~The lost one~

Chapter 32

Simi's POV
The hours stretched on, each one feeling like an eternity. I could barely tell time in the suffocating darkness of the room, with only my thoughts to keep me company. My body ached from sitting on the cold, hard floor, and the ropes around my wrists had rubbed my skin raw. But I knew I had to stay strong—stay focused. I'd been through tough situations before, though nothing quite like this.

The sound of the door creaking open jerked me out of my thoughts. My heart skipped a beat as a beam of light sliced through the darkness, revealing two men stepping into the room. Their faces were hard, cruel, and their eyes gleamed with something dark and sinister.

"Get up," one of them barked. His voice was rough, filled with an ugly kind of authority. I hesitated, and he grabbed me by the arm, yanking me to my feet. I winced as the rope dug into my wrists, but I kept silent. I knew better than to show weakness.

They led me down a narrow hallway, the floorboards creaking beneath our feet. My heart pounded faster with each step, dread curling in my stomach. I tried to keep my breathing steady, tried to remind myself that I had faced fear before, that I could handle this.

But when they shoved me into another room and the door slammed shut behind me, I felt that icy dread turn into pure terror. The room was dimly lit, but I could see enough. The intent in their eyes, the way they looked at me—it made my skin crawl.

"You know what happens to girls who get in over their heads, don't you?" one of them sneered, his eyes raking over me in a way that made me want to scream. My mind raced, my body tensing as I realized what they were planning to do.

"No," I said, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to stay calm. "Don't do this."

The other man grinned, an expression that twisted his already ugly face into something monstrous. "Oh, sweetheart, you don't get a say in this."

They moved toward me, and panic flooded my veins like ice water. I tried to fight them off, kicking and thrashing, but they were stronger, more determined. I felt hands on me, ripping at my clothes, the fabric tearing with a sickening sound. The cold air hit my skin, and I struggled harder, my heart pounding in my chest like a drum.

"No!" I screamed, desperate now, adrenaline giving me a surge of strength. "Stop!"

They didn't listen. The world became a blur of pain and terror as they struck me, pushing me down, trying to pin me to the ground. I felt my head hit the floor, and for a moment, everything went black.

But I couldn't let them win. I had to survive this.

Somehow, I managed to get my hands free, the ropes slipping off my wrists as I twisted and turned. I lashed out, kicking one of them square in the stomach with all the strength I had left. He doubled over, gasping for breath, and in that split second, I scrambled to my feet.

I didn't think—I just ran. Ran as fast as my legs could carry me, out of that room, down the hallway, through the darkness. My breath came in ragged gasps, my heart pounding in my ears. Behind me, I could hear them shouting, cursing, their footsteps thundering after me.

I didn't stop. I couldn't stop.

I burst through another door, into what looked like an old, abandoned warehouse. The place was a maze of crates and machinery, shadows lurking in every corner. I didn't care where I was going—I just needed to get away.

I stumbled, my foot catching on something, and fell hard onto the cold concrete. Pain shot through my knees and elbows, and I gasped as I felt something warm and sticky on my skin. Blood. My own blood. I glanced down and saw that my clothes were torn, stained with crimson. There were cuts on my arms and face, stinging with every movement.

But I couldn't stop. I had to keep moving.

I scrambled to my feet, clutching my sides where the pain was the worst, and forced myself to keep going. My body ached, every step sending a jolt of agony through me, but I couldn't let them catch me. Not again.

Finally, I found a door that led outside. The cold night air hit me like a slap in the face, but I welcomed it, inhaling deeply as I ran out into the open. I didn't know where I was, but the streetlights in the distance were a beacon of hope. I kept running, my feet pounding against the pavement, not daring to look back.

As I put more distance between myself and that nightmare, a strange calm settled over me. I was still terrified, still shaking with adrenaline, but something inside me clicked into place. I had faced worse things in my life—years of abuse, neglect, fear—and I had survived. I had gotten out of that hell, and I wasn't about to let these bastards break me.

I would make it through this, too. Somehow.

As I ran, I made a mental note to write everything down once I was safe. My diary—my outlet for all the fear and pain I'd bottled up over the years—was nearly full. Just a few pages left. I'd have to get a new one soon.

But for now, I had to focus on surviving. On getting back to the people who cared about me. On not letting the darkness win.

I was still breathing. I was still fighting.

And I would not be broken.