Slavery

Chapter 7

Hello, friend, 

Today. I hold no pencil. Im having this conversation with you in a little magical place I call my mind. 

I currently lay designated in a small room. It looks as if it were a prison cell, although it has a small window. Covered by a piece of dangling fabric. 

I cradle up in the corner, lonely. I havent had a decent meal for merely four days. 

Im trying to put together all the puzzle pieces. I was asleep at the desk of my hospital cubicle, and I woke up here. 

I reached down, twirling the threads that hung from my sweater, pain shot through out my bottom half and I failed to understand as to why that was.

Rope burns decorated my wrist and gashes trailed up each thigh. I had no memory to link to these events which indicated such scars. 

Every once in a while, the curly haired boy wanders in. Harry is muscular, but a wreck. Hair in each direction, hundreds of different shades of grey circles under his his emerald eyes. Occasionally a different shirt, although he always wore the same black skinnies.  I could tell due to the small hole on the back of the thigh of them. 

I stammered to my feet. I pulled a stool from the corner and I climbed ontop of it, tugging the fabric upward, ripping it around the nails that kept it sealed every time the fan blew in its direction. I gazed out the window, eye brows arched. 

I could see perfectly although I felt as if this captivation could have been messing with my mind, my brain attempting to adapt and lacute its own entertainment. 

Harry sat in a chair, same weakened state he had been every few seconds I got a glimpse of the boy. His lips parted as a tall male, he looked as if he were in his late thirties, hair straight, slicked back, white t shirt, and blue jeans. His palm spread, and he dumped several pills into Harry's mouth. His plump lips curled in disgust and he shook his head, water dumped down his throat to chase the pills. 

My lips departed, a dumb founded expression sneaking subtly over my pale features. He turned, and I dropped the curtain. Sneaking back over to my designated corner, I veiwed Harry and two larger males sneak inside through a door, usually locked. 

Harry's hands tied behind his back, and face bored. As if he had been used to it. He was pushed to the bed, shred of his clothing, shirt tattered by a small dagger which the man held firmly, and the second tugged the jeans off his porcelain thighs. 

I watched the other male approach me, and I was soon swept off my feet, dropped to the bed and seperated from my grey sweater and blue knickers. 

A pattern of deep moans, and unpleasant squeals spilled through out the room. Harry's eyes crushed shut, lips pursed and he with standed the torture. I, on the other hand, screamed, and squirmed, hands pinned above my head, and Harry mumbled, through a shaky breath;

"Shut. up."