He Never Does || n.h

Chapter 6: Break Me Down

(End of Rosie's flashback: Now current time)

Chapter 6:

January brings the snow,

makes our feet and fingers glow.

February brings the rain,

Thaws the frozen lake again.

March brings breezes loud and shrill,

stirs the dancing daffodil.

April brings the primrose sweet,

Scatters daises at our feet.

May brings flocks of pretty lambs,

Skipping by their fleecy damns.

June brings tulips, lilies, roses,

Fills the children's hand with posies.

Six months.

It has been almost half a year since I've been stuck in this hell hole. Today is June 28th. That means I have been in my cement cell for 177 days exactly.

That's 4,248 hours during which I have come to realize something.

That's 254,880 minutes during which I have come to accept something.

I am never getting out of here.

I have lost the sliver of hope that once was within my heart. The tiny flame has been blown away. I have no chance of leaving.

These past months have been exactly as horrendous as the first few weeks. It's never going to get any better than this for me. I'm sick and tired of living in my own personal hell. Sometimes, when Rick hits me a little too hard, I almost hope that I die. I know it's twisted, but I think in this situation it's only normal I think this way. I don't only wish for death, I welcome it.

I'm as good as dead either way, and that's just the way Rick wanted it to be.

Today was the first day I bothered to turn on the radio in awhile. I couldn't quite remember how long I had been in here, I even missed my birthday on April 11th. I knew it was months because winter has turned into spring, but I had to check the radio to be sure. I don't turn on the radio much, it is too depressing. I don't like knowing things about the outside world because I have a feeling I won't be returning to it.

That feeling grows stronger with each day I'm locked away in this hellhole.

The concrete walls are suffocating me. I do spend a lot of time looking out the small basement window. The view never changes, but it is a much prettier picture than anything else I have to look at.

Speaking of looking at things, I am still forced to watch clips from his sick system of cameras. Before, they were all new and very unpleasant. As the months go on, I've noticed that he plays more repeats. Like he has no new footage to show me. That makes me glad. It means they aren't hurting anymore.

The videos aren't even the worst part of things anymore. It's the physical torment that affects me these days. It is far easier to numb the mind than the body.

My skin is pale. I haven't seen daylight in forever, I can't even remember what it feels like at this point. My hair is brittle, like my bones. It has grown longer than I've ever had it. That doesn't really matter to me though. My nails are flimsy and chipped. When there's more than a stub of them left I usually just bite them anyways.

I find it hard to do much of anything. I haven't properly got up and moved around in a few months. At first I tried to stay agile and exercise in this limited space, but then I gave up. Even if I wanted to I don't think I could anymore. The simple task of breathing makes me tired. It's been a few days since I've even stood up from the mattress.