds different as if it is wrapped in fear. I hear the door slam against the wall as she rushes in, her footsteps frantic, uneven. "Get away from her!" she screams, but it’s too late.

There’s a sharp sound, followed by the echo of a gunshot. I gasp in my head, my aunt’s cry comes a second too late, her voice breaking in mid-sentence.

I’m still frozen. Still, helpless. I can’t move. Can’t scream. Can’t even blink.

The man is standing over her now, his face twisted, and I feel the room spinning. I can’t catch my breath, nor the tremor running through me.

And then, before I can register it, he turns to me.

He’s carrying me off the bed, my limbs weak and uncooperative. I try to scream, but my throat is tight, the sound strangled before it can form. He doesn’t care. His grip tightens around my arm, rough and unyielding.

The scent in the room shifts, no longer the calming lavender but something far more unsettling. It’s metallic, like iron left out in the rain, sharp and invasive. The air grows heavier, thick with the tang of blood.

I don’t even know where we’re going.

Everything’s a blur—the flashing lights outside, the taste of metal on my tongue, the deafening noise which seems to fill every inch of the room, my body caught in his grasp like a ragdoll.

And then, there’s nothing.

And everything goes black.

There’s no more sound.

No more light.

No more fear.

My mind unhooks from my body, as I float, no longer am I here, no longer am I anywhere.