Deficit[incomplete]

Chapter 1

"There's always something about me that I can't explain even if I tried."

Beads of sweat dropped down her face as she clenched her teeth for the next surge of pain - horrible whip thrashing - she would recieve from uncle Don, who wrapped chains around her arms for as long as she could remember - one day. Three hours of lashing, and a few minutes to taste cold water.

"She pilfered! She fuckin' pilfered!" He exclaimed and she had clenched her teeth, ready for the next lash. It was the occasion that Don would lash her as they had whipped Jesus at the cross, for he had entangled rusty barbs in plaits of heavy flax, intended to "draw blood and with it, the sins of the flesh". She thought her bereted uncle had run mad and that one day, she would garner all the anger she had stored against him in her version of judgement. Her wounds itched and were not without dull pain that echoed. She had tried calling his name before but it had only fanned his rage, leading him to thrash her even more. She also dared not whimper or grumble, for Uncle Don pressed the butt of his cigarettes in the soft exposed flesh of her larger wounds. Fortunately, he made it up to himself to abstain from all forms of sexual impurity except in the instance that the flesh had won the Spirit by chance, or as he once said "let the Spirit take a break". His hands would slip underneath her legs while she was bound, and he would go so close as to "touch the linen of her underwear." She hated it and as much as she wanted to fight back, she had heard a voice proclaim from within the very frames of her mind: "It isn't worth it. Just give in".
Whatever that voice was, wasn't hers. It was supposedly the demons that resided in her. They were so friendly before she had moved into his house and now, they had become something else.
She caught her legs quake so that the chains rattled very loudly. The lashing continued even more than the last time - and now, her voice started to escape from her quivering lips in short squirms.

"Pilfering is bad! It's the work of the Devil!" He exclaimed, pausing to catch his breath. Her head dropped as she struggled to pull whatever air she could through her stuffy nostrils.

"Uncle Don, please!" She begged as she heard the whip rattle as he raised it about his head.

"Don!" A muffled voice yelled from above them. It was strong, feminine and casual in tone.

"Not done." He responded with a voice so low that it could not have escaped the wooden corners of the room.

"Still need you to come up here. I think I've found it!" The voice pressed.

"Found what?!" He replied, and Calla thanked the voice for buying some time. His large stubby hand drooped along with the whip.

"The purse!" The voice persisted. What? Her time of suffering was over? Sweat continued to drip down her face as she celebrated the thought. But instead of the opportunity to heave a sigh of relief, shock came. She felt a build up of pressure beneath her dress - something about forbidden access, thought she- and two large arms grabbed her hips, pushing her down against the pressure that now lingered.

"You wore your diaper today, eh?"

"It's soiled." She retorted with the little voice she could gather between her raspy breaths, hoping to annoy him. She could feel him raise his hand over his head again in slow motion but that voice worked so hard to play savior.

"Don." The voice was no longer muffled and a face peeped from behind the door.

"I know. I was just checking if her chains were still tight."

"I saw what you were doing and told you to stop. You're becoming something worth of a demon yourself, you know."

"Oh please, as if we don't all have our moments." He grunted, pulling off his cap to reveal sparse white hair. His clothes were drenched with sweat and his large stomach heaved, albeit in small silent movements.

"Found the purse already. T'was in my clothes shelf all along but I didn't put it there." She then grabbed his stocky arm and pulled him towards the entrance and mumbled. "Rhoda did and forgot."

The poor battered girl had barely caught wind of these words when Don's loud question confirmed it.

"Rhoda?"

She nodded very quickly.

"So, it was Rhoda that pilfered?" His voice softened as it soaked with doubt.
"It can't be Rhoda. I trained Rhoda. She's just trying to save this little brat from trouble she's brought on herself."

"Well, I think it's okay now. Let's just go back upstairs and eat dinner."

Dinner? Last evening, she was recieving whiplashes for dinner and she - sure as hell - knew she had been there longer than midnight. Midnight was when the thudding above her ceased, when the pesky little voices stopped screaming and when Dad came to 'check' her like a chicken in bondage. She closed her eyes, listening to the sounds of footsteps approach her with the bash of plastics littered around the area. Sharp pain caused her to writhe and wriggle to Don's amusement and whimpers escaped from her burning throat as he splash warm water on her wounds. It would have been hot, if not for his gratification as top priority.

"That should make you heal fast enough. Stay here for the next hour, then I'll come release you."

Her head fell to her shoulders once again as the muscles in her arms ached from being pulled upwards.

"There must be a way out of this. There has to be a way out of this." She said to herself, before drifting into sleep.