Rosaline

1

Rosaline POV

The door swung open with a deafening slam. I braced myself; I knew my father was coming. Heart racing, I sat up and waited.
(Not her real father, just the only name she knows to call him.)

Thump.
Thump.
Thump.

His footsteps echoed in the silence, heavy and furious. It was just him-no other footsteps trailing behind. He was a monster, but not as monstrous as his friends. When the second door opened, I lowered my gaze to the ground, feeling the intensity of his presence as he stepped into the room, the light from the doorway illuminating him.

"You slut!" he yelled, spitting on me as he kicked me hard in the stomach. I curled into a tight ball, knowing his anger wouldn't relent as he continued to kick me mercilessly. I knew I deserved it; he and his friends told me that all the time. To them, I was just a-
slut,
whore,
cunt.

He finally stopped, and I heard the unmistakable sound of his pants zipper before they fell to the ground. My heart sank; this was the worst part. I fought to hold back my tears, knowing he despised it when I cried. I struggled not to scream as he pulled me down to lay flat on the ground. He didn't even bother to hold me down like he used to.

I had learned that fighting back only made things worse. Tiny tears slipped down my face as he lay on top of me, grunting with each movement. I wished he had never started this; his friends always hurt me far worse than he did. But he never let them do this.

I heard noise coming from upstairs, and he noticed it too. He got up, pulled his pants on, and stomped out of the room.
It was quiet for a moment, but then yelling echoed through the house, followed by the door slamming open. Oh no, not them. I curled into a tight ball, crying as quietly as I could. I shut my eyes tightly, remembering the last time they were here when I truly thought I was going to die. I shook slightly, praying they were just leaving. But then I heard soft footsteps, different from their usual heavy tread, and I felt something covering me.

"Hey, princess, can you look at me, please?" an unfamiliar man asked in a soft, gentle voice. I slowly opened my eyes, knowing the consequences of disbelief. I focused on his lap, afraid to meet his gaze. He sat cross-legged, his pants fancier than anything I had ever seen. Gently, he grabbed my chin, and I flinched at his touch. He lifted my chin, forcing me to look him in the eyes. He smiled at me, pulling the jacket up to cover me. His face was the most beautiful I had ever seen. Just as he was about to say something, a voice yelled from upstairs, "Emilio!" I quickly covered my ears, trembling; I hated yelling.

" It's okay, nobody is going to hurt you," the man whispered, just as another set of footsteps came down the stairs.

"We couldn't find her," another man said, his gaze landing on me. I could hear him pause for a moment before rushing toward me, but the man who had been speaking to me stopped him.
He whispered something, but I couldn't catch the words. I slid back into the darkness, my stomach churning with pain. The man who had first approached me knelt down in front of me.
"Sweetheart, we need to leave now," he said. I wondered if he was going to hurt me like the others.

Before I knew it, I was in his arms, and he was walking toward the door. No-my father would kill me if I left. I struggled to worm my way out of his grip, but he held me tighter as I cried, still trying to escape his embrace.

"Sweetie, we need to leave. I need more light to help your wounds," he said as he headed up the stairs. I braced myself for my father's rage, trying to make myself as small as possible. As my panic grew, everything around me began to fade.
No, I needed to stay awake, but I couldn't fight the darkness creeping in.