Spectator

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✨flashback in italics
⚠️ this might be triggering - abuse mentioned in italics

My breathing becomes shallow, my weak chest aching every time I complete the action. With sluggish behaviour, I wake up from a deep slumber I was forced into. For a minute, I cannot see and darkness overtakes my vision. Using my basic survival skills, I recognise the feel of cold metal chains surrounds my thin, pale wrists and a wet dewy smell clings on to the air around me. Like a river, cold sweat travels down my naked, child-like body and my greasy hair which hasn't been washed for days, sticks to my paling skin. I wince sharply as the sweat stings the wounds on my back and shift uncomfortably to reduce the pain.

As my vision returns to me, I squint my eyes in the dim light above me; both my hands are tied above my head, and my feet are left to tangle dangle millimetres above the ground, causing my shoulders to ache in pain. I mentally assess my body, and identify myself with a dislocated shoulder, belt wounds on my back from the whipping I received a few hours ago, and a fever running through my whole body.

My vocal chords have been damaged and the memory of standing rigid in a cold shower obscures my vision. I'd been forced to drink hot water and bleach, my head tilted towards the shower head, preventing me from breathing. Cynical laughter echoing around the tiled room, was the only background noise accompanied by the water streaming down towards the shower floor.

My body feels stiff and I know there is more to come. There is never just a whipping. At the same time, I hear the creaking of the old basement door as a female figure trudges down the stairs in a drunk state. Her adult naked body comes to my view as I see the bruises on her, caused by the men she brought home and the needles they would exchange for a night with her.

She sneers in disgust and makes her way towards my childish frame. I am just a child though, nothing more, nothing less. A child nobody ever took seriously, a child used for adult reasons with adult intentions.

I have just noticed she's carrying a tool box with her, it's build red, old and dented. With a slam, she puts down the box and I flinch in fear. The basement is pretty empty other than chains originally used for cars and now me, a few boxes and a metal folding table.

She leans against the very table and opens the box as sick excitement fills her eyes. "Hmm. Good morning my child. Now you should already know, you need to be punished so be the good little doggy you are and keep your mouth shut. We don't want police taking you away from your dear mother and into the hands of the dangerous people outside, now do we? She cackles like the witch from Snow White and I cave into my body more. I clench my jaw to prevent tears from escaping my eyes.

I see her take out an old screwdriver and a rusty craft knife and she begins to sway towards me like death itself. My heart beats like a drum in my ears as fear and adrenaline pumps through my body. My whole figure trembles, already anticipating the pain and a metallic scent starts to fill my nose. With bleary eyes, I lick my dried lips and try and focus on the monster walking towards me. She once again releases an evil cackle and then everything freezes.

There is a knock at the door.

Hesitantly, the monster looks up and hears a voice, "Under the law of this county, open up! This is the police and we will use force. Open up!" I would sigh in relief but I'm frozen. A numb feeling travels through my body, as if I've been seated in an ice bath.

The crazy woman turns to look at me, this time her eyes are as wild as a horse, unhinged and dangerous. With fear of being caught, she lifts up the craft knife and slams it into my thigh, not thinking of the consequences.

Without any control, a scream rips its way out of my throat as tears stream down my face. This is the end. My vision becomes dizzy and a light headed feeling overtakes me.

She, noticing the reaction she got out of me, picks up the screwdriver, her eyes glassy and full of malicious sadistic joy. I don't remember what happens after that for I faint from blood loss, death approaching me faster than a train. Honestly, I didn't mind, it would've prevented so many things but it didn't.

Even death is a liar.

Even death didn't want my body full of anguish and pain so deep it rips through the soul as it's nothing but a sheer barrier.

Even death decided to forgive me.

It felt like it didn't though. For after that moment, I have roamed the earth like a spectator, a ghost.

Maybe I did die,

Maybe I didn't.

I'll never know.

I step into the shower, wincing in pain, and wash away the dirt and blood on my body. Marie really did a number on my frame; I had a bruise on my jaw, a stab wound near my hip and scratches all over my thighs. Oddly, I laugh. It looks like I got into a cat fight. Meow! Hehe.

The reddish water starts to disappear and I step out, knowing this is going to sting. Still dripping wet, I take out my first aid kit, a bottle of whisky and a belt. With a huff, I rest against the sink and take a sip of the golden liquid. Leaning my head back, I sigh as it travels through my body and check the burn on my hand. It won't scar.

I then look at the bigger problem which is the wound above my left hip and bite onto an old brown belt. Taking out my needle and thread, I loop it through the hole in the needle and start to stitch myself together like a rag doll.

After half an hour of seeing stars and arguing with the twitter bird which flys over my head, I'm done and I take my bandaged self to bed. I go to sleep, trying to forget the flashbacks that don't seem to leave me alone, twisting and turning the whole night.