The smell of the salty air wafting over me stung at my raw nostrils, and my eyes shot open to see the dim over headlamp above me. This wasn't my car, and it wasn't anywhere near home. This was a large vehicle, sitting parked on a cliff by the ocean. Through my blurred vision, I had a spotty view of the moon shining down onto the glossy waves.
It would have been a beautiful view, under different circumstances.
I needed—
Where was Christian?
Diego—
Scream.
As loud as—
Why can't you scream?
My lips felt dry and cracked, split down the center with no moisture. Did I ruin my voice? I could open my mouth, but no sound would come out. Completely silenced.
Am I dying?
Two shadowed figures stepped into view, standing in front of the wide-open doors of the vehicle. They spoke in hushed tones, long strings of Spanish that only sounded like buzzing in my ears.
Those voices.
I know those voices.
The accents.
One of those men was Marcello.
Guaranteed.
There was one exit, right in front of me, and I couldn't move. Like they were teasing me. A cruel joke. He knew what he was doing to me.
I can't keep my eyes open.
What the fuck did they give me?
Desperate to yell, to give it all my best shot, I pushed all the air from my lungs out for a forceful groan. They wouldn't expect me to fight— but I would. No matter how high.
What drugs are these?
"Ah, excellent!" Marcello's garbled voice bounced off the car walls around me. "It's awake. Are you comfortable?" With a laugh that stung at my eardrums, he smacked his hand against my bare ankle repeatedly.
Each blink felt so heavy like there were strings tied to them, pulling them down. I couldn't keep them open.
Help.
Say it.
Call for—
"Help," With every ounce of energy I had, I focused on myself enough to turn to the side. In doing so, I became very aware of the gritty rope rubbing into my ankles, cutting into my wrists.
He was laughing at me.
Squeezing.
Keep your eyes open.
"So weak. So quickly reduced to nothing." With a quick pull on my legs, I was now forced to face him. There was no mask, no smoke to hide behind. Just him. "Look at you."
My skull ached with a sharp dull pain that swelled in my brain. A pain so intense, the growl of sheer anguish that rose from my chest seemed to shake the ground around me. Echoing my groans as I struggled to breathe.
Pennies.
The taste won't leave my mouth.
Blood.
My vision faded in and out, and with one blink, I was out of the vehicle and propped up on Marcello's shoulder. Gently bouncing with every strained step he took down the set of steel staircases, I was a ragdoll in his arms.
"M— where—" I strained, grunting out words that were locked in my mouth. Impossible to get out—
"Quiet." He shook me, reaching one hand up to slap the back of my head. A hit directed at the center point of my pain. "Be good and still."
Where are we—
A horrible stench began to fill my nose, a smell of chemicals and musty rot that seemed to line the grimy walls of the corridor. It kept me conscious, aware that we were now going down another set of stairs. Further down into this giant building.
What could be waiting for me there?
Chains and fences? Gruesome scenes of blood-spattered buckets and tools?
I was becoming increasingly aware of the way my dangling legs were smacking against the front of his pants, almost hitting him in the prize-winning spot. My arms and legs were no longer bound. I had a chance if I just—
On the second to last step, I put my mind to watching his foot pattern, waiting for the perfect chance to lodge my foot into his crotch. If it wasn't for my blurry vision, I'm sure I would have a sure chance at a fighting shot but—
I will need to run.
To kill.
I need to get free.
Be free.
Focus.
One.
Two—
"Three!" I swung my foot out as far as I could, tearing my whole lower body away from him so I had enough leverage to hit him right.
Right in the stomach.
Another to the balls.
And one more—
He was shouting now, constricting me tighter until he had enough, tossing my limp body down to the cruel floor. Cursing long strings of hateful words, Marcello brought his leather shoe down onto my ribcage, kicking me onto my back.
Breathe. Don't forget to breathe.
Don't get—
Forget to breathe.
"You like to kick?" He shouted, landing solid kick after kick until I was gasping for air, choking on gasps that had yet to leave my tight throat. "Wake up, Puta! You want to run?" Cackling as I rolled on the floor, spurting out gravelly moans under his shoe, he found amusement in my pain.
I do want to run. I need to run.
"Start fucking running, bitch."
I want to but I—
"I can't," pathetically sobbing through each word only heightened his excitement. Laughing harder now, almost maniacally, he hoisted me from the floor, dragging me down the long stretch of concrete hallway.
"No!" I cried, thrashing and scratching until his hand was against my mouth to cover my howls.
"Yes! Yes! Yes!" He yelled louder over me, tugging harder until we were at the next set of stairs.
Lights out.
—
The slow grind of metal scraping over the floor startled me back to reality, and I was met with an ice-cold chill.
An open door.
That foul smell.
Where am I?
What do I do?
I need—
"Help."
He was squatted in front of me, huffing out pants of exhaustion. "You're too much. Too big."
The sound of my teeth chattering together nearly drowned out the sound of his evil voice. Something I don't believe I'll ever be free of. The thought made me tremble, aching to cry, to scream, and fight.
I tried.
"You are a mess. Aren't you?" He smiled down at me, touching his hand down to my cheek that was slick with warm wetness.
Blood?
Tears?
Why was he watching me like this? Almost with an adoration? An obsession. He wanted to break me apart.
He always says he—
What will he do to me?
"Already so broken and bloody," he mused, darting his tongue out to lick at his tight lips. "So destructive. With nobody to listen."
My vision was doubled, trying hard to focus on those hate-filled eyes, muddy and evil. So close to me with such a tense hold. He had murder in his eyes. A desire to kill.
To kill me.
Was he going to kill me?
"Will you kill me?"
"Hush," he tapped at my face, cueing me to reopen my eyes. "Time for you to be in your room."
Where was Chris?
Where was anyone?
"Marcello," I whimpered as he dragged me through the doorway, pulling my arms until they popped and cracked under his control.
"Quiet. Listen to my words now," he dropped my arms down, leaving me to rest beside a pile of stained linens and rope. "Give me your hands."
My hands
What did he want with my hands?
How was he going to—
"Focus!" His hands clapped together loudly, snapping my eyes to attention.
Focus on him.
What was that sound?
That moaning?
"Lift your hands." Nodding his head slowly until I unintentionally began nodding with him, he was able to convince me to follow the command given.
Even when I was sure I didn't have the strength to do so.
I am sick.
"So good," he groaned, climbing over my legs to sit down on my bruised torso. Speaking in Spanish again, he voiced out his pleasure in tying my hands together with a slow grind to match his rolled words.
These ropes were too tight.
So rough.
I couldn't move.
Why can't I keep my eyes open?
Keep them open.
Don't fall asleep.
—
"Wake up!" I heard him shout before I felt a cold, sharp spray of high pressured water hit against my side. An instant freezing sensation dug deep into my skin, rapid pain took over my body as I sucked in air.
I can't breathe.
In attempts to escape the blast from the water he was hosing me down with, I pulled against the ropes he had bound me in that were connected to chains on the wall. I screamed with all my might, wailing pleas for mercy.
My naked skin was raw. So cold, that I was on fire. Thousands of sharp knives tearing me apart as the pain grew more and more unbearable.
I can't get away.
I can't move.
"Oh God, fuck!" I screeched, my head thrown back, heels digging against the flat make-shift bathtub made of stone.
Would it ever stop?
I can't bear this any longer—
I can't—
Plummeting into a blank shock, My body stopped its fighting, holding deathly still as my mind raced for a shot to regain control. I was stuck.
"Don't die on me now!" The water stopped and his voice took over the room.
I can't stop shaking.
So cold.
I need to breathe.
There was only darkness, a black void. Empty of all sound and sense. The only single noise was the echo of my slow-beating heart as it held on for all the life I had left.
Fight.
Breathe.
—
A rush of life slammed into my body, volts of energy coursing through my chest down to my legs. Like hitting a brilliant white wall of consciousness, I was made aware again.
The water was gone. We were now away from the bathtub and now facing a 1980's style tv screen, that was playing a rather familiar film. Some would say it was snuff, and others might call it porn.
But it was me.
Footage of the night at Daddy's so-called celebration. A clear picture with vibrant colors and sound. It was impossible to miss anything. The smiling faces as they sipped their drinks, dead eyes unwavering as I whimpered out moans.
I begged them for help.
"Tell me, now," Marcello spoke beside my ear, tucking my motionless body deeper into his lap as we watched the horrors replaying before us. "Do you know the importance of this occasion? Hmm?"
"You—"
A shiny silver blade twinkled in my face, taking over my current field of vision before he slid the point down to my neck. "Take your time."
"You sick fuck."
The blade threatened to pierce my skin as he boiled with anger. "This isn't a sickness, you whore. This is power. This is a life dedicated to the pleasure of another. Look at you. Listen to your—"
For the first time in this place, I felt a shred of clarity. I could see around me. The bruises and cuts that marked my entire body as trophies of his torture.
I was clear.
I need to speak. To fight.
"For what—" I gurgled, twisting my neck to look into his hateful eyes and ask what I needed to know most. Would he end it now, with his weapon so ready at my throat? Why wouldn't he? "You have what you want, don't you?"
"No," he grinned, setting the knife down between my breasts as they heaved. "You wouldn't come close to fulfilling my true desires."
"Why me?"
Without giving me the decency of an answer, Marcello rose to his feet, leaving me to lay on my back like a dead fish to rot in the earth. Closing my eyes shut again, I searched for a morsel of comfort as I listened to his footsteps moving away from me.
Where was he going?
Chains.
I can hear chains.
"Let's get you hung up to look all nice and pretty for Papi. Yeah?" His hands slid under my arms, jerking me back to drag me across the room.
A crude reminder to the shredded skin on the back of my heels.
I didn't want to cry.
I didn't want to make a single sound.
But I couldn't manage this pain.
"Daddy didn't want this for me." I choked, watching as he looped thick metal chains around my bleeding wrists. "I was supposed—"
"You were made to be given to me!" He spat, squeezing onto the sides of my head. "His dying gift to me!"
"Dying?"
Once the first chain was secured, he began to work on the next, pulling the chain taut to restrict me from any wriggling. As if I could.
"My Tio had big plans for me," he smiled down at my motionless body sickly, biting down on his lower lip as he attached my chains to metal rings drilled into the cinder block. "Just as I have plans for you. He gave me the tools I needed to live out the destiny I was called for."
To kill women? To torture and terrorize them into helplessness?
"I don't understand—"
"Because you are a whore!" He shouted, body shaking as he forced out his bitter words. Like he was momentarily losing his control. Hanging onto his sanity like it was a rope on the side of a cliff. He didn't like to lose his control, it upset him. Almost childishly he yanked down on the chains to raise me to my feet.
"And you're a sick bastard!" I howled back, wincing through the unending agony.
A psychopath.
Waiting for his next move, I balanced myself on the tip of my toes, gently swaying from side to side.
I can't do this.
So weak.
I need to eat.
"I think it's time for you to sleep." He tipped my head up, angling it just enough for our eyes to meet directly.
Those cold, wicked eyes.
That sinister gaze traveled away from mine for a moment while he retrieved a long syringe from a box stuffed in his pocket. "Do you know what this is? Hmm?"
As quickly as my strength came, it went away, and I was left victim to another set of blubbering tears and pleas. I knew exactly what that was.
I knew what it was all along.
I just didn't have the strength to understand.
"Like mother, like daughter?" He studied me as he pushed the drugs into my veins, waiting for the fast-moving effect to take place. "Can you feel it yet? Cutting into your blood?"
You're evil.
Pure evil.
I could feel it. Taking me over. Making me weak and docile. The fight in me was leaving and I had no choice but to sleep.
How much did he give me?
—
I don't remember much of my dreams, but I could distinctly feel the ache that was left deep within. It haunted me. Screams of bloodcurdling terror. My screams.
I was doing good.
Strong.
Still alive.
Right?
It hurt to lift my eyelids open, to look around in the ashy darkness of my nightmare of a prison. With just one broken ceiling lamp to shed light on my surroundings, I could see it all.
Blood.
My video running on repeat, with their mocking laughter haunting me.
I no longer had sensation or feeling in my arms as they dangled like wings beside me. Every breath was constricted, lungs burning as the muscles stretched and tore. The sound of my wheezing had become silent noise. This pain would never cease. There was no relief.
My toes were raw.
Blood.
Between my legs.
I don't want to be alone. To die alone. Buried away from the world. Forgotten.
No— Chris wouldn't forget me.
Even if I couldn't make it. If we never saw each other again—
I'm so weak, feeding off of a hunger— a craving that I couldn't get unless he fed it to me. My bones seemed to be separated from me, rattling inside as I shook desperately. Cold sweat, the hollow ache of a thirst that would never be quenched by the likes of food or water.
I needed something else.
My body needed it—
This would ruin me.
Like mother, like daughter.
Where was Marcello? How long has he had me here? There was no way for me to tell the time in here. No windows or clocks to watch the world go by. My only indication of time was that horrid video playing over and over.
It had to be at least an hour and a half.
Over and over.
I should count the next time it restarts.
"We rolling?"
I think I'll take a nap first.
Sleep was creeping, spotting over the fuzziness of my vision. Or maybe it was the blood dripping down from my scalp.
I won't let go.
—
"I don't care. That was not in the agreement— hijueputa!"
Back?
He was back now?
My head hung low, dropped down to face the floor. It almost felt as if I was suspended slightly at a downward angle. Still hanging, still struggling, reduced to a spot on his trophy wall.
I can't open my eyes wide enough.
Swollen.
So much pressure.
Why was he screaming? Kicking things around me? Had I upset him? I couldn't have, I know that I've been docile. Just as he wants.
I feel like I'm suffocating.
"I apologize, Mamita," Now in front of me, I could feel his breath against my cold skin. His fingers touching the side of my neck to feel the slow beat of my heart. "I won't let anyone interrupt our moment."
His knife was against my thigh, slowly smoothing the blade down until the skin split open, revealing a slow trail of blood. This pain was distant, unimportant, I could barely feel it.
"So delicate for me," he moaned, catching the drip of my blood on his long finger. "Mmm, and so sweet."
Please just—
Let me sleep.
"Look at me, lift your head now." He positioned the handle under my chin, pushing up until my head fell back.
I can't move—
No control.
"Give me a kiss." He licked up the front of my neck, moaning. Grabbing me. "Me tienes el rabo hincado."
Oh, Christian, I'm so sorry. I cannot fight this. He has me powerless, my love. You have to know, even in the arms of another, bound by chains and locks, I am forever yours. This heart will beat its final moments for you.
But not now.
I would not let go yet.
A loud sound escaped my chest, like a muffled gasp, air was pushing out from my lungs. My body began to jerk, violently tugging against my restraints. I couldn't stop it.
Eyes rolling back.
Can't breathe.
"No, no, no." Marcello was hissing, holding to the back of my head. "Not yet, little whore."
There was no holding on.
Pushed too far.
Was there any coming back from this hell?
—
Laughing.
He was always laughing at me.
I was now laying in his lap, flattened out on the floor. He had taken me down. Finally.
Even if I was unable to move, I was thankful for the chance to breathe again. My lungs were sore, aching in my chest with a hard wheeze.
His bare skin was against mine.
"You are fighting death," whispering in a low tone, he smoothed his rough hands over my matted hair. Textured with blood.
So tired.
What—
"What are you—"
"Hmm," with a low chuckle, he turned my face to him. "You speak now, whore?"
"What are you going to do?"
"It depends on how long you live—" spitting out a laugh, he pulled me back to lay into his chest, propped up like a doll. "Tell me, does your body crave it?"
Yes.
It aches.
I feel like im on fire.
But so cold.
Yes—
Marcello was then startled by someone, turning me with his body as he shouted, "What the fuck are you doing here?"
I couldn't be bothered by it.
If it was Chris, I would be safe.
But Marcello never let go.
Those unforgiving arms squeezed, tightening me until I yelped. "Will you answer?"
There was no way I could answer. To tell him that I'd accepted it. No way out. No escape. I couldn't say that I allowed the drug to take over.
Fighting it was useless.
I found the strength to shift my head down for a nod, moving stiffly. He would have to take that as an answer.
There was just no way—
"Watch for me," he groaned, stroking his thumb into my arm before bringing the needle down. "You are pretty when you sleep."
Don't give up so easily.
This was all he wanted. A show.
His entertainment.
Sick desires.
"You— you'll never get away with what you're doing." This voice was not mine. It was far away, silenced by terror and wreckage.
"It is best if you close your eyes. Let go. Feel it as it becomes one with the blood in your veins."
Why did his voice soothe me?
Permission to escape into my mind was taken so thankfully.
I did feel it.
Slowing me down.
Letting me fall into a daze. A sort of safe haven.
I don't want to die in his arms.
But I am so comfortable.
I want to let go.
I want to stay in this solitude in my mind. A place where there is no pain. I could be free. I could live in happiness without fear. The sun would rise in a lovely elegance, shining down on our faces in colors of yellow and pink. We would be happy.
Christian.
Oh, to just imagine the wonderful plans he had set for our future together. The dreams of a home on our own land. Married.
He loves me so dearly.
Dedicating his life to me, working hard for a change. A change in himself. Even a change in me, for the better. He loved when I was happy. To see me well and in love.
We would have had a beautiful life.
And we will one day. Maybe not in this life, but I know we will in another, and it will be everything we've ever dreamed of.
I can't hold on anymore, and that was okay. I know I have tried. I fought with everything I had, just as he taught me.
Christian would be proud.
I was proud.
In all of this evil, all the hatred and power, I found a light. A presence of pure solace. I felt proud of the time I had with him. Every smile and laugh shared together. The sex— lord have mercy. There will not be a moment forgotten. Even the fights, the arguments, the tears we put into our growth together. I was proud of myself. Blessed to be with the memory of my love in my mind.
Christian would be proud.
There's is no fear.
I will find peace.
I would not be alone.
I can let go.
—
I have a video that I've made corresponding to the chapter. If you would like me to post it, let me know. The video will be up on my Instagram if I do decide to post it.
I'd advise you that there is a trigger warning for violence.
More to come my loves
...keep breathing.
*Mwah*
🍑