Painted Faces - the masks people wear

Of kittens and dancing...

The parts of my past I remember, I remember clearly, in detail. But there have been so many gaps. Whole chunks I have no memory of; I just thought that was normal. And sadness – sometimes it feels like I've been fighting sadness, in varying degrees, all my life. Sometimes so profound I cry out in anguish, at other times just a silent shadow stalking me. Don't get me wrong; I've also felt sheer joy, abandoned laughter and excitement or peace. I've immersed myself in books, reading voraciously most of my life always with at least one on the go and danced with a passion that I never wanted to stop.

At least until that day in the room.

Robby persuaded the others to let the kittens stay. Fluffy grey and white tabbies, there are three of them. And I love them. In brief moments while alone in that room I cuddle them, talk to them, draw strength from them and promise to protect them. They are so small, so vulnerable, so happy. They give me hope I suppose but life can be cruel. Choices can be cruel.

Another man arrives today. Black dress trousers, white shirt, and tie. What does he want from me? Curled in my corner, trying to be small and forgotten, I am told to go to the bathroom, put on the black lace lingerie held out to me. Mortified, I refuse. Cause quite a scene as I resist, and the man grows disinterested. He leaves the room so they can "sort her out". Because I'm still defiant, Dwayne picks up one of the kittens, slits her throat and tells them to put me in the box. Then the dead, bleeding kitten is thrown in on top of me. Darkness as the lid is locked in place, the metallic smell and sticky feel of the blood seemingly everywhere. Shock dissolves into panic, panic to horror. I can hear screaming, sobbing from somewhere far away but it is me.

After what seems like a lifetime but must be not much more than half an hour the lid is removed, and I am pulled out again. I feel weak, dizzy, disoriented. Again, I'm told what to do, again I begin to refuse – but he is standing in front of me, the second kitten in his grasp, knife brushing gently across his back. The meaning is clear, and I cannot let that happen a second time. Futile, anyway. "Shower first, you stink" follows me down the hall as I walk on quicksand wishing I could sink.

I've never even seen clothing like this before; somehow it fits, but I feel humiliated, cheapened. Then they pull me back down the hallway, back to the room, back to face the man who has returned and eyes me sceptically. A wary eye on the kitten, purring, still in the arms of Dwayne and enjoying the stroke of the knife across his back, I hesitate then try to do as they demand.

"Dance!" I sway uncertainly, close my eyes, listen to the music in my head, pretend I'm anywhere but here. Then he pulls me close, commands me to undress him. My hands are placed on his shirt, and I start to unbutton it, trying to be brave, trying not to panic, trying to pretend I'm anywhere but here. He's undone his belt and trousers and now his hands are everywhere, touching my breasts, my hair, buttocks and then inside my private place. I'm made to kneel, pushed to my knees as he forces himself inside my mouth and I gag without control. Still holding the kitten, Dwayne laughs and eggs him on, then they all leave us alone. I feel like I'm drowning, suffocating, losing myself in this madness, I'm numb and begin to feel nothing, cease to struggle, try to pull away.

And never want to dance again.