Deck of Cards

Day 11- Jen

Three of hearts- cleaning for 4hrs

Jen's POV

The challenge before had scared me, I thought that I would never see my baby boy again. My angel. I thanked the heavens when I saw the light infiltrate the bag from the top and seeing my guard's ugly face glaring down. Never had I thought I would ever be so happy to see him.

Day eleven. Eleven days away from my boy who was sitting with some demented,devilish woman. Nobody knew what she was. Nobody knew how dangerous she was.

My card was three of hearts, it was cleaning for some amount of time. I wanted another diamond so I could plan my escape- so far I didn't have anything. Squat. Nil. Nada. It all looked pretty bleak, my only escape would be to kill every person in the house or just wait the fifty two days but who was to say that they wouldn't just kill me at the end.

I wanted to be a survivor, for my son but also for myself. I couldn't let my mother look after my baby meaning that he would be messed up forever. I knew that the whole experience would mess me up forever.

I was led a different way than from before and I faced another metal door. Somehow they didn't scare me much any more, I knew that the door was trapping the evil from me until I got inside. On this day the cleaning was in a smaller dose but just as horrible as before; blood was splattered everywhere and faeces covered the floor like a carpet. I knew that I would be in for some serious scrubbing.

I gagged as I passed a pile of sick, now smouldering in the humidity of the room. With eyes closed, I scraped it into the bin bag and continued on trying to forget the churning feeling in my stomach. I didn't want to clean up any more mess.

As I made my way around all I could think about was my mother- the thought of her made me grip the mop even tighter. She was a monster, like a evil witch in disguise. Except her only power was making my life a misery, her spells only affected me. She had been a terrible mother growing up. She was abusive, neglecting and angry constantly. I still had scars which showed the times she lost her temper. The were so many times.

I found myself red in the face and scrubbing harder when I thought about her laying a finger on my child. The thought of her beating him the way she did to me was enough to make me start crying but I stayed strong- I didn't want them to think that I was upset about their stupid little game. Life had so many more issues than their game.

It was only then that it occurred to me that maybe other girls were facing this too, maybe there were other people in the house. I had never crossed paths with them, never heard their cries. Maybe they had it easier than me, maybe I was facing the worst. But in hindsight this would help me, I thought to myself. At least I knew I could deal with the grim, the ugly and the evil. At least I knew I could survive. I had something to survive for. My son.

When my cleaning time was over, I hadn't thought of any plans to escape but I had thought and reminded myself of the reasons why I was trying to escape. I needed to save my son from a lifetime of messed up feelings and emotions. I knew that the hell I was facing in those rooms was a lot less than a life with her. I couldn't even call her my mother, she didn't deserve that title. She didn't deserve anyone or anything. Yet there she was with everything in life while I was left to sit and rot away in a small cell.

***

As I lay awake that night, too filled with rage to sleep, I thought back to the day that my small bundle of joy came into the world.

I was so young, my hair tied up in a high ponytail as I was wheeled around the hospital on a bed. The pain was agonising and I clenched my fists, trying my best to stay strong.

Sweat dripped from my forehead as I was told to push, and I was so tired. So unbelievably tired. But then he came along. The first time I looked into his eyes was the first time I felt true love towards anything. This small baby in my arms became my world, my focus and received my devoted attention.

He was so small and so fragile that I believed he would break if I even moved. The nurse smiled down at us, but I could sense the pity in her eyes. I had no family with me when my son was born. My mother never showed up and the baby's father was partying in Magaluf, too drunk to care that his own flesh and blood had been born.

But I didn't need anyone else other than my son. From that day on, I wasn't alone. I had someone by my side. I had someone to look after.

In my cell I knew that if there was a way out I would find it, if there wasn't I would make a way out. I wouldn't just sit and accept my fate. I had too much to live for.