Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Pointing the finger and issuing blame are the only things that calm my nerves.
Actually considering and accepting that tonight felt different with him can’t be allowed to seep inside of me. It wasn’t different. He isn’t different. He hurt me, threatened me, wrapped his hand around my throat without being prompted. He is just as much a monster as every man that came before him.
I stare at a spot on the wall, wishing I could just close off my mind. It would be much easier to deal with than the realization that I’m losing my fucking mind.
I’ve never been the type to enjoy violence or aggressive sex, and I know that not liking it now doesn’t negate the fact that he made me orgasm. I know he knows he did. I’m not here living out some deep, dark fucking fantasies. I know I’ve had no choice, and that orgasm was forced from me just like everything else has been. I couldn’t have stopped it any more than I can walk out the front door of this house and make it back to Texas safely.
Alani keeps me here. My little sister and the threat of harm heading in her direction keeps me here. I can’t even formulate a lie about having any sort of power because the last of it was ripped from my body tonight.
I twist my fingers together, trying to stop the trembling in them, but it doesn’t help. I ache from head to toe from the tremors I’ve had since I was untied from the bed and ordered back to my room.
I left before the man did, and I have no clue what happened to him after. It’s very possible that he’s already dead, but I can’t bring myself to stand at the window, in fear of watching one of Raul’s men kick his lifeless body into a shallow grave. I don’t want to know. I just pray I never see him again. He confuses my body and fucks with my head too much.
I climb off my bed, knowing I’m taking a real risk as I cross the room and stick my head out of the open doorway. The hallway is empty, but that doesn’t mean the coast is clear. The men who work here keep regular patrols, and someone is always awake making sure we aren’t getting any wild ideas about trying to escape.
I’ve already had my shower but I don’t feel clean. The stain of shame is a constant on my skin, but tonight it’s ten times worse for some reason.
I tiptoe across the hall, staring at the curtainless shower and communal bar of soap sitting on the edge. I’d eat the entire fucking bar if I thought it would make me feel clean from the inside out, but I know it won’t. I’ll live with the disgrace until Raul decides I’m no longer worth keeping alive. I swallow as I step into the tub, praying he makes that decision soon.
The water is cold, racing down my back toward the drain, but I relish the bite of pain it brings, refusing to take a step back until it warms some. I deserve the bites on my skin.
I don’t know if it’s a lack of stimulation. There’s no television here, no books to read, no electronic devices to mindlessly shuffle through to fill the time. But I can’t stop thinking about what happened. My first month here, I hyper focused on everything, reliving it over and over until it made me so sick I couldn’t even eat the paltry excuse for food they sent up each day. I learned over time that I wasn’t punishing anyone but myself and dying wasn’t an option. I’d already been threatened with what that would mean for Alani.
I became a pro at experiencing shit and then promptly shoving it down so deep the memories seemed more like something I’d previously seen on television rather than something I experienced myself.
I can already tell that this last event will be impossible to shove down. I don’t know if it’s because of him or if that dark place I keep all these traumas is finally full and overflowing.
I scratch at my skin, making sure to rub the scabs threatening to form at my wrists. I want the pain because remembering the pleasure he forced me to feel will only make me sick.
His apology echoes, unwanted in my head, over and over, but even clamping my palms over my ears doesn’t stanch the words.
He seemed genuine, but it doesn’t matter.
He can’t matter to me. Feeling sorry for anyone else will only breed trouble for me. I can’t allow anyone else’s pain and experience to alter my own path. I can’t compromise my sister.
I turn the handle, stopping the flow of water before stepping out of the shower, nearly gagging as I touch the damp towel hanging off to the side. I don’t know if they make us all use the same things as a way to assert power or if they’re just thoughtless in how they treat us, but I can’t imagine much worse than using a damp towel after getting clean.