Cora and her Escape from Hell

Knives

~Chapter 3: Knives~

"Hello, Cora." Paul smiled greedily. "What is it today honey? This knife?" he pulled out a small kitchen knife and smiled. His teeth yellowed from smoking and poor hygiene. His breath reeked of pot and alcohol. "Or this one?" he showed me a rusty butter knife covered in someone else's blood.

I stared at the ground. I did not blink. I did not speak. Two weaknesses that seem small, but are quite important in my world. After being here for so many years, you learn quite a bit. Some things normal people just wouldn't understand unless they experienced it themselves.

"Oh, Cora. I gave you your chance. If you won't talk to me, that means I get to pick." he clicked his tongue, spit coming off his lips like bullets from a gun. "How about this one. You don't deserve the other one. You've been a bad girl." Shit. He's going to use the butter knife. That's one of the worst. No matter what happens I can't show emotion. Not even a grimace.

Paul isn't the worst of the men. He's not the best either. Although, he is one of many perverts. Sometimes he molests me before using his precious knives. Knives is what he specializes in. Molestation is another. But he wasn't assigned to it. He chose it. And whoever is higher than him doesn't care. These men can do what they want. As long as they do what their assigned.

Paul ordered me to take off my shirt. "So how is the baby doing?" he grinned, his eyes staring insanely at my stomach. "Don't you dare hurt my baby. I will fucking kill you." I screamed. "Oh, so that's what I have to do to get you to talk." he smiled. "Looks like I found a weakness of yours. I'll keep that in mind." he moved the butter knife in the air, admiring how shiny the bottom is and how dark and red the top was.

He moved around to my backside and lightly touched his hand on my back, moving it back and forth. Then he took his fingernail and pressed. Hard. When I felt warm liquid ooze out from the area he dug his nail into, he walked in front of me. He moved his bloody fingers in front of my face in delight. Then he put them under his nose and smelled it. His eyes closed, and he looked like too happy. Then he wiped my blood on my face. "There, now you look pretty." he smirked.

I hit into his hand, until I felt blood come out. Then I bit harder. "CORA YOU STUPID BITCH! GOD DAMN IT!" he howled. I felt a bone snap in my jaw. Damn it. It was his left hand. He's right-handed.

He was bright red, as angry as I've ever seen him. He held out the butter knife again, and started sawing into my back. This is almost the most excruciating thing I have ever felt. I don't know how to explain it but it burns like you are on fire, aches like you've been punched hundreds of times, and makes you feel light-headed like you haven't drank in days. There is nothing worse than bleeding to death. My blood was rushing down my back, forming a pool on the floor. I felt the knife go deeper and deeper into my skin. He must be pretty close to the bone now. I can feel it. You wouldn't think a butter knife could cut so well. Well if you push hard enough it sure as hell does. I started feeling too light-headed. So much that I think I might pass out. There's nothing I can do. I just have to let it take over. Let it happen. Hopefully I won't die...