Babydoll

Prologue

She always told me that my hair shouldn't be messy. Mama always said I should be clean, or he'll punish me. He doesn't like it when we're messy. Every morning she would wash me. There was only one time I refused because I was sick. That day, she violently scrubbed my body, she told me the it was his punishment. She would repeat the same saying over and over again.

He is angry. It is his. His hands are doing this, he is doing this.

I'm sorry, babydoll.

She carried on for very long time, even though I said I was sorry.

I never knew who he was. I always asked, but mama would never reply, and she would say the same thing to me.

"All in due time."

I never knew what it meant, but when I would ask, she would shout at me. She would tell me that I shouldn't ask a lot of questions if I wanted him to love me. But, I didn't. I didn't want him to love me. There was only one time she told me who he was, but it didn't make sense.

"Babydoll, come here." I walked to mama. Her blonde hair was messy. She looked like a child, someone my age. Not like an adult. Slowly, she braided her hair. Proudly, she watched her fingers as they followed the same sequence again and again down her long, angelic hair. I stood patiently in front of her, waiting for her to realise that I was there.

"Mama, can you tell me who he is?" My voice timid and small. As soon as the words left my lips, her head shot up, something in her expression had changed. Her face turned sickeningly pale. Her eyes held a farmiliar, uneasy look. Screeches filled our back garden as Mama slapped me across the face, over and over. Hard. Tears poured down my left cheek. A salty flavour touched my taste buds as my hand wrapped around the bruised skin on my right cheek. Using the plam of my other hand, I pushed my brown hair to the back of my head. Mama's eyes softened.

"Babydoll, I'm sorry. But I told you that you shouldn't ask me questions." She spoke so calmly.

Her expression changed as quick as the click of a finger. Searching frantically from left to right, she came close to me. Her green orbs seized mine, changing from an emerald green to a sea green with hints of hazel. Pursing her lips together, her index finger travelled from my cheek-wiping my tears along with it. She licked the salty liquid from her finger, disturbingly slow. As if it had a mind of it's own, her finger traced the outline of her lips, beforing placing itself on the middle of her lips.

"Shhhh..."

She bent down to my side, her lips centimetres away from my ears.

"He's here. He made me do that, babydoll. I would never hurt you." Whispering, her voice barely audible and unnerving. I didn't believe her. Not one bit. She always used to say stuff like that. It never made sense. Because I could never see him.

"Please, mama. Listen to me. There's no one here." The sentences came out in heart-wrenching sobs. A strong wind pushed past us both. Mama remained in the same place, watching past me seeming as if into a different world altogether. Her breathing became heavy. Panting, almost.

"He's gone."

"Mama, who's gone? Who was he?"

"I am his, he is mine. You are his property. We are his." She chanted over and over. Her eyes still fixed to watch behind me. Her body shook as if she had no control over it.

"Mama!" I screamed, desperate. I was too scared to touch her. She had always been like this, and had episodes like this. Some worse than others.

Shockingly, she spoke three words, and three words only.

"He made you."

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