His Mafia Queen

15. Heart to heart (PART ONE)

Corinna's P.O.V:
I saw a younger me crying as I sat in a metal chair. My father had just found out that my breasts had begun to grow bigger and I would start to look like a woman more and more.

He had googled different old methods for torture and stumbled upon the "Iron chair" method. The method contained a metal chair and some fire. He sat me down, after he had beaten me black and blue and cuffed me into the chair. The chair had several strips and plates of brass and it was used to place in an open fire to slowly roast a human alive.

And that's what he wanted to do to me. Even if he had placed me in an angle that would only make me feel hot and not actually burn me.

The anxiety and stress of a younger, slightly less intelligent than the older me, was more than evident on my face. I screamed and thrashed around, screaming for the men around me to help me while they laughed.

The hardship in breathing with fire all around me had me suffocating as I screamed. Tears were streaming down my face as I cried and a panic attack hit me at full force. I was terrified of the burning I soon would feel.

My father had stumbled upon two more old torture methods. One of them was a psychological torture method named severe stress, sometimes to the point where an ordinary person would experience psychotic symptoms. And the other one was the breast ripper.

Currently, I had got a taste of the first two tortures. The Iron chair had caused me severe stress where I begged for death. I begged the people around me and god to take my life. But all I heard was laughter in return.

Even if I only sat in that chair for sixty minutes, it felt like forever. It had taken all of my energy and my anxiety was at its breaking point.

Only then did I realize that my father was far from finished. He wanted to punish me for the womanly curves I had started to form. So he had bought a torture device called "Breast ripper."

The breast ripper was used a long time ago on women who went through aborts against the law or even had any sexual contact outside of marriage.

Just like the metal chair, my father would not actually cut my breast off. He would just strengthen it against my breast to the point where my anxiety and severe stress would kick in again.

But for a child my age, I couldn't trust my father. So the fear of him actually doing it was ringing loud and clear in my head.

And all I could hear was the laughter at my helplessness. My face covered in tears and snot as I screamed for anyone to help me. He had gone through everything to implant horror into my fragile mind.

"Please, please! Please! Help me! No! Help me!" Little me screamed as I looked around horrified. But what I got instead, was sexually abused and raped. Punished over and over again for being born a girl.

Images and flashes all zoomed in a rush in my dream. I stood there, watching a younger me lose it all. I watched the men and my father laugh.

For them, it was just yet another amusing and funny day. For me, I died more and more every day.

I jolted up awake, my heart racing out of my chest as I heard screams surrounding the whole mansion that I was in.

Tears clouded my vision as I panicked and hopped out of bed. I ran around in the mansion, searching for the source to the scream even when I myself was horrified. Where ever I went the screams were still at the same volume, even in my room.

Panicked, I lay with the covers above my head. Shaken to the core and scared out of my mind. Tears and screams still clouded all my senses. My whole body shook at the dream.