A Deal With the Devil

Chapter 14

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!Trigger Warning!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ravanna's POV

I watch in amusement as Kassandra gapes at where I have directed us.

We stand in front of a fairly large house, larger than we likely need and stand in the driveway when something in Kassandra takes hold.

Suddenly, Kassandra is sucked into her mind, being told that she does not deserve this. What has she done to earn this? What genuity is hers when all she did was make a wish. That a life such as hers is to only be a life filled with pain.

I step in front of her and lift her face only to see that her eyes are glazed over. She has stopped breathing and my mind is pulled into hers.

Upon its entrance, my heart breaks, more times than I'm willing to admit.

What I see is a timeline of Kassandra's life.

The first time that her father touched her, at the age of fourteen. Only a week after her mother left.

He forced himself on her while she begged him not to and she cried out for her mother's help, a cry that went unanswered.

She thrashed around and tried to fight back but he overpowered her.

I saw how he beat her, blaming the mother's abandonment on her.

He viciously abused her in unspeakable ways - almost everyday -for four years.

She tried to run away but every time- he found her - getting the police involved as she was labeled a 'delinquent' and 'runaway.'

He conditioned her into thinking that she was worthless, hideous, and came with nothing but issues. Then confused her with unexpected things; cooked means or take out, providing the basic necessities for a child to grow. 

Every act, every moment, every word was abusive and it's to my amazement of her survival.

She would look in the mirror and stare at her own body in disgust and shame, pointing out what she thought as flaws and wearing more conservative clothing to cover what she assumed was an abomination.

He would starve her.

He would make her vomit any sustenance she might have received throughout the day. He did this until she starved herself, until she wholeheartedly believed that to consume was to waste and would only take food when it was he that provided it.

I saw the first time she harmed herself.

Tears streaming down her face as blood dripped down her arm. Raking that blade - that wretched balde - across the surface of her body again and again.

Telling herself that she deserved it, that if her father can cause her so much pain, it only made sense to harm herself to control the pain she was feeling.

She repeated this action countless times and what she thought she could control, brought on addiction.

This act was addictive, her skin craved its bite. It yearned to be torn open again and again and again. 

She couldn't stop.

Every time she wanted to, the urge became too great. Her very skin would itch and burn had it not received the treatment it was used to, making her succumb to the pain that she felt was deserved. Itching beyond comprehension when denied as its only saving grace, its only relief came with more harm. But what I saw afterwards, frightened me.

She lost too much blood for a human to still be alive.

Time and time again, she drained herself and wondered how she had not been dead.