Silent Shadows

𝐕 |𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖'𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓|

Mia's Pov:

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I see women grinding on middle-aged men, and I cringe walking down the stairs. I clutch onto the white gown my father made me wear.

He said I'm going on a trip today. I'm very excited. Luca never took me on any adventures he went to, claiming they were too dangerous. Though, I know Papa told him I wasn't allowed.

I never understood why.

I stroll to the kitchen with a bag in hand. I don't own much, though I brought all the pictures of my Mama and Luca with me. It's been 12 years since Mama passed, I don't remember her much. She died saving me from the hands of Papa, and I can't help but feel the guilt that I took her life. Papa calls me selfish for not taking the pain, and sometimes I see Luca staring into my eyes with resentment.

I wonder if his life was okay before I was born. Maybe it would be better if I didn't exist.

I come out of my thoughts as I hear Papa's belt being stripped off. I turn around with confusion plastered in my eyes.

"YOU DEAF BITCH. I WON'T ASK YOU AGAIN, SHOW ME YOUR BAG." His words sting my skin, and goosebumps prickle off my skin. I look down at the belt in his hand and fall to my knees.

I feel the first welt burn into my skin as I let out a scream. "P-Please Papa...please." Tears fall out and land onto the pure dress.

I yelp as I feel a strong tug on my hair and I'm dragged closer to the steps. He bangs my head on the railing and my vision fills with white spots as I feel another welt on my arm. And more. And more. The power of the welts increases until I can't hear the pain in my voice and I stare outside the window.

"The room on the left. It costs $500, you only have 15 minutes. Pay now." I hear my father. A new set of tears makes its way into my eyes, knowing what is to come.

If Mama were here, I'm sure he wouldn't do this. It's my fault.

I feel a hand on my neck holding it up. I struggle to breathe as I face a man with red, balding hair and his other hand clutching on my hair. He drags me to my room and throws me on the bed.

Since my thirteenth birthday, a harrowing three years ago, I've learned the futility of resistance. Fighting only fuels their sadistic pleasure, amplifying the agony of my torment. With a sinking heart, I watch as he retrieves a pocket knife from his jeans, a glint of malicious intent dancing in his eyes.

The blade slices through the fabric of my dress with a sickening ease, shredding the delicate fabric into tattered remnants. I dare not meet his gaze, instead averting my eyes as a silent plea for mercy hangs heavy in the air.

His grin sends a chill coursing down my spine, the promise of unspeakable horrors lurking beneath its twisted facade. I huddle against the cold, unforgiving ground, a silent witness to my degradation.

As he looms over me, the weight of his presence suffocating, I feel the last vestiges of hope slip through my trembling fingers. In this bleak abyss of despair, there is no escape, no reprieve from the unrelenting cruelty that awaits me.

I close my eyes, seeking solace in the memories of Mama and Luca, their faces etched in my mind like fragile whispers of a distant dream. I envision the small garden Mama tended with loving care, a sanctuary of beauty amidst the darkness that plagued our lives.

But even as I lose myself in the warmth of their presence, a chill grips my heart, a haunting reminder of the horrors that lurk just beyond the veil of memory. I recall the echo of Mama's voice drifting through the vents, a desperate melody of solace in the suffocating silence of my imprisonment.