𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚎𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚝 𝚂𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚛 || ℕ𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚊 ℝ𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚏𝚏

Chapter 1: The Visit

"STOP! LEAVE HIM ALONE, LEAVE HIM ALONE PLEASE!" I plead as I watch three men beat the living hell out of my brother. Kicking, punching him, doing everything they possibly can to hurt him as I sit in a chair across from them helpless and hopeless. My hands and legs tied behind the chair and my neck and head strapped to the head of it, being forced to watch the horror that was going on. My eyes barely being able to be kept open, everything blurry as tears flood my eyes, and his screams fill the room. I continue to plead and plead until I can't anymore and with one last plead everything stops. No more beating, no more bleeding, no more screaming, no more tears, nothing but darkness and guilt.

I shoot up from my bed covered in sweat, my heartbeat incredibly fast, if I were normal I'm sure I'd be dead or at the very least on the brink of it. I know it was just another nightmare but it just felt so real. I kick my feet over my bed and just sit there trying to calm my heartbeat. After a couple of minutes, I look up at the clock on my nightstand, 2:08 A.M.

"Oh my god I'm gonna kill myself it's way too early for this shit," I whisper as I rub my eyes in frustration. 

"This is stupid, can I please just get one good night's rest," I say with a sigh looking up at the ceiling. 

I get up off my bed and head to the restroom. I start up the shower and begin to undress. This is typically how my nights go, I have a nightmare, I wake up at an ungodly hour covered in sweat, frustrated at how tired I am and disgusted at how dirty I feel I do the only thing that I find logical and take a shower to try and forget which is hard.

I hop into the shower and try not to keep my eyes closed for too long or flashbacks of the past come back. It's been around 5 years since my friend Kara found me washed up on a beach. I've always had nightmares even before I was kidnapped. I thought with time they would get better and eventually stop but I was wrong. They've only seemed to have gotten worse with time and the overflow of memories I've had these past years. Just my luck, right?

I hop out of the shower and dry my hair and body off before wrapping my towel around my waist. I wipe the fog off the mirror above the sink and look at myself and the scar on my cheek. Even with my regeneration skills I still develop scars depending on how bad and deep the wound was. I have a couple on my back, arms, legs, and pretty much everywhere. The one on my cheek is the only scar on my face and I don't know why but it just bothers me more than the others. Maybe because it's somewhere it's easy to see maybe not but I do know it irks me sometimes.  

Along with my scars, I have tattoos. Some on my torso, back, and arms. I mainly got them to make some of the more noticeable and bigger scars less noticeable and just because they're cool. I get them re-tattooed every now and then to keep them looking fresh and nice. 

I start my morning routine which is the basics, the type of shit you'd see in a day in the life youtube video of some random teenage girl. I wash my face, brush my teeth, that type of shit. 

I finish up and head back into my room to change. I change into a bra, boxers, and some black sweats. I take the sheets off my bed to wash them. I grab my phone, my old clothes, and a towel.  I walk out to the washing machine and throw everything in and pour in some detergent before starting it up. I wait for the little sound it makes when it starts running and head towards the kitchen to get a little snack. I grab a little baggie of blood and a granola bar before walking over to the living room. I plop myself onto the couch and make myself comfortable before turning on the TV to watch whatever is on.

After a couple of hours of watching TV, I pull out my phone to check the time. It's now around 7, I practically know Kara's whole schedule so I know she'll wake up within the hour so I get up off the couch and head over to the kitchen to make breakfast.