stolen from sleep.

3

As darkness eats away at me, memories blossom, threatening to consume me in their own way:

    A beach of white sand kissing clear blue water stretches out before me. I am running towards the water, hot sand burning the soles of my feet, when I am swept off of the ground by two familiar arms.
   
     "Argh, I've got you now, my little pumpkin." My dads voice booms out over the waves. He begins to tickle me with one hand, the other still holding me off the ground. My small limbs beat against his as I try to wriggle free. I am laughing as he tosses me into the calm sea. Warm water engulfs me and when I pop out of the water I spot my mother watching us from the sand, smiling.

    I miss that smile.

    "Mommy, c'mon, the water is so waaarm!" I shriek at her from the sea, my hands waving her in. She exhales a breath, then sets down her book, and comes to meet us in the water.
 
    "You were right, love, the water is quite warm" she bends down and plants a kiss on my cheek, then pecks my father on the lips. A small exchange of affection passing between them.
   
     "Pumpkin, look," dad chirps, as he points down at the sea.

    He doesn't call me pumpkin anymore.

    I look down just as a small group of colorful fish swim through our legs. We laugh, a joyful sound, as they pass, their fins tickling our skin.

    We were always happy there. Our annual trip to a small beach, Delray Beach, in Florida. In this particular memory, I was ten. It seems ages ago, when things were still simple.

    This beach memory transform into another memory, a darker one.

    I hear a plate crash against the wall, its pieces clinking as they fall onto the hardwood floor.
   
     "You don't think you love me anymore?" My mothers voice cracks out, a sob splintering the words. "And what about Chloe, do you still love your daughter?"
   
      "I don't know. I really don't." From the stairs, where I crouch in shadows, I can hear him pacing, my mother weeping. She says something I don't hear and he pauses.
   
     "How long have you known," he asks, his voice low.
  
   "Long enough. This just confirms my suspicion. Get out. Now."
   
     He doesn't argue, doesn't try to fight for us, he just leaves. Walks right out the door, he doesn't even bother to say goodbye. Even to me, his pumpkin. The car turns on, and I see the flashes of the headlights before they disappear.
   
     My mother rips a frame of the wall, and that crashes into shards on the floor. Another follows, she doesn't stop until the family room is a sharp mess of glass. She collapses on the couch and cries, I do the same.

    The next day she told me that dad had been cheating on her with another woman, a barista that works at the local coffee shop by his work. Also, that she was pregnant. I held her as she sobbed, her shoulders shaking against me, her tears wetting my T-shirt.

     He hadn't care about that little babe either, when she told him. Instead, he moved in with his lover, and her two sons.

    That was five months ago. Now it was just me and her, and my coming sister. We took our trip without him this year, refusing to let him ruin the tradition. We were all we had left, her and I, and now she didn't even have that.

    I wake with a sob.

    The dark expanse of my grey cell greets me once more and I can feel dried tears on my cheeks. I continue to weep, silently sobbing, and I don't even stiffen when the door creaks from behind.
   
     He steps in front of me, grasping my chin in his rough hand. He tilts it up towards him and I nearly spit at him again. I decide against it, my grief weighing me down. With a finger he wipes away my tears, flicking the moisture at the ground.
   
      "Why Chloe, don't cry now, for you have nothing to try for. Yet." He releases his grip on me, and throws a glance over me. "Plus, you're ruining your beauty, I think that's my job, isn't it?" He chuckles that now too familiar laugh and stalks away.
 
      I expect the door to sound with a creak but instead a dark cloth is forced over my head. My limbs are released from the grasp of their restraints, but not left free. Plastic zip ties cut through the already beaten skin as they are tightened around me. He pushes the back of my chair and I drop onto the cold ground. My bones screaming with pain. I try to push myself off the floor with my bound hands, but I'm thrown back to the ground. His hands circle my ankles and he drags me across the cold stone. I try to thrash, but I am already sore and weak from the electricity that scarred me.
   
     He drags me from the room, and my back is rubbed raw as we go. I try to use my arms to push the cloth from my head, but each time he kicks me back down, his boot cracking against my shoulder. I give up as he begins to hum an off key melody. He stops and then I feel his hands on my sides, a wave of nausea rolling in my stomach. He picks me up throwing my weight over his shoulder. I hear a sliding noise before he tosses me down, my heap of already bruised limbs landing hard.
   
    He cuts the ties from my arms and legs and removes the fabric from my eyes.
   
    The light is too bright and my eyes struggle to adjust. When they do, he is gone, and I look around.

    I am in a box