Empty Emotions

Celia 

“It’s time to let her go, Aron. Of what use is she to us in this house anyway? Your daughter Is a burden, and I’m sick of seeing her around.” I heard my stepmother’s voice loudly raging from the living room.

“And if she leaves, who will bring in money for the house? I hope you are not expecting me to go out there and work.” My father fired back.

“You cannot hide her from him forever. Give her up, or he will have your head.” She assured him.

I sigh in frustration as their loud voice kept echoing through the thin walls of my bedroom.

Death was better than the life I was being thrown into. I’ve always known that this day would come. I was made aware of my fate at a very young age, and I’ve been getting training from my stepmother about men and their sexual desires.

I’ll be a sex slave to not only one man whose name I’ve come to detest but to any other man he wishes to share me with.

I stared out of the small, grimy window of my bedroom, feeling the heaviness of my reality in my chest.

The world outside looked brighter, and freer, as if it was taunting me with its unattainable promises. I knew I was different from the other girls my age, cursed with a fate I never wanted.

I often wondered if I was really my father's daughter, or if there was some mistake at birth, some genetic error that made me this way. Maybe that could explain the darkness that haunted me.

I hate my birthday. It's the day I'm reminded of how much my parents despise me, how much they wish i was never born. They've never treated me with anything more than basic human decency; if anything, they usually ignored my existence. The only time they acknowledged me was when I had to hand over my meager earnings to them.

I'd hoped my birthday would never come, but I was wrong. On my eighteenth birthday, I heard a loud knock on the door of my father's shabby apartment. I startled in fear, the aggressiveness of the knock was unusual, then i stared out of my room window.

A man was waiting at our front door, his hand hovering over the broken knocker. "Open up, Mr. Weaver!" He yelled. It's time to hand her over."

I heard my father curse and stumbled to the door. He threw open the door, and I heard his frantic, pleading voice. Not that he wants me, but if I go,who would make him all that money. 

Curiosity took over me and I tiptoed to my room door, opened it and peered out.

"Please..." My father begged. "Ask him to give us six months. Six more months! She will work harder, I promise. We will pay your boss."

The guard pushed my father aside and entered the apartment. He scanned the room until his eyes landed on me, hovering behind the door.

Ah, there you are," he said with a smirk. "Mr Hamilton has been waiting for you."

My Stepmother shot into my face like a bullet, her eyes bloodshot and wide in alarm. "Stop hiding like little rat, you wretched girl!" She spat furiously. "It's time to go." She pulled me by the arm, dragging me to the living room. 

She shoved me forward, "Here she is, take her to your boss and tell him to stop bothering us." 

My mind raced, desperately looking for a way out. Panic surged through me, but I knew it was useless to fight. The Hamiltons had come to take me away, and I was just a puppet, helplessly caught in the strings of my father's mistakes.

My world fell apart at that moment. The life I had lived was being torn away, replaced by an uncertain future, tied to the whims of those who had power over me. I would be at their mercy, their toy, a thing in a sinister game.

As I walked forward, my legs shaking under me, I decided to face my fate with as much courage as I could muster. Deep inside me, a spark of resilience lit up, fueled by the knowledge that I would not be broken easily. The darkness that had haunted me would not define me; it would only make me stronger.

The guard grabbed me by the arm and dragged me out of the door. I try to resist, but he's too strong. I screamed for help, but no one came. I looked at my father, who watched with a mix of relief and guilt.

"Please, don't do this," I sobbed. "Please, let me go, "I begged. 

"Sorry, kid, but only you can save our family now," he said.

 My breath ragged, as my sniffling intensified. With tears blurring my vision, "And who... " I choked out. "Who will save me, Dad?"

"It's out of my hands. You belong to them now." My father said, distaste evident on his face.

I stared at him in disbelief. It was obvious he wasn't ready to beg for me any longer. His rejection only further confirmed the fear in my heart that he and my mother never wanted me around anyway.

My father closed the door behind me and locked it. I was left alone with the guard, who threw me into a black car and drove away.

What was I even expecting from a selfish father? The same man who saw me as nothing but an item to provide for our daily needs. From the time I could walk and talk, I'd been doing every job my hands could find, carrying his responsibilities on my narrow shoulders.

I didn't know where the guard was taking me, but I knew it would be terrible. I would never see my father again, not that he cared anyway. I was doomed to a life of misery and pain.

I wished I could escape, but I knew it was impossible. The Hamiltons have eyes and ears everywhere. They control everything in the city: the police, the media, the businesses, even the government. They were untouchable and unstoppable.

I wondered what the man called the devil would do with me. I've heard stories about his cruelty and sadism, how he tortured and killed his enemies and slaves for fun. 

I shivered as I imagined what horror awaited me at his mansion. I prayed for a miracle, but I knew it was hopeless.

I closed my eyes and wished I could open them and it was all a dream.

The car stopped in front of a huge iron gate that opened automatically. I saw a massive mansion looming in the distance, surrounded by a high wall and guarded by armed men. The guard drove through the gate and parked in front of the main entrance.

He got out of the car and pulled me out with him. I felt a surge of awe and fear as the guard escorted me inside the grand estate, the imposing doors closing behind me with a resounding thud.

I had never seen such wealth and splendor in my life. The entrance hall was lit by intricate chandeliers that cast a warm, golden glow on the marble floors, but something was unsettling in the air, a sense of power and secrets that made me shiver.

He dragged me to the door and rang the bell. A butler opened the door and greeted him with a nod.

"Good afternoon, sir. You must be here to deliver the package."

"Yes, I am," the guard said. "Where do you want me to put it?"

"Follow me, please," the butler said. He led us to a large hall with a grand staircase. He pointed to a door on the left. "The master is waiting for you in his study. He'll take care of the payment and the paperwork."

I looked around nervously, feeling out of place among the paintings and servants that adorned the walls. Their eyes seemed to follow me with curiosity and disdain as if they knew I didn't belong there. What did the Hamiltons want with me? I wondered. What had I done to attract their attention?

The guard led me deeper into the mansion, through a maze of corridors that seemed to twist and turn endlessly. I felt like a mouse trapped in a cat's lair, waiting for the inevitable pounce.

Everything in the mansion was sparkling clean and arranged in a particular order. Nothing like I've ever seen before. 

We finally reached a set of ornate double doors, polished to a shine. The guard pushed them open, revealing a luxurious study dimly lit by candles, heading towards another room.

The guard nodded and pushed me towards the door. He knocks and opens it without waiting for an answer. He shoved me inside and closed the door behind him.

 I found myself in a dark room filled with books, and paintings. Four guards lined the wall of the room. A fireplace burned in the corner, casting eerie shadows on the walls.

A figure sat on a chair by the window, his back turned to me. I felt a cold chill run down my spine as I entered the room. Immediately he heard the door close, he swiveled in the chair slowly turning to meet my eyes.

The man was nothing I expected. 

My eyes swept over him, taking in his entire look: lush blond hair held back in a ponytail, intense,  green eyes, like seaweed under water.

He was the picture of perfection, but I could sense something evil and sinister about him.

"Hello," he said in a deep and cold voice " You must be Mr. Weaver's daughter, I’ve been expecting you."