No Escape

Chapter 1

It started when I was young. I was only four. Mom and Dad never let me leave the house. I would be isolated for hours at a time. Never understanding what was wrong or going on. Was it me? Was it them? I never knew.

The basement was always cold. My only source of heat was my blanket and bed. I remember curling in a tight ball, wrapping my arms around my knees in order to pull them close. Winter was the worst. I could see my breath each time I exhaled. My feet, hands, and lips were always blue and I would lose feeling. I was numb to the cold.

My parents never let me near electronics. No television. No phone. Not even a nightlight. It was always dark, but when I was six I managed to convince my mother to let me have candles. I would make a circle around my old, twin bed and use the heat from the flames to warm me. I collected the wax from the candles to make new ones. I rarely ran out of candles. Sometimes I would burn myself with them. I wouldn't notice until the next day. I got used to the stinging sensation whenever I accidentally touched a candle, so the only way for me to notice that I did was visibly seeing the raw and blistering skin. Of course, I would pick at the dead skin until it would start bleeding. Once I reached the point where I drew blood, I would stop.

I spent days alone. Talking to myself in the barren room. I made imaginary friends whenever I was bored. Different creatures. Random names. Whatever my mind came up with. Mother brought me stuffed animals for my seventh birthday. They were missing an eye or a button here and there, but they were better than nothing. Most of them were old teddy bears, but there were a few bunnies. The bears were all given one name, Honey and the bunnies were given a different one, Holly. They were my friends. We would spend hours talking. I remember that I would pile them on my bed before going to sleep because they made me feel safe. I would picture them protecting me from all the horrible tings trying to hurt me. Imaginary monsters. My mom whenever she was angry. My dad holding a belt and trying to get me. The list went on.

One day, I woke up and found that my animals were missing from their spot on my bed. When turned around, I saw that the candle wax was all over the floor and all of my stuffed animals were burnt. They were destroyed. Covered in their own ashes. I was upset, but then I went back to talking to myself. I knew, that nothing lasted forever.

Whenerver I talked, I never really knew what to say. Most of my words were gibberish. My mom had taught me how to talk correctly when I was ten. She wasn't so bad. There was the occasional yelling and beating whenever I would say a word incorrectly, but she was never as bad as my father. Sure she smelled like smoke all the time, but there was always the hint of lavender from her perfume. As I grew older, she would give me books to read and coloring books. I only got them for my birthday though. She came in once a day to give me food. It was my breakfast, lunch, and dinner all at once.

I remember having a bunny when I was twelve. He was a black and white one. I named him Spot. He stayed in the basement with me. Spot was kept in a small cage. At the time, the food I was given consisted of carrots and lettuce, and only carrots and lettuce. Dad told me that rabbits ate carrots and lettuce. So I would give them to him. It was either he eat or I did and I always chose him when given the specific food. I was in charge of taking care of him after all. I had to sacrifice my needs in order to keep him comfortable. My dad knew this, so he would only give enough carrots or lettuce for one of us. I would give the meal to Spot for two days and on the third day I would eat it. It went like this for a while.

I remember playing with him, feeding him his second day meal, putting him back in his cage, and going to bed. The next morning, he was gone. My father came in with a bowl of soup after an hour of me crying and thinking that Spot left him. He looked at me, smiled, and handed me the soup. He told me to eat it because that was the only food I would given that day. I did. Since I had given the salad to Spot the night before, I was starving. After I had finished, my father looked at me and told me that I had ate Spot Soup. That the meat pieces weren't chicken, like I thought they were, and instead was rabbit. I stared at the empty bowl. Tears pooled out of my eyes. My father hugged me.

At the time I had already started puberty. Growth spurts were common. I would start having cramps. It was always the worst. My body image started to change and I began to get curves. When my father hugged me, he held me tightly. Too tightly. He rubbed my back over and over again. His hand slipped between my shirt and his cold hand traveled up my spine. He buried his face in my hair and sniffed it. He sighed, told me I smelled good, and left the room.

I didn't go to sleep that night. I hugged myself as tightly as I could. I pulled at my hair. Scratched at my sides. Disgusted by what I had just experienced. I wanted to scream. I wanted to run. I wanted to crawl through the small window that I knew I couldn't reach. I wanted to suffocate myself with my pillow case. I wanted to die.