2. NO STRANGER TO PAIN

The door swung open.

 I could hear it creak, cheat asses, no matter how much money they had, still buying cheap things. You can never take a pig out of shit, I guess. My head hung low and you would think I was unconscious but I was there. I could hear everything, counting thirteen hearts just that moment. I knew the number would multiply as the day passed.

They talked to each other, laughter heard echoing all through the dark halls built for nothing but wickedness.

They had left their soul mates, left their children to come and get a piece of me. I should have been gloating. I brought old men, all across town to come and have some fun in their pathetic lives.

I was sure they stayed up all night dreaming of the minute they would walk through my door. I was sure it tickled them so much they even dreamed about it. I was sure it was all that filled their heads as they bent over their mates and fucked them. Their lives were that pathetic, so pathetic, beating up a young girl was all the excitement they could get.

I would spit out but my mouth was dry. I felt like just throwing my legs and kicking all around me but I knew that would only peak their excitement. They were sick, all of them.

The worst of their kind were those that would come in and run their fingers through my hair. They would ask me how I am, they would even give me food and water. Some would even bring me beautiful clothes they knew I could never wear. They would pour all their problems on me and I used to fall for it. I used to look forward to them, talking back and accepting all their advances but all they had wanted was for me to get connected, then, they would pull the plug in the most painful way they could.

I had fallen for one I would admit. His name was  Brandon. I was sure he was coming even as I hung there. He had been the sweetest, talked about the day he would set me free. He talked about the home he would build for me. He talked about children, that fuck’n bastard. I hated him, I hated him so much.

One day he walked in, his hand coming to my cheek with me leaning into his touch. His hand had slipped away and I had craved it. My mouth had opened, greeting him, asking him of his day and work. I had been sixteen, the kindest anyone had ever been to me.

His body had turned, a whip in his hand. At first I had brushed it off, I had thought he would never hurt me. I had thought he wanted to set me free but he had just been fattening me for slaughter. He had whipped my body so hard there had been no part of me that had not been bleeding.

And the most painful thing was that I had been asking all along, asking him what I had done. I had apologized all through out, taking out words that I hated with all my life, telling him I loved him.

He had just been sick.

I shook my mind from the thoughts it had ventured into. I closed my eyes to open them as the hiss pulled from a man.

My nose sniffed, the awful smell of death attacking me. They all smelled as if they were leeching apart—disgusting, but each disgusting scent was different thus I knew who it was.

It took everything in me not to roll my eyes. It was old, disgusting Manson. He was so pathetic he could not even keep his soul mate. I groaned, lolling my head up to stare at him. Damn my mouth for being so dry. He walked over to the table, his hand running through the different weapons.

If I could not escape, I would rather die.

I cleared my throat, watching him pick up the thick spiky bat. It had nails protruding at the head, coated with my blood. My body ran cold, shivering where I was. I swallowed but that would not help, it never helped. I tried to tell myself it would be over soon but that also never helped. I was panicking hard and fast. As smart of a mouth I had, I was still a child inside. I was afraid of the dark, I was scared all the time and as everyone, I did not want to be beaten like a ball one would play with. Each step he took it left me shaking and I hated it. I hated it so much. I did not want to show how scared and vulnerable I was. I did not want to cry but the tears were rushing up so fast.

You would think after seven years I would be used to it but I was not. How could I be used to such treatment? I wanted to cry so hard, cry to the mother I never had, cry to the dead God these people worshiped but I hated him too. I thought my blood had frozen in my veins, thought my brain had finally kicked the bucket.

I quickly tried to think of a happy memory but fuck it, I had none.

It was really going to happen.

I saw the flesh of silver and just squinted my eyes so hard waiting for impact.

He hit me so hard my body swung back but the nails had drove into my skin, stuck there. I wanted to scream, wanted to scream so hard.

It was so painful. I thought he had ripped the right side of my body out.

He forcefully pulled the bat back, ripping my skin apart. It was so much pain I got so high on it.

The scream was caught in my throat, every part of me as if falling off with the blood immediately raining down as if it was summer.

Someone help!

I was screaming in my head, screaming so loud but before I could even take a breath again, the next strike hit. My mouth opened, my head dipping back as he ripped the bat away.

He only had five minutes so he was making every hit worth it. Before I had used humour to get by but they took the punishments so extreme I could barely talk all through out.

Blood poured from my mouth and nose to a point I thought I would cry nothing but it.

The silver in the ropes also drove in with each swing, taking the pain higher than possible. I bit my tongue to let go of it. I coughed hard, each cough just exploding to so much pain. Five minutes had never been so long.

The bat kept coming and coming, and each time I thought I would die, each time I thought my soul was letting go, thought it was finally giving up the fight and letting go but fuck that piece of shit, it held on. Why? Why?

Please could I just die.

I cried out. As much as everyday I said I was not going to cry, I did. I cried so hard mucus ran out with blood. I cried like a hungry baby at night. I cried so hard any soul would be touched but not those in that hall and room. Not the man who had found me by the street as a baby. Not the man I had tried since I was five to please, tried to make happy. Not the woman who I had wanted so much for her to love me, to see me as her child. No one cared, no one helped.  

Fuck them, I did not need them.

“ You will rot in hell you stupid ugly blood sucking asshole who can’t even protect his mate!”

In my mind I had spoke it all out so perfectly. In my head I had gave it to the bastard, I had driven it home, made him hate himself but in reality, it had all come out as me blowing out bubbles of blood that had been in  my mouth.

Even that had me cry harder, I could not even piss on them. I wanted to raise the middle finger but my hands were bound. My pain had no bounds, my head hanging so dangerously with the fight leaving me as the strikes came over and over until they all stopped.

My ears were ringing, my hands shaking. I was not even really sure that he had stopped because of the pain that had paralyzed me.

I felt myself drift in and out, and if I did not know better I would have been happy. If I did not know better, I would have been laughing at them, laughing that they would finally lose their source of joy but that was not the case.

A bucket of cold water was poured on me, my skin shrinking with my wounds coming together, the skin attaching itself back, trying to mend itself. Before, they would wait an hour or so for the wounds to at least to close up but time was money and time was moving on.

The door opened, hearing the noise outside, the number having doubled of people waiting.

My painfully drumming heart was as if drowning in water, finding it hard to breathe, heaving with the cold from the water making me feel like I was high from a fever.

I heard the feet, trying to ready myself for the next assault but still consumed with the aftermath of the last.

I shook so bad even my head shook, even my hair shook. I shook so bad I thought my wrist would finally slit in half with my body sliding out to the floor. Blood from there rolled down to my shoulders and armpits, the skin having pulled apart, the silver coated rope sitting on an open wound with it burning so bad.

The tears slid down. Could they just give me a break? Could they just please give me a second to collect myself? Could they just leave me alone?

More tears flowed down, sniffling with feet coming to view. Panic rose because I did not know where my new attacker was. I could not see what he had picked as his poison, I could not……

The scream ripped out like a band aid pulled from a wound, fast and hard.

I convulsed, my body jerking around yet it had cried out too early as another strike came.

I felt my teeth as if they were pulling from my gums, begging in my head, begging so loud.

Mercy please, mercy.