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A muzzle

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A muzzle.

They had put a bloody muzzle on me. And handcuffs. I was really feral, that was for sure. They had even put me in a cage.


I wiggled my finger under one of the straps and tried to scratch my aching skin. Birdie looked up, catching my gaze, and I stopped trying with the shitty muzzle.

I had spent most of my life in cages, but none of them was like this. This one was small and had bars. Something you'd put a wild and small animal in. They kept telling me, I didn't need much space anyways, when I was so small myself.

They had measured and weighed me, but they had to drug me to do so. Like I was gonna just let them put me through that humiliation willingly.

I was 5'6'' and 100 lbs. That is very small. And skinny.

I hadn't been called skinny in a while, because Che didn't call me skinny. Che called me beautiful. Nobody had ever used that word to describe me. But my loving boyfriend did.

I felt this sharp pain in my chest every time I thought of him. What was he thinking? Did he think I had just left? Because I hadn't. I had just gone for a very small walk, and then all of a sudden, the agents were everywhere.

My head throbbed when I started thinking about that, so I tried to stay positive. It was hard to stay positive when my entire body and face was so sore. I had crusts of dried blood around my eyes, running down from my eyebrows.

They tried to beat me into submission. They tried everything, but I still kept silent. I didn't say a thing. I had been trained so very well by my older brother for stuff like this. He had beaten me until I forgot who I was. I even forgot my own name.

I was five when I was taken into custody. I still didn't know why they had taken me. But they took my twin sister eight years later too. They wanted to take all of us.

My father thought it was because of him. What was he thinking about all of this? He had just gotten me back, and now I was gone again. Sitting in a cage, where I couldn't even stand up. All I could was to sit against the bars and stare. Mostly I stared at the wall, but right now, I was staring back at Birdie, staring at me.

I was about to doze off when Birdie opened the cage and shoved a bottle of water into my hand. I looked up at him with heavy-lidded eyes, slowly blinking.

"Drink," he said coolly.

I had liked Birdie. He had been honest with me. Or so I thought. He had tried to help me. Now he didn't give a shit. It made sense, though. I had run away with his little brother, and now I refused to tell them where he was.

Che... The pain grew inside of me again with the memory of his beautiful face. His deep, dark blue eyes. His long soft hair.


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