I will break you

Three

Hours must have passed since the man in the suit left (I refuse to even think of him as ‘Dad’), when I finally hear some gentle knocking on the door. I freeze up, touching the red mark on my cheek gingerly from where he slapped me. Whoever is outside clearly isn't him. He has the key to my door, and he most certainly wouldn't knock. Nonetheless, I return to my little ball and continue silently sobbing, wishing nothing more than to be anywhere but here, in this bloodstained room. Murmurs. A click. Two figures loom in the doorway. I don't want to look at them so I don't, staying curled up and staring at a clean spot on the childish walls. Someone places their hand on my shoulder, I flinch, backing away. A girl who looks to be around my age stares back at me, her eyes filled with sympathy and concern. Who is this? Am I dreaming? “Shhh, it's okay.” The girl soothes, tucking my hair behind my ear soothingly like Mum has done so many times. That breaks me. I start to cry, properly cry now, not muted, pathetic sniffles but great, body wracking sobs. The girl pulls me into an embrace and to my surprise I let her. “I want my Mum.” I say into her shoulder, inhaling her soft scent of laundry detergent mingled with something else. Lavender? She pats my head until I'm done, and releases me. That's when I noticed the other girl. I see the trend immediately. We all look so similar, we all have mid length dark brunette hair, pale skin and a sprinkling of freckles dusted on our faces. I gasp. “He kidnapped you too didn't he?” They both nod. “I'm Elizabeth, though Papa always calls me Beth.” The girl who soothed me says, smiling sadly. The other girl then pipes up. “I'm Hillary. I was Father's firstborn.” Hillary says this proudly, as though it was an honour to belong to that monster. “What's your name sweetie?” Beth asks kindly, shooting Hillary a strange look. “I'm Jasmine. Jasmine Meadow. Though ever since I got here, he has been calling me Julia. Who on earth is Julia? I need to go home. I need my family.” The two girls exchange glances, and Hillary nods at Beth. “Julia,” I visibly tense at the name, but Beth doesn't seem to notice or care and continues, “You now need to accept what has happened. Papa has taken you in and will expect you to act as one of his own. You will be expected to call him ‘Dad’, respond to the name Julia and do as you are told. Papa wants you down for a welcome home meal shortly. I appreciate that this is hard, honey, but you need to realise that your disobedience will also reflect badly on me and Hillary.”

I swallow, taking all of this in. How can it reflect badly on them? Do I really want to know? It sounds like…’Dad’...is treating these girls he kidnaps as his family, and if you ask me that is seriously messed up. I sigh. “Fine. I'll come for his weird welcome meal.”
“Just be warned,” Hillary begins, “The food is…off. Don't eat any if you can help it.” With that they both leave; many of my questions still remain unanswered in my mind.

Hillary and Beth come back to collect me shortly afterwards. Beth seems to be more understanding than Hillary, who finds the whole situation completely normal. It disturbed me greatly that they didn't seem to notice the blood splattered throughout the room. They led me out of the bedroom, into a small hallway that leads off into six rooms. The wallpaper is floral and the whole decor of it reminds me of my grandma's house. Three of the doors I presume are mine, Beth and Hillary's rooms, and at least two must be the bathroom and the kitchen. I am led into the door of the kitchen that is right at the end of the hall. A table with five chairs sits at the centre of the room, one chair is at the head and there are four lined up across from each other. A small kitchen lines the walls, with light wooden cabinets and grey worktops. I observe that everything seems to be child proofed, every sharp point that could ever be used to hurt someone is topped with a rubber guard. Beth and Hillary take their seats, and motion for me to do the same. The grey fabric upholstered chair deflates slightly under my weight, making a faint sound of air being released. “Who's the fifth chair for?” I enquire, staring at the seat across from me. “Papa's son.” Beth replies casually. My stomach drops. There's another one? That's probably not good. There is a noise like footsteps coming down a staircase, and Dad and his son enter the room. I then notice the staircase in the corner of the room, and that's when it hits me. We are being kept in an extended basement, a bunker if you will. Nobody could hear our screams, especially not if he lives in a remote area, which I'd guess he does. The thought that I may never see the sky again bothers me greatly. Dad comes and sits at the head of the table and puts down some plastic bags filled with some kind of takeaway food. His son sits across from me. He looks nothing like his father, his features are way more remarkable. He has dirty blonde hair and deep blue eyes that hold my gaze for a few seconds. He looks sympathetic, almost. My thoughts are then interrupted by Dad addressing us all. “Hello girls. We are having this special dinner tonight as a welcome to Julia.” I nearly correct him, but I can't do much but sit there silently staring at my lap, feeble tears rolling down my cheeks. “Julia, I know that it is hard to join us after such a long time living in poverty, but I just know that you'll fit right in.” I am confused. Poverty? I turn to look up at him and see him staring at me with the strangest expression. The only way I can explain it is…hunger? The food was dished and Hillary was right. Something about the food does seem off. I poke it around my plate, it looks to be some kind of stew, but the meat looks like nothing I've ever seen before. It is more fatty, and to me it just doesn't look appetising. I look up to see the son trying to catch my gaze, I shoot a glance at Dad, but he is too engrossed in his dinner to care. Still, my stomach swims with nerves as I meet his eyes. He flicks his eyes towards the wall, indicating the room next to us. I nod, confused. He then casually places his hand, palm up, on the table. Written there in messy letters is simply: go. I nod again, more vigorously this time. I clear my throat. Steeling myself and ignoring the fast rhythm of my heart, I begin as sweetly as I can. “Thank you for the dinner D-Dad but I'm really tired. Could I please be excused?” Calling him Dad feels like filth in my mouth but I go along with it anyway. To my surprise, he smiles. “Of course, my sweetheart, it's been a busy day, you get all of the rest that you need.” Horrifyingly, he gets up and walks over to me. He bends down and presses his lips against my right cheek.

I quickly get up and storm out of the room, repulsed by the residue left over by his slimy mouth. I throw open doors, one after the other, until I find the bathroom. I splash water all over my cheek, clawing at it until I have removed the top layer of skin, where his lips made contact. I then collapse to the floor and bawl, I sob for my parents who I will probably never see again, I sob for the freedom that I will never again have, I sob for my family and the future that I'll never have. The door then slowly opens, and the son walks in. I retreat further into myself and recoil, not trusting him. “Julia? Please. You can trust me.”
“My name isn't Julia.” I replied to him in return, not being able to help it. Something about him makes me want to trust him, he seems genuine. “How do I know that I can trust you? What if you are like him?”
“I'm not, I promise. I should be down here, really, based on the way he treats me. He never sends me down here though. This is reserved for his girls. Instead, I am locked up in the attic, on my own. I just want you to know that I'm not one of the bad guys. I wish I had a way to get you out of here, but I don't.” I turn to look him in the eye; I can see his honesty. He gazes at the red patch on my cheek and reaches out to touch it. I flinched at the gesture, but let him, feeling slight relief from the stinging pain as he rubs a cold thumb back and forth against it. Footsteps come down the hallway. Dad appears in the doorway, and pulls his son off of me with such force that I am sent flying backwards into the sink. He flings his son into the wall, and starts pummelling him with angry fists. I freeze, silent tears carving paths down my cheeks. I cling to the cold basin for support and start to try and walk between them. “Stop!” I scream, fully sobbing now. The boy is curled up into a ball on the floor as his father beats him furiously. Neither seem to hear me. “STOP!” I bellow, pulling ‘Dad’ off him. He then looks at me with anger in his eyes, but then turns to his bruised, bloody son and his expression softens. He says this in a gentle tone, which scares me even more. “You listen here, I know you're new but you never do that to me again, you hear me?” When I say nothing, he shouts in my face, “YOU HEAR ME?” I nod and he tosses his son over his shoulder and carries him upstairs, slamming the door to any sort of freedom and locking it tightly.