Silence Is What Broke Me

Prologue

I let out a scream of utter terror as the fear coursing through my my veins sends my heart into an erratic, overdriven rhythm. I had screamed from what all the fear coursing through my veins meant. It meant that yet again, I was under her influence and unable to stop the pain that I would soon be introduced to. As the sound is leaving me, the force I use leaves my throat raw. The sound is earsplitting and wavering, coming from my exhausted and aching body. Though I had tried, there was no stopping my voice, there had to be some way to communicate the seer white hot pain I felt and the fear from the impending doom I knew I was to endure well into this slightly chill-filled August night.

My pain-filled screams left my ears ringing but I hardly noticed, my focus solely on the monster controlling me yet again. The broad grin her thin light pink lips wore made it seem as if at any moment her face would split in two mismatched pieces, and I would be all to happy of it did. At the moment I long for it to happen as impossible as it is, it would stop my pain from continuing. Her chin-length black hair framing her thin oval face, the lightness of her skin contrasting with a horrible starkness in the faint orange glow of the overhead light, makes her to be a demon in my eyes.

The cackle, after being released from her lips continued to resonated throughout the room. It being devoid of any warmth makes a shiver run down my spine - my face paling further from what had only been pailness caused by pain. Only a cold enjoyment at the misery she was causing filled her piercing empty coal black eyes, rooting me in place.

This woman who held my life in her cold thin fingers was only spurred on by my continued screams and futile attempts to back away.  As I was now trying to accomplish this, I only to find myself stuck between the confines of my dungeon and my tormenter. She watched me with her cold grin, hoping I would scream again and I was without a choice, complying when she brought the studded thick black belt back down on my left thigh, leaving a row of five small, but deep gashes gaining a red welt to form around them to complete the new wound on my marred body.

The pain made my stomach churn and I thankfully blacked out, but only for a few seconds as my scream died down to a broken whimper. Again, in this hell she created, I am being broken down. Again, I feel the shame from being so weak, from not being able to understand what I have done to upset her and from not being able to make her see that she loved me during day instead of the cloak of night changing her look into one of disgust.

Again and again, she continues her lashes to vent her anger, a crazed look in her eyes as she curses me, saying I have to be punished to stay cured from the disease that has control over my mother. Even after my mind and body has become numb from pain she leaves more welts, gashes and bruises, more reasons to never defy her. Reasons that prove I should be cured from insanity, an unattachment with reality that plagues my mother, my caregiver's older sister.

With my body no longer feeling I didn't scream, but she still refused to leave even after breaking down her puppet.  Sweat dripped down her face and along her neck, the hair that once fanned around her, now sticking to her forehead in damp clumps, my blood covering parts of her black hair and white skin, creating a disturbing array of color.

Through my slightly hazed vision I focused on her face, not wanting to see her clothes stained with blood, nor wanting the view of my torture device being clutched in her hand, her wicked and pleased grin residing on her face already having filled my mind to the brink with mind-numbing terror. Ever so slowly her energy depleted, her arm losing haste and power. My eyes had drooped closed and as she stopped I groggily opened them. The glint of a promise for more in the future was in her eyes and made me release a low whimper, causing her to smirk in satisfaction. Had I known what I was punished for I would have apologized but she just looked at me coldly and let out a small growl.

Throwing the belt down at my curled up body, she sneers and I flinch back into the wall again, only to let out a hiss of pain. She tersely looks away then heads for the door, taking out her key- the one that locks me away into an abyss of torment- so she can forget and discard my bruised and bleeding body to this room of my suffering.

Just as much a tormenter as my freedom, the metal, golden colored key hangs around her neck from a thin brown leather cord, hidden at most times under her shirt. As a further sign of her dominance, she commands me to look into her eyes which gleam with crazed pleasure, while taking the precious key from around her neck and slowly placing it in the lock, turning it to flee from the disasterly scene of a beaten body.

After my torment my body no longer wants to remain conscious but I know I need to clean, to wipe away the evidence of this night. I in no way want to wake up to my blood caked onto wounds like sorry excuses for bandages. The whip is still near me. Too close, but I can hardly stay awake.

Giving up, I close my eyes, the pain in my body turning to stiffness and greatfully, a numb feeling. Maybe if I close my eyes this will all be a dream. This is the only thought I can focus on, the lie I've had and continue to tell myself through the miserable years of my existence. Maybe when I wake up I won't have to clean the mess around me. I hope against all reason that this is the truth and I am to close to the dark to care if it is only wishful thinking, so I succumb to sleep, letting it take me away from reality.