He Does Things To Me

I try not to think of how miserable my life is as i work everyday. To everyone at the cafe and bar, I’m the sweetest lady they’ve ever met.

I was a lady with the brightest smile and without a care in the world.

Alex made it especially clear that he hired me two years ago because he thought my smile could light up the room.

Everything people think of me is just a contrast of who I really am. I bear so much hate, so much anger and so much bitterness inside of me that I try to hide.

After Luciano let me go three years ago, I realised that if I wanted to be free totally I had to start from somewhere. I couldn’t stop him from getting an apartment down town for me where he could come and go as he pleases but he knows damn well he couldn’t stop me from getting a job and at least pick up the pieces of my life and put them back together.

It was hard.

First, no one wanted to hire someone who didn’t even complete her high school diploma. I stopped going to school right after Luciano took me away from the life I used to know.

I almost gave up and thought of myself as nothing but a failure and gave up on the prospects of actually leading a better life.

Not until I got lucky and Alex hired me.

I worked my ass off.

To get money. And to drown out the thoughts of Luciano.

But it never fully worked well because at the end of the day, I go home only to meet him waiting rather impatiently for me at home and no matter how tired I am or claim to be, he takes me until he’s fully satiated and I am totally worn out.

If I refuse, Luciano has his ways and it’s always better for me to just let him take me as he wishes rather than let him force himself on me so brutally.

Luciano doesn’t call.

He doesn’t text.

He just shows up. Alone. Without his men and returns back to the shadows and wherever he comes from.

He’s a constant in my life that wouldn’t budge no matter what happens. He’s everywhere and I know he watches my every move to make sure I don’t run away from him.

That’s why I’ve had about five unsuccessful attempts right from when he released me and let me go. Somehow, he always finds me before I step foot out of the city and punishes me in the most brutal way after I get caught.

Basically, my life is in shackles and no matter how hard I try to drain myself into work, I know that at the end of the day, it wouldn’t matter because I would still find my mind sinking into that sink hole of my raging emotions.

Like every other day, I was drained and my head ached too much to think about the things that made my life the hell hole it currently is. I made my way home with a heavy mind. Who knows what would await me at home now.

Probably a sinfully handsome devil who is hell-bent on ruining me till there’s nothing left of me any more.

I finally got to my apartment building and took the elevator up to my floor.

I passed by Nick’s door and I knew he probably isn’t home but out working and taking a few photography jobs. I really wished he was home so I could at least get the thoughts out of my mind.

I finally got to my door and inserted the key to unlock it.

I breathed in and out, hoping to God that Luciano isn’t inside because I wouldn’t be able to bear it tonight if he was.

The door clicked open and I slowly opened it to peek inside. I took in the smell of the air first and I knew instantly that I was safe and luciano isn’t waiting for me inside my apartment.

Breathing in a sigh of relief, I walked into the house and slumped straight on the couch.

Tired and weak all over.

From within my body and outside.

Everywhere!

I was tired and needed rest. From everything.

But it’s only a wishful thinking.

The nightmares will set in the moment I close my eyes to sleep.

Pathetic.

****

I was cuffed to the bed. Naked.

My legs were spread wide apart and held tied tightly to the wooden posts of the king sized bed.  My hands also assumed the same position over my head and the cuffs were so tightly strung around my wrists that it hurt and I know it would leave a bruise when I leave here. Or if I even survive another moment of torture today.

The room was big and empty.

The bed I was on was the only thing in the room.

It was a big room. Painted in the deepest shade of red and representing an ominous and dangerous place.

It was.

It was a torture room. Emptied out for the sole purpose of melting out punishment for whoever disobeys the authority and the rule over here.

The room was eerily quiet.

Not a single sound of dripping water or of ceiling rats or of any human movement.

Any human movement asides from my harsh building and my attempt to get wriggle myself out of the cuffs that geld me captive to the bedpost of the king sized bed.

It was hopeless.

I’ve been here more than a few times to know getting out of here was impossible. Not until I actually get the punishment for what I did wrong and what led me here in the first place.

I’ve been here long enough to know the excruciating pain I would go through and how weak and worn out it would make me feel for days to come.

I’ve been here ling enough to know that each time, there’s a hundred percent chance that I don’t survive the torture yet I do each time even if I wish for death.

The pain is always calculated.

Hard enough to hurt me in the most terrible ways but not enough to kill me.  I’ve had the closest taste of heaven yet I’m always brought back before I can actually taste my death. Most times, I actually see myself in a pool of my own blood, like I was dead after enduring so much pain from a torture session but then again, I wake up the next day to the familiar scene of the dungeons ceilings.  I hated it each time.

Each time, I asked for death.

But it never came.

Death is a terrible cheat and an unwelcome stranger who doesn’t know when to strike.

My parents didn’t ask for it, it got dished out to them like a food on a golden plate. And when I ask for it, all I get is a taste of it and nothing more only for me to repeat the cycle all over again.

As I laid on the bed with my naked self spread out bare for the eyes of my punisher, I thought of the ways I would get tortured today again.

Will I be burned? My butt still bares a few scars from the burns of a few weeks ago yet to fully even heal.

Will that hot iron ball be put inside me again? Shit! Nothing hurts more than having that thing sink inside of me and cause a burning sensation that is anything but good to swell from the depths of my stomach.

Will I be whipped? Where? My butt probably has no space for new scars and fresh marks and it would probably give way and tear up one of these days.

Or will I just be taken without my consent again? I laughed bitterly at myself. When did my consent ever matter in the first place? If it did, I wouldn’t be tired on here like a sheep ready fro slaughter.

The giant door of the torture room creeks open.

And in came the butcher who would slaughter me.

He stood by the door and cast a shadow from the door to me on the bed. The room was dimly lit by a single candle and saw all I saw was him in a cloak of his own shadow.

Just his shadow alone brings unspeakable fear inside of me. The fear eats me up and my heart beats at the anticipation of what he would do to me again.