Page 56 of Kadra: The Unfeeling

KADRA

BORN FOR YOU

“I paid the price for someone else’s sin.” – K

Something cold glides over the skin of my neck, painful sensations rock my body while I breathe heavily and barely manage to open my eyes, only to whimper in distress when the maniac holds me down, his mocking blue eyes flashing in delight. His heavy weight feels like a thousand bricks holding me down while his greedy hands rip my clothes exposing me to him.

I scream. I cried. I even begged him to stop but it only amused him.

My pain and my shame amuse him.

Gabriele Parisi taught me one thing of value. Just one. Cries and pleads get you nowhere. It’s useless. Praying too. Because although I’ve been hurt plenty before, this hurt and this pain cannot compare.

I’ve never felt this hopeless and this dirty.

He made me feel that way. Hopeless and dirty.

“Oh, stop crying. You should be thankful someone is willing to fuck you.”

And while he steals what was mine to give so savagely and in the most brutal of ways, I close my eyes and go to another place. A place where no one hurts me. A place where someone helps me.

Then when the pain gets too much to bear everything turns dark and all I see are gray eyes that remind me of a storm that’s ready to hit the ground and cause mayhem.

Those stormy eyes are the reason I find the will to get up from the cold floor and find the strength to carry on even when I feel like dying.

That night I lost so much.

But I held on until the next day when I finally learned my lesson.

I came into this world alone and I’ll go out of it alone.

With a loud gasp, I sit up, my raspy breath filling the room while the pounding in my head makes me wince.

Glancing at the clock, I sigh realizing that it’s only five in the morning and that I fell asleep on the sofa in the living room area right after a long session of torture with the Russian. I stayed down here with a book and I must’ve fallen asleep. “Wonderful,” I mumble, then yawn. At least I got a few hours of rest. Which is a miracle since most nights the nightmares keep me awake. The nightmares did come but what knocked me out was the pain. The pain reminds me just how long I have.

Throwing the blanket—I don’t remember having on me when I first sat on the sofa—away, I rise and head for the glass doors that lead to the main gates and open them.

It’s raining.

It seems as if there’s never a sunny day here but I don’t mind it. I was never one to enjoy sunny days. Today, though, the weather is in sync with my mood. It’s not a good day and it hasn’t truly even started.

The rain falls rapidly hitting the glass just as lightning splits the sky in half.

My Nonna used to joke when I was little that when it poured outside and the sky turned dark gray it meant that there was a war above the clouds of good versus evil. Funny how that’s exactly how I feel lately.

The bad doesn’t let me forget or forgive but the good parts that have come to life make me hope for more. But hope is one fickle bitch. I hoped once and it led me down this path.

A path of heartbreak and blood. Never magic.

“Look at what I made.”

“Oh, stop crying. You should be thankful someone is willing to touch you.”

The voices grow louder so much so that my head starts to pound and my breathing becomes labored. My body becomes weak, and every single bone in my body aches. Not being able to bear the chaos in my head, I open the glass door and step outside to the pouring rain. I don’t have my cello with me so the rain will have to do.

Thunder booms in the sky, dark clouds gathering right before lightning flashes.

I step barefoot on the cold ground, my satin black night dress flapping backward as the wind whooshes over me, the coldness sinking into my skin.

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