Psycho Mafia: BBB2

4

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I barely made it a few blocks from the car before a guy approached me. I tried to run, I tried to fight, but it was pointless.

And now I’m here. Wherever here is.

I tug at the chain attached to the wall and clasped around my wrist. The skin beneath the metal cuff is chaffed and raw. Pulling my knees up to my chest, I rest my forehead on them and tentatively brush my fingers over my swollen ankle.

A sharp breath hisses through my gritted teeth as pain lances up my leg. I think it’s broken. A tremor rips through me, and a chill sweeps over my sweat-slicked skin.

My stomach rolls and clenches violently. Groaning, I lean over the edge of the bed and throw up on the floor. The coarse sheets beneath me feel like sandpaper tearing over my skin. I need…I need a hit. The craving is so intense, so all-consuming. It’s like my senses are being overloaded, and everything is too bright, too loud, too real.

I crave the darkness, the feeling of nothingness that has surrounded me for so long and made my life bearable. Another convulsion rips through me, and my body feels like it’s tearing itself apart.

I lay on my back gasping, staring at the beige walls, peeling and stained yellow with years of nicotine. A window is covered with dirty and torn curtains, letting in a depressing, muted light.

The entire place smells of body odor, cigarette smoke, urine, and now vomit. I ran from one master only to gain another. But now, I’m literally chained to a bed, and I feel like I’m dying.

Really though, it’s all the same. Men fucking me. Why does it matter which men they are? And honestly, I don’t mind being fucked. It doesn’t hurt me. It’s just an act. It’s all the other things that I know will break me if I have to endure them again.

The door opens, and I wince against the bright light that pours inside for a moment before it closes again. A skinny man covered in tattoos grins at me, and I sigh, fixing my gaze on the stained ceiling.

“Eh, a little gringo bitch.” He sniffs as he walks over to me, already stripping out of his shirt. He grabs my breast and squeezes roughly. I barely feel it. Simply remaining conscious is an effort right now.

Pawing at my thighs, he wrenches me down the bed so hard that the chain snaps tight, threatening to rip my arm from its socket. With a sigh, I close my eyes. My mind drifts to the same place it always does; nowhere.

Utter absence of thought or feeling. I hear the clink of his belt buckle, the rustle of fabric, and then the door opens again…

Bang!

My eyes flash open, and my heart leaps into my throat, ears ringing. Something wet covers my chest and stomach, and when I look down, I have to fight blind panic.

Blood.

I’m covered in blood.

A man in the doorway stares at me, a gun in his hand as his enormous frame almost blocks out the light from outside. He approaches me, and I watch him through slurred senses.

Closing my eyes, I wait for the shot to come. I know how this works. No witnesses, and really, no one will think twice about shooting a whore, especially not a gang member.

A smile touches my lips at the thought that this might end here and now. I wonder what it will be like.

Will it be as peaceful as I’ve often thought it might be? Will there be something beyond this, or simply nothing? Fingers brush my arm, and I flinch.