I Am Keeley

Chapter 2: Dragons of the Flame

Keeley's POV
I'm not sure how long I had spent outside with my father, but by the time I got back to my room, I was exhausted. I kissed Gus goodnight and got comfortable for my first night in this new house, this new bed, and my new life.

***

I watched him circle me like a predator closing in on their prey. This was the third time I had seen him since I've been in this hell hole, and I'm not even sure how long that had been. I stopped counting after two months.

"Ya know Kitten, we wouldn't have to chain you up and gag you if you would just be compliant," he spoke in a cold and malice-filled tone. His taller and stronger frame was standing in front of me, looking directly into my emotionless eyes. His dark brown eyes were roaming my body, taking in the bruised and bloodied state at which I was in. I could tell I looked rough: my clothes were ripped to shreds from the different weapons his men had been using on me, and my ribs were achey and broken from the beatings they had delivered. My body looked like it had been painted with the number of bruises scattered across my pale skin. My blonde hair was now stained red from my own blood, and my face, I don't even know if I wanted to see myself in this state. 

"What no response? Oh that's right, you can't," he let out a bone-chilling laugh that made my blood run cold. I will never be able to forget that awful sound.

He walked closer to me and gently ran his fingers down the length of my arms and back up to my face. I tried to jerk away, but my hands were chained to two poles above my head and my feet were barely touching the floor, allowing him to do whatever with my body. "Now Kitten, what have I said about moving away? I own you now, and there is nothing you can do about it," his hot breath whispered into my ear before taking a step back.

I couldn't take our closeness in proximity anymore, it was making me nauseous. So with all the energy left in me, I pulled myself up by the chains and kicked my legs up, succeeding in landing a solid kick to his nose, ultimately breaking it. He didn't scream, and he didn't yell. The only thing heard was the sickening crack of his nose. He looked at me with a sinister smirk and spoke lowly: "Wrong move, Keeley. Nixon," he turned to one of the men that regularly beat me, "get me my whip."

***

I  woke up gasping and drenched in sweat. I felt a few tears escape my eyes as I tried to shake off the dream. Gus came up to me and laid his head in my lap to help slow my breathing and make the tears subsided. I haven't dreamt of him in months, and the thought alone was enough to make me nauseous. I shot up out of my bed and emptied last night's dinner into the toilet. I could still feel his calloused and dirty hands on my body, so I dragged myself into the shower.

After cleaning myself, I shakily changed into old and tattered, black sweats with a sports bra and a black zip-up jacket. I finish tying up my tennis shoes and call for Gus.

We walk down the stairs, after I had tucked my gun into my waistband, and into an empty living room. For once, I'm glad nobody is around solely because I don't know if I could handle a normal conversation after that dream, or really, a memory.

I open the back door for Gus to use the bathroom. Once he went outside, I headed to the kitchen to make breakfast.

I poured myself a bowl of cereal, but the moment I go to eat it, I just can't. I know I'm hungry, but I just can't kick the queasy feeling inside of me.

"Morning, Keels," Cal greets me. I must have been spaced out because I didn't even hear him come in.

"Morning," I respond so quietly I doubted he even heard me.