The End

Chapter 12

            The imposing building stood threateningly, daring anyone that thought of entering. Black clouds and low rumbles of thunder outlined the foreboding house, warning bystanders of the danger that was caged by the four walls. The bare façade radiated anger, the anger of the man inside. Weather and years shaped the bricks, dulling the complexion; bleak, colorless, dull. Other than the large bushes which stood in front of the windows, plants didn’t grow here; the acidity of the dweller permeating the soil, making the land uninhabitable to anything with intentions other than destruction. No lights were on, making it seem as if no one was there, but he was; he promised he would be, though promises never meant anything to him in the past.

            Duke and I began to slowly walk toward the front door as the first raindrops fell. Every nerve in my body, every instinct, told me to run—run away from the evil which I was about to face. As if he sensed this, Duke carefully fit my trembling hand into his, his own rough fingers shaky ever so slightly.

            “I’ll be right here,” he whispered.

            Nodding, I forced myself to relax. In the same way I lived on Sub-D, Stephens lived on fear—my fear. Upon realizing the mistake he made, he set out to destroy every emotion I had through intimidation and violence. The void of feeling I had lived in for sixteen years built a wall, a barrier between humans and myself, barricading me inside of my head, the most dangerous place of all. I can never trust anyone—not them, not me. I had learned to separate myself from my emotions; removing the substance Stephens thrived on.

            “It’ll be okay,” Duke murmured, rubbing my shoulders. Mustering whatever courage I could, I knocked on the door. From the depths of the house, he began stirring, plodding lazily to the door. By taking his time, he reminded me who was really in control. I may have escaped his house, but I will never be free—forever trapped in his clutches. I watched in horror as the knob turned slowly, instantly regretting my decision. Before I could turn to run, Duke gripped my shoulder, holding me where I stood. His hand clamped tightly around me as the door swung open. From behind, peered the eyes of a wicked man. As they bore into me, the thoughts and memories I tried so desperately to escape flooded back.

                                    *                                    *                                    *

            “I said no!” he bellowed, rage apparent on his red face. I was terrified, only seven years old.

            “I-I’m sorry-“ I sputtered, tears leaking from my innocent eyes.

            “Crying? You’re crying? I put too much into you to let you cry,” he scoffed.

            “I’m sorr-“ I started. Before I could finish, the back of his hand cracked across my face. Jolting backwards, I tried to steel myself, fighting the tears from spilling down my stinging cheek.

            He turned away rubbing his temples.

            “Get out of my sight,” he mumbled tiredly. “You disgust me.”

                                    ~                                    ~                                    ~

            “Florence!” his voice echoed bitterly. I was eleven now. His anger had done everything but subside; in fact, it seemed to grow as his failure became more obvious—as I became more obvious.