Captivated

Zayn-Chapter Two

"Stop, stop!!! Get off me, please. Stop!!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. It was no use. She was still on top of me, pinning me to the ground. I tried to scream again but when I opened my mouth something was stuck into it. I was gagged. I couldn't scream anymore, but that didn't stop me from trying. All I needed was someone to walk by the house. Someone to hear my screams. Someone to help me. Hear me. I needed someone. I burst into tears. It was all I could do. I cried. I cried until he couldn't anymore. Until there were no more tears left. Until I felt utterly helpless. Hot wet tears burned my cheeks as they ran from my dark brown eyes. My small rounded eyes felt like an overflowing river that wouldn't stop gushing.

"Shut up and stop crying." The loud voice above me bellowed. She hit me with a force that left a red handprint on my lower back when she didn't receive an answer. But I couldn't answer her. I had a rag in my mouth and my eyes were overflowing. I tried to say I'm sorry but couldn't make out the words. All my words were muffled because of the rag. I kept trying but every time I started to say something, she gripped me tighter and hit me harder.

Eventually, I gave up. I couldn't take it anymore. Couldn't take the pain. It was too much. This pain was worse than anything I ever felt. Nothing is worse than this. These feelings. This abuse. I stopped squirming when she hit me. I just took it. I just laid there on the floor, hands tied, feet tied. My eyes stopped letting tears fall out of them. I was just there, letting the hits, smacks, and punches land on me like I was a punching bag. There was nothing I could do. I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. There was nothing anyone could do because no one knew what went on inside this house every morning. No one knew what went on every night. Day in and day out, no one knew. No one could have known. Only the people inside this rusted beat-up house knew what went on. They knew about the abuse. About the torture. About the burns, the red marks left on his body. Only they knew and they weren't going to do anything. What can they do? They just have to take it. They have to please the abuser because if they don't, only they know what will happen. It happened once already. They never want it to happen again. It was awful. The blood, the screams, the pain, everything. The bed that they slept in didn't even feel good because of what they did on it. It's hard to sleep every night in that same bed, but no one knows that. No one knows what they will see if they get up in the middle of the night. All the needles on the ground, pill bottles open, bags of white powder spread on the table. So they go back to bed and try not to dream about what happened. No one can ever know what goes on inside these walls. The walls that are filled with sin. These walls that are filled with screams.

After a while. I didn't feel any more blows. I didn't feel that pressure on top of me. I tried to slowly turn my head around and when I didn't see her anymore, I struggled to get up. However, I only made it to my knees when I was him roughly pushed back down again. It wasn't over. Will it ever be over?

"Did I say you could get up?" Her toxic voice yelled as she pushed me back down. Not having my arms to brace myself, my face hit the concrete floor of the basement. There will be a bruise forming on my cheek from this later. How will I explain that? I have had to explain to my teachers at school about all the marks I have on my body. Every day it's a different story; I fell off my bike, I fell over playing tag, I fell out of my seat at dinner, I fell... I fell... I fell. I want so badly to tell the true story, but I don't even know what that is. All I is know is that my mom hits me. I don't know why and I don't know what for.

Once I was back on the floor, I pushed the rag out of my mouth using my tongue. "I'm sorry mommy, please. I'm sorry. Please stop. I'm sorry." I rushed out, feeling tears build up inside my eyes again. I knew begging and pleading weren't going to help me. I do this every time. Whenever I get a chance to speak, I always plead my mom to stop. She never listens. It's like an ongoing loop that has no end.

"I don't want to hear it. Shut up." My mom spat angrily looked at me with disgust. I can't help but wonder why my mom is doing this to me. I was always a good little boy. I played by the rules and obeyed everyone. I can't help but wonder if it's me. If my mom is beating me because she doesn't like me. Or maybe she doesn't know any better. Whatever the reason, I just want all this to end.

But it never did. I decided it would be best if I did what my mother said and shut up. So, I laid back down on the floor and tried not to scream when my mother put her cigarettes out on my back, adding to the collection of burns that were already there. The feeling of being burned was a nice relief from being hit. It offered a different sensation. My mother kept smoking her cigarette and putting it out on me each time until the room smelled like smoke and it invaded both of our lungs. One didn't care. I, on the other hand, tried not to cough.

"Get up!" My mother yelled. It seems that the morning punishment is over for today.

I tried to follow her order as fast as I could. She stood up too and was towering above me with her drink in her left hand and a brunt-out cigarette in her right. I looked right into her bloodshot eyes. They looked empty, lost even. But they never looked regretful.

"Turn around." I did, so now my back was facing her as we were standing. She roughly untied my hands and feet and tossed me my bookbag. "Hurry up, you're going to be late for school."