Love For Sale

Chapter 1.

THIRD PERSON POV:

The rain was coming down in buckets. She knew this because there were streams of water flowing from the cracks in the walls and pooling into small rivers across the floor of her bedroom. She lay on her stomach on her cot with her hands stretched out to reach one of the streams flowing beneath her bed. 

She cupped as much water as she could get into her palm and sipped on it. She knows the water is probably going to make her sick but she doesn't have a choice. They forgot to bring her food today. That makes it the second day in a row she has had no food or drink. 

The water felt cool against her chapped lips and her dry throat welcomed the wetness from the water as she licked it greedily from her palms. She rose from her cot with her wool shredded blanket wrapped tightly around her to go directly to the waters source. She followed the stream to the corner of the room to the wall where the water was trickling in. She held her cupped hand  below the crack to catch the water in her palm. She slurped the water as quietly as she could, afraid that her parents would find out how she found a small source of comfort from the rain. 

Ali always welcomes rainstorms when they come. Although she could only imagine what it would feel like to be rained on. She has never been outside the house. She has never felt the warmth of the sun either. For as long as she can remember, she has never been outside. Her parents say she is allergic to everything, including the sun. That is why she must never go outside. She has only tasted mundane things like dry cereal and bread in the lonely 24 years of her life. Because of their words, "You're allergic."

For a long time, Ali has wondered about the truth in their stories but has been far too afraid to find out for herself. She knows that whenever her parents get upset with her there are consequences beyond imagination. They come up with the worst ways of punishment to make her regret having ever been born. 

ALI'S POV:

"Ali! Come up here and clean this fucking mess up. There is water everywhere!" Mother screeched from the top of the stairs.

"Coming!" I called back to her immediately.

I dried my hands on my blanket and tossed it on my bed as I passed by  before bounding up the stairs as fast as I could. My head felt dizzy from standing too quickly and having nothing to eat for a couple of days. Hopefully, if I do a good job and don't make mom mad, she will remember to feed me something. As much as I am afraid of her, she is the nicer one of the three people who live upstairs. But even for mom, being nice is a rarity. 

I reached the top of the stairs and headed for the broom closet to get the mop and bucket. As I closed the cabinet door, I heard footsteps rush up behind me. The next thing I knew my arm was being pulled from the cabinet and I was being spun around to face whoever was manhandling me. Crap... It's not mother, it's Greg, my dad. I only call him Greg. He has smacked me around too many times to count in the past for calling him dad. 

My mind went into self-preservation mode the instant my eyes locked on his. My eyes lowered to the floor. I'm not supposed to make eye contact, speak to, touch unless told to, talkback, or make any noise while in his presence. Every muscle in my body goes rigid as I wait for him to speak or do to me whatever he is here to do. 

"What the fuck are you doing out of the basement bitch?" He snarled. 

"I'm... I'm sorry.. Mom told me to come clean..."

He cuts me off mid-sentence. Which is a common habit of his.

"Oh, she did, did she?" He seethed through his teeth. 

"Darling, did you call Ali upstairs for something? I think she's up here trying to steal some food." He hollered at mom in the other room.

His grip tightened on my arm and pulled me closer into his torso. He knows damn well that I was nowhere near the food cabinet. I knew this was just another one of his excuses to take me and... punish me. I felt tears prickling in the corners of my eyes. I know not to cry in front of him so I try my hardest not to let a single tear slip. I beg my inner thoughts to calm down before he sees that I am scared. Greg is like a predator who senses the fear in his prey before he gobbles them up. He finds immense pleasure in the cruel things he does to me. Making me cry is his favorite.