Angel's sin

Chapter 9

TW: mentions of SA' 

Amelia~ 

 Waking up felt like drowning.

The room around me was unfamiliar, sterile. The fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly, casting a harsh glow over everything, but I couldn't focus. I couldn't breathe. The edges of my vision blurred; everything felt muffled, like I was underwater. I blinked, my eyes stinging from the effort, but the fog refused to clear. It was like waking up in a nightmare, except I couldn't shake it. I couldn't escape.

My whole body ached, and my skin felt tight and raw. I was covered in bruises—though I couldn't see them, I felt them deep in my bones. Each breath sent sharp pain through my ribs. It hurt to exist. The only constant was the pulsing throb of agony in my chest, both from the physical wounds and the memories that clung to me like a second skin.

I tried to remember how I got here. The hospital bed, the sterile smell of disinfectant, the beeping machines around me—they were worlds away from where I had been.

The basement.

That cold, dark basement with the concrete floor that I had spent God knows how long in. The place where I lost all sense of time, where days blurred into nights, where hope disappeared.

I had been trapped. Held there by my uncle—him. The man who was supposed to protect me, but instead, he turned me into his prisoner, his toy. I shuddered as the memories came flooding back, waves of fear and pain threatening to suffocate me all over again. He kept me there for so long, and I started to wonder if anyone would ever find me. Or if they even knew I was alive.

Lilith. I had thought about her every day. About how she probably thought I was dead, about how I had been gone for years, no word, no trace. I wondered if she had moved on and accepted it. It was better that way, I told myself. She didn't need to know what had happened to me. She didn't need to carry the weight of this.

But I couldn't stop thinking about her. About my sister. She was all I had left, and as the days passed in that basement, she became my only reason for holding on.

I remember the beatings. My uncle's rage, his cruel words, the way his fist would connect with my body until I couldn't stand, couldn't move, couldn't breathe. He wanted to break me, to crush whatever fight I had left in me. And it worked. I stopped fighting. At some point, I just... gave up.

But he wasn't the worst part. No, the worst part was Viktor. His second-in-command. My uncle might have been cruel, but Rafael was pure evil. He would come down to the basement at night, when it was quiet and everyone else had gone. He liked to toy with me to make me feel small, weak, and helpless.

At first, it was just taunts. The way he would look at me, his eyes gleaming with something sick and twisted, as if he enjoyed watching me squirm. But then the taunts turned into something else. Something darker.

The first time he touched me, I fought back. I kicked and screamed, but it didn't matter. He was stronger, and he didn't care how much I struggled. If anything, it only made him enjoy it more. The more I fought, the more it fueled his sadistic pleasure. His hands were rough, his breath hot and disgusting on my skin. He took everything from me, and then he laughed.

That laugh haunted me. Even now, in this hospital bed, I could hear it echoing in my mind. The way he had looked down at me afterward, like I was nothing, like I wasn't even human.

After that, something inside me broke. I stopped fighting. I stopped caring. What was the point? He would come again and again, and every time it was the same. The pain, the humiliation, the shame. I would lie on that cold, concrete floor afterward, feeling hollow, like a shell of the person I used to be.