Page 107 of Amnesia

Laughter faded out the instant booted, heavy footfalls sounded overhead. Instantly, I shrank back, my stomach coiling into a tight knot. I shouldn’t have laughed. I shouldn’t have smiled. It was almost a guarantee to summon him, something I never, ever wanted.

Dragging my body back into as much darkness as I could find, I cowered against the cold stone. My body creaked like I was old, my joints protesting in ways I knew they wouldn’t if I were able to get up and move around.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful to feel the sun on my skin, the breeze in my hair?

He was coming. All wistful thoughts were banished from my mind. Survival kicked in, and my body tensed. The beam of a flashlight hit me in the face, blinding my eyes. I shrank back, throwing up an arm to shield myself.

“What the hell is this?” he roared.

I began to shake. He surged forward, grabbed me by the arm, and towed me forward. I felt some cuts and scrapes on my bottom and legs break open, and I wanted to cry. They’d just been healing.

“What have you done to yourself?” He raged, grabbing my chin and forcing it up. The light blinded me again. “I told you not to mess with your hair!”

“I’m sorry,” I whimpered, squeezing my eyes closed.

The force of the blow knocked me sideways. The metallic taste of blood hit my tongue, and I lay there limply, hoping he would go away. The force of the flashlight hitting the side of my face had made it momentarily blink out, but then it came back on.

“This is MY hair.” He seethed, grabbing me by the scalp and lifting me. I yelped, feeling as if the strands were going to rip from my head. “You don’t do anything to it unless I say so.”

His hands and fingernails were rough and painful as he ripped at the braids in my hair. I cried. When all the braids were gone and the long, thick strands hung over my shoulders and around my face, he smoothed them out.

“Look at that,” he crooned. “Just perfect.”

I turned my face away.

He grabbed my hair and yanked so hard I fell over. His foot connected with my middle, and I doubled over in pain.

“Don’t ever touch your hair again. It’s the most beautiful part of you, and I won’t have your whore fingers tainting it.”

I blinked rapidly, grasping for reality as the memory faded away. My hands gripped the edges of the sink, the skin white, and when I glanced up, I saw my cheeks were wet.

My hair was completely braided, even though I had no memory of actually doing it. It was some sort of braid that looked like a crown; it started at one side of my head and swept over to the other. The back fell straight, slightly curling up on the ends.

Wiping the moisture off my cheeks, I grappled with the memory, the pain and fear I felt. Punished, beaten for braiding my hair?

I shuddered.

Reaching up, I tugged some of the braid so it wasn’t so tight to my head. When I was done, I couldn’t help but admire the way it looked. It was beautiful. I was good at braiding.

Resolve and stubbornness rose inside me. Screw him. Screw whoever that was and his stupid rules. This wasmyhair, and I would wear it the way I wanted.

Turning from the bathroom mirror, I made it to the doorway when another flash of memory assaulted me, causing my body to sag into the frame.

“I hate you!” I raged. “I hate you more than anything in this world!”

“Don’t you talk to me like that!” he spat and backhanded me across the face.

I fell across a table. Everything that was scattered on top went flying. Holding a hand to my battered face, I opened my eyes. Anger welled within me. Frustration and desperation.

The scissors were lying there within reach. I snatched them up and surged to my feet, brandishing them like a weapon.

He laughed. The type of laugh that chilled me to the bone. “Put those down, girl. You can’t do nothing to me.”

“I’ll kill you!” I screamed, waving them around.

He laughed some more.

My body slumped forward. He was right. I couldn’t kill him. He’d never allow it. I was too weak.

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