Melancholy

chapter 1

[1]

I OPEN MY eyes as my shoulders are being shaken - so gently, the hands are barely touching me, letting me know who it is without having to see them. I smile tiredly as my gaze connects with that of one of my brothers. He returns it with a small smile of his own. "Hey," he whispers, cautious as to keep his voice quiet enough to not reach the top of the staircase which is stood only a couple of feet away from us.

"Hey," I reply, the first syllable getting stuck in my throat, so that only an 'ey' comes out. He releases a soft chuckle, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. I swallow a few times, trying to erase the dryness coating my throat. But it's of no use.

"Here." I turn my head to my other side, coming face to face with a glass of water. Slowly sitting up, I bite my lip as I feel the usual waves of pain hitting my body, floating through my blood like drops of poison, dead set on filling even the last inch of my body with the same excruciating pain.

Last night was tough. Every once in a while father would invite some of his 'friends', who are really just drug dealers whose drugs he couldn't afford in decent ways - even after selling most of our furniture - so he has to resort to selling his only daughter's body instead. Thus last night was anything but fun.

For any of us.

Because sexually abusing your child isn't enough for our parents. To gain more money, the emotional abuse of your two other children seems like a good and fair investment as well.

I give Alessandro, my oldest triplet, the same soft smile I gave our other brother, Alessio, stretching my hand towards the glass he's offering me. Unlike Alessio though, he doesn't return the gesture. Instead, he frowns, sitting down next to me on the small mattress that is our 'bed', as he supports me by holding my back.

I bring the glass to my lips, chugging most of it down in one gulp before tilting it towards both of my brothers, silently asking if they want some. Shaking their heads, I have all the confirmation I need to finish the glass, and hand it back to Alessandro once I'm done.

He sets it down a few inches behind him before he turns back around and grabs my hand in his. I watch quietly as he holds it to his lips and places a chaste kiss on it. I sigh softly, giving his hand a squeeze. "Don't," I demand, knowing exactly what the crease between his eyebrows means.

He feels guilty. Every single time. They both do. They think they fail me every time this happens. Or even when it's just the usual beating. They always blame themselves. But that's the point, that's the goal my parents have in mind. Me, they use for money. Them, they use for entertainment.

While I get taken advantage of, they get tied up and made to watch, completely defenseless and unable to help.

It's sick and wicked. They are sick and wicked. And yet, we can't do anything but to endure it.