Page 9 of Isabela

ISABELA

Blinking awake, I’m welcomed to the land of the living with waves of pain. Whimpering, I can’t even cry because it hurts too much. Even still, I welcome the pain and the familiar slate gray flooring underneath me, because it means I’m alive and at home.

I didn’t want to wake up at my family home, because he’s there. I can’t even allow myself to think of him right now, because what he plans to do to me hurts almost as much as my body currently does.

Breathing shallowly, I remember my phone, and I slowly ghost my hand down my side to my purse that’s thankfully still slung across my body.

My eyes are almost swollen shut, but I need to check to see if my phone recorded this beating. If I still have it, then there’s a chance it’s saved as well. Pulling it out slowly adds the suspense, unfortunately, because I just ache so badly.

Finally, it clatters next to me on the ground when my fingers spasm and let go of the device. Panting, I push it toward my face, tapping the glass.

It’s dead. Fuck. I need to know if the video was recorded or not. Only stubborn determination helps me get off the floor, but it’s a very slow process, and my eyesight completely blurs from the tears that stream down my face. I’m also still wearing this too tight dress, which comes with its own host of problems.

I’m definitely throwing this thing out.

“Ow,” I whisper, panting from the exertion of getting up after having my ass beat. I have no idea how bad it is, but my face feels like a huge bruise, and my ribs are a blinding hot pain.

“Fuck me,” I gasp as I take a step. Carefully swiping at my eyes to clear my sight is excruciating but necessary. I need to get to my room, to where my charger is and figure out how long I’ve been passed out. A mirror will probably be important as well.

These are the moments where I’m glad I have no one to check on me. I don’t want to have to make an excuse. On the other hand, there’s no one to miss me if my uncle kills me one day.

No one but me.

Struggling not to breathe too deeply isn’t a challenge in this dress, and the compression from the boning in this corset may be helping my ribs as well. Who would imagine there’s good points to this too-tight dress?

I’m feeling a bit delirious once I make it to my room and manage to plug in my phone before unzipping the side of the dress slowly. If possible, it hurts even more as it opens, the compression beginning to release.

Fuck, should I just leave the dress on?

“Oh my God,” I gasp. “Please, please. You can do this, Isa. You can.”

I work the zipper down, grateful it’s somehow easier to get off than on. I think God is actually listening, or maybe I’ve been unconscious for longer than I originally thought and it’s the lack of meals.

I think I like the divine intervention theory better, honestly.

It takes a second to push the torture device off my hips, and then I’m crawling naked into my bed. I should shower, but passing out and drowning in there is a real possibility right now.

My eyes droop closed, and stay that way for a while until my alarm on my phone begins to scream at me.

Jolting awake, I scream wordlessly into the void as my body reminds me of every small ache. Sitting up as slowly as possible, I am unable to think, the fog of pain is all-encompassing. Still though, I can move, and that’s a damn sight better than the last time my uncle beat me.

Look at me all positive and shit. I’m unsure where I’m finding the energy for it, but I’m taking it as a sign that my spirit is yet to be broken.

Scooting closer to my nightstand, I reach out and pick up my phone. It’s seven in the morning… on Monday morning.

I've been passed out cold since Saturday afternoon, it appears. Blinking in shock, I notice how stiff my muscles are, and sigh.

“Damn,” I mutter. Maybe I’m being a little too positive too soon. This is really bad.

Turning off my alarm, I click on my photos section to check my videos. My hands are steadier today, and while I’m still sore and naked, my eyes aren’t as swollen.

There’s a video that’s an hour long and I can see it’s all black. Struggling not to bite my split lip, I press on it to see if there’s any audio that can be saved.

As it plays, I close my eyes in relief as I hear my uncle and I speaking. I can even hear the mayor clearly, and everything that came after. I sit and listen to the hour of video, finding it only cut off when it finally died.

The conversations that occurred while I was passed out are horrifying and disturbing. Mayor Markship’s list of kinks are things I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy, and many aren’t ones you’d consent to, except under duress. My vagina packs up and decides to shrivel up as I shake myself carefully.

I lied to my uncle and the mayor when I said I was sleeping around. I’m a virgin who hasn’t even had my first kiss, and I refuse to have any of my firsts with a man so awful, I don’t think his own wife is fucking him.

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