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ALESSIA

I blink awake, my mind foggy and disoriented. The air is thick and stale, each breath a reminder of my captivity. My surroundings are bleak: the rough, cold concrete walls close in on me, and the faint sound of dripping water echoes ominously. I try to move, but the ropes binding my wrists restrict me, biting into my skin. I spot Mara and Valentina across from me, slumped in their chairs, tied up.

The shadows dance across the walls, creating a haunting landscape that mirrors my fear. I close my eyes, attempting to block out the panic rising within me, but a sudden shout pierces the silence—my heart races. I strain to listen, each sound amplifying my dread.

The door creaks open, and a figure steps inside, their presence casting a long silhouette. A woman. I don’t recognize who she is, but I suspect that she knows who I am. She approaches with a predatory smile, an embodiment of my worst fears.

“Ah…look who’s awake,” she taunts, her voice dripping with malice. I shudder as she grips my hair, tugging sharply. A jolt of pain shoots through me, mingling with my humiliation. I feel so small, so helpless.

As she leans closer, the stench of her perfume overwhelms me, a sickening reminder of my reality. I can’t suppress the whimper that escapes my lips. Her laughter echoes as she leans back, relishing my distress.

“Who are you?” My voice is hoarse, and my eyes sting.

She lets out a menacing laugh, before she calls out, “Boys!” Two large stocky men step out from the darkness. One of them moves to grab something from the corner, and the other goes to untie me from the chair, before tying my hands behind my back and pushing me to the cold, stone floor.

I’m lying on the hard ground, strapped down, unable to move. My heart races as I sense the cool air against my skin, but a chill runs deeper—into my bones. I hear the sound of rushing water, and dread pools in my stomach.

Suddenly, I feel the cloth being placed over my face. It's heavy and suffocating, cutting off my vision. Panic surges within me as I realize what’s about to happen. My breaths quicken, but the fabric clings to my face, making it impossible to inhale. I want to scream, but the sound catches in my throat.

Then, the water starts pouring. It rushes over the cloth, and I feel an immediate wave of terror wash over me. My body instinctively struggles, thrashing against the restraints. My lungs scream for air, but there’s none to be found. The world narrows, and my senses are overwhelmed—the sound of water rushing, the darkness behind my eyelids, and the terrifying grip of panic tightening around my chest.

Time distorts. Each second stretches into infinity as I fight against the urge to breathe, knowing that every gasp will only fill my lungs with water. I can’t escape the crushing realization that I am drowning. I’m teetering on the edge of consciousness, the instinct to survive battling with the darkness creeping in.

As I feel myself slipping, a part of me wonders if this is the end. The desperation to escape is intense, but it’s overshadowed by the numbing grip of despair. Just when I think I might pass out, the cloth is pulled away, and I’m hit with a rush of air. But it doesn’t last long; I’m drawn back into the nightmare, the cycle repeating, my mind fracturing under the strain.

Every moment feels like a lifetime. I’m lost in a whirlwind of fear, pain, and hopelessness. All I can cling to is the flickering hope that this will end—that somehow, I’ll find a way to break free from this torment.

Just as I feel my consciousness slipping, darkness takes over.

* * *

I wake again to the sound of my own cries. The room swims into focus—bare walls, the cold floor beneath me. I sit up, gasping, but the moment is fleeting. Helen’s grip returns, her fingers tangled in my hair, yanking me back into the depths of my nightmare. I’m alone this time with Helen. No one other than her and I.

“Did you think you could escape?” she says with a sneer, her breath hot against my face. I try to look away, but the sheer terror of her presence keeps me frozen in place.

She tugs on my hair so hard that when she pries her fingers from the strands, a clump comes free. But she doesn’t stop there, her hand rises and strikes me hard enough that I feel my cheek sting.

Time becomes meaningless. Each moment stretches into eternity as I oscillate between consciousness and the void. I hear the distant screams of my friends, their agony wrapping around me like chains. It’s a reminder that I’m not alone, yet it does little to ease my suffering.

In these moments of clarity, I cling to thoughts of freedom. I imagine the sunlight breaking through the darkness, the warmth of my friends’ laughter. These fleeting thoughts become my sanctuary, a fragile thread of hope in an otherwise suffocating despair.

As I come to once more, I feel a flicker of something inside me—a resolve buried beneath the weight of fear. I am more than this torment, more than her plaything. I begin to visualize a plan, no matter how distant it seems.

With each passing moment, I remind myself: I will not break.

* * *

When I awaken again, I find myself enveloped in darkness, an oppressive void that swallows every ounce of light. The silence is deafening, a heavy blanket smothering my senses. I strain my ears for any sound—footsteps, whispers, anything to remind me that I am not utterly alone. But there’s nothing. Just an eerie stillness that presses against my thoughts, amplifying the dread swelling in my chest.

Time loses all meaning here. I can’t tell if I’ve been here for a moment or a lifetime. My heart pounds in my ears, each thud a desperate reminder of my existence. The isolation wraps around me like a thick fog, dense and suffocating, making it hard to breathe. I feel the weight of it pressing down, squeezing the air from my lungs. I’m trapped in my own mind, my thoughts echoing endlessly against the walls of my consciousness.

Every moment spent in this darkness stretches into an eternity. I want to scream, to break the silence, but the sound feels trapped inside me. It claws at my throat, but no words come out. I instinctively reach out, my hands searching for something—anything to ground me—but there’s nothing. No surface to touch, no reassuring presence. The emptiness is overwhelming, an abyss that threatens to swallow me whole.

I close my eyes tightly, trying to block out the sensation of being alone, but that only deepens my sense of despair. I am engulfed in a cacophony of memories—echoes of laughter, fleeting moments of joy that now feel so distant, so unattainable. I grasp at those memories like a lifeline, but they slip through my fingers, leaving me more isolated than before.

Every thought magnifies in this void, spiraling into a chaotic storm of anxiety and fear. I feel as if the walls are closing in on me, their presence a stark reminder of my helplessness. I try to focus on something—anything—to anchor myself, but my mind races, conjuring up every fear and regret I’ve ever had. Each memory cuts deeper in the dark, exposing my vulnerabilities like raw wounds. I replay conversations I wish I could take back; moments of weakness I wish I could erase.

Panic rises within me, a relentless tide that claws at my chest and threatens to drown me. I’m losing myself, piece by piece, to this darkness. I clutch my head in frustration, willing my thoughts to quiet down, but they only intensify. The silence becomes a living thing, wrapping around me like chains, binding me to my fears. I can almost hear their whispers, taunting me, reminding me of all the things I am—flawed, weak, and alone.

What terrifies me most is the sensation of slipping away. I fear what I might become in this solitude, what darkness will take root in my mind when left unchecked. The ghosts of my thoughts become my only companions, each one more sinister than the last. I catch myself imagining the worst—faces I love twisted in pain, their cries echoing in this void, blending with my own desperation.

I want to escape this hell, to feel the warmth of sunlight on my skin, to hear the comforting sounds of laughter, the chatter of life. But here, in this endless night, I am alone. The weight of that isolation is crushing, pressing down on me until I can barely think. I am left with nothing but my own thoughts, and they are slowly unravelling me.

With each passing second, the darkness seeps deeper into my soul. I long for a flicker of hope, a sign that this will end. But the silence swallows my pleas, and I am left in this endless, tormenting void, where despair reigns and the clouds loom large.

I don’t even know why this is happening.

* * *

The harsh lights turn on abruptly, and the door swings open. Helen walks in with a tall man that has a stoic look on his face. She’s grinning from ear to ear. The man stands behind Helen—a couple of steps behind her—and she comes to a stop in front of me. I’m still tied to the fucking chair.

“How’s my son’s little whore?” She sneers and I spit right in her eye. Helen shrieks and slaps me, making the flimsy chair rock and nearly fall over. She’s rubbing her face in disgust, and I feel vindictive. I won't sit here and be docile for anyone.

That changes the second she turns to the man and orders, “Strip her.”

“What?” Acid burns my throat, and I try to untie myself. I pull at my restraints until I feel my skin peeling, but it’s no use. The man descends on me. “No!” I scream. “NO! DON’T TOUCH ME!” He doesn’t stop. He’s not stopping. Oh, God. Tears burn their way down my face. “Pl—” He rips my shirt open. Bile rises. I wish it would suffocate me. Helen says something, but I don’t hear anything other than the tearing sound of my clothes. I don’t see anything other than his disgusting hands on me. Hands I don’t want on my skin. He steps back after yanking my pants off, and I cower into myself, wanting to disappear.

Helen leans behind me, pulling my head backward, and it’s only then that I realize that I’m screaming. “Take what you want from her.”

“NO! DON’T TOUCH ME.” I let out a guttural scream. Someone. Anyone. Please help me. He paws at me like I’m something he can touch freely. Without permission or enthusiasm, I try to kick him, but he cages my legs between his meaty thighs. I rock the chair, trying to make it fall over. Hot palms cover my body in ways I don’t want. Everything hurts.

In the end, nothing works. Helen and her minion brutalize me in this dingy warehouse, and I know, deep done in my bones, that I’ll never recover. No matter how much I scream or beg, it won’t stop.

It. Won’t. Stop.