captive 》h.s au

chapter one

When I awoke this morning the pain was worse than usual. I could feel the compression underneath my skin begin to tighten and ache. My eyes wandered to the window, where I saw nothing but complete and utter darkness. On a normal morning the sun would gleam through and fill my room with daylight. The only difference today is that I'm no longer in my bedroom. I'm in a motel in the middle of nowhere, and today my father is locking me up in a hospital for the criminally insane.

-

"Get in the fucking car Brianna." My fathers spiteful tone rang through my ears causing my skin to shiver. "I'm not going to tell you again." He stood next to our tan station wagon holding the passenger door ajar.

Without words I shot him a bitter glare and shoved past him to sit in the seat. The sun reflects off the grease in his hair as he walks to the other side of the vehicle.

I turn and face the window to avoid any face to face interactions with my dad. There's seven spots. I counted seven stained spots on the window while the gloomy town of Anglewood passed right before my eyes. People pretended not to notice our beat-up car compelling past them, but they still seemed to stare. Every pair of eyes all landing on me. Not eyes of curiosity, but eyes filled with hatred and terror. They were scared of me.

My father let out a long shaky sigh. "I hope you know I won't ever be coming to visit you while you're there. And when, or if you get out, you are not to come search for me. You go make a life for yourself, I have no intrest in being a part of it anymore."

"Do you honestly believe I wanted you to come visit me?" I said, ignoring the second half of his comment.

At first he said nothing, the pitter-patter of his fingers drumming on the steering wheel echoed throughout the car. But in a matter of seconds he slams onto the brakes. My neck jerks and my seat belt locks, keeping me from flying forward. The car comes to a quick stop, and as to be expected, my fathers arm comes swinging over from the other side of the car and makes contact with my left cheek.

I wince in pain and hide my face from his arms length, but with force he pushes himself closer to me and grabs my chin, yanking my head to look at him. I expected him to yell at me, or at least say something; but he did neither, and I soon received another harsh blow to my left cheek.

I should scream, defend myself, call for help, but I know better than that. Ever since I was young my father has abused me physically and emotionally. It started one night when he came home from work, I was about four years old. My mother was off nowhere to be found, so he decided to take his anger out on me. Little did I know, it would become a regular basis activity; him abusing me. Occasionally my mother would join in on the beatings as well, but usually she sat to the side and watched. She never had pity for me. I believe she enjoyed watching him beat me.

My father suddenly stopped hitting me and sat back up right in his seat, putting his seat belt back on. A small tear escaped the corner of my eye and I wiped it away with my maroon sweater. My jaw hurt like hell; he hit me harder than usual.

"How much longer?" I spoke softly. Not being able to make eye contact with him, I watch the road as he pulls back out into moving traffic, continuing our car ride.

Out of the corner of my eye I see his jaw clench, and his fingers tighten against the wheel. "About 5 minutes. I don't want to hear another fucking word from you until we arrive."

I simply nodded in response and leaned my head back on the seat, closing my eyes. Thoughts of dancing orange flames filled my mind and I basked in the beauty of my thoughts. Fire is such a beautiful thing, it's amazing how one spark can turn into a giant flame. My mind drifted back to the incident a couple days ago.The reason people feared me.