The Girl Who Doesn't Smile

Chapter One: New Beginnings and Fake Names

Fear. It's all I know. It's all that's keeping me alive.

It fills me. It consumes me. It's so strong I can taste it. Or maybe that's just my blood.

I bang my fists on the walls in vain, screaming out my frustration of being locked up. Even after all this time, I still try to find a way out of this hell. Knowing from experience, nothing is infallible. No matter high the fences are, how many guards there are patrolling, there is at least one way to surpass them. So technically I still have a chance, even if it is closer to none than one. I drop to the floor and lean against the blood stained concrete walls while rubbing my busted knuckles. I swallow, hoping to soothe my sore throat but getting no relief. I try to recall them last time I had anything to drink but draw a blank. Was it three days? Four? The days are starting to blur together so much that I can't tell one from the other. And without sunlight I can't tell when one ends.

I try to think of a new escape route but I'm so exhausted that I can't think of a future beyond today. I'm lucky I've survived this long. If I start thinking long term fate might throw me yet another one of her infamous curveballs. My fear is that the next unexpected event in my cruel world will be so damning for me that I won't even have the chance to recover.

As I pant from my screaming match with the walls, I hear movement outside my prison. Adrenaline floods my system as I decide: fight or flight. It doesn't matter that is appears I have a choice; I always choose fight. There's no other way to guarantee my survival and even then my chances are slim.

The sound of his footsteps approaching echoes off the walls of the cellar, amplifying my sudden and inevitable doom. A heavy feeling enters my stomach and I can't shake the feeling that something is going to happen. Of course something is going to happen, but something worse than normal. My arms wrap around my shaking body, but nothing can stop the shivers crawling down my spine. Not even my stubbornness or my hatred for showing weakness.

The pit in my stomach grows until I think it may fall out of my body. My eyes sting as the smell of bleach enters the cellar. This is the cause for my unease, I realize.

Sometimes I hate being right. Why? Because lately it's not a good thing. In this case its debatable. Good: I can prepare for the excruciating pain that is most likely heading my way. Bad: I know I can't escape this nightmare that is my reality. I have yet to decide if being oblivious and ignorant or knowing everything is better.

I stay still as the steel door that was installed a few days ago creeks open. My body tenses as he enters my 'room', waiting for him to make the first move. To some this may seem as a weak move; waiting for your opponent to strike first. But in my case, it's simply for future reference: to find his pattern and to eventually use his habits against him.

His form appears in my peripheral vision but I look anywhere than at him. The smell of bleach grows stronger as he slowly descends to my space. His hands flex as he circles me, maybe out of anticipation. Could be annoyance though.

I attempt to appear unaffected by his presence but as soon as I hear his voice, uncontrollable shivers wrack my spine.

"Hello, my sweet. Did you miss me?" The feeling of his breath lingers on my skin as he breaths down my neck, making bile rise in my throat. My stomach churns as I try to contain my rising panic and my instinct to move away. He grabs me around the waist, shoving me against his body and the wall, affectively restraining me. For the moment anyway.

I steel myself so I won't flinch as his fingers slide across my body as if to remind me that he can do anything he wants to me. The digits on his right hand trace up my torso until he reaches the dip of my neck. He grabs it and tightens his hold. It's tight enough to be uncomfortable but not enough to cut off my air flow. The man in question is usually unpleasant but more in control, a little less direct. More meticulous and subtle with his threats. Although he does hurt me physically often, he tends to enjoy mentally torturing me even more. Unless he has a bad day, like today.