Page 7 of Ravage

They don't want to save us.

They want to use us.

We're not even human beings to them. Though, if I'm being honest, they aren't human either because from what I've seen, no normal person with a shred of humanity would do this. Melanie Cromwell can pretend this is for the greater good, but we're victims too.

Traumatized by our pasts, betrayed by the people we trusted, our stories were crafted by others. And now we're here, being tortured all over again for the sake of sick fucks in expensive suits.

Why, though?

And what does this have to do with Lilydale?

"You need to eat," Dr. Cromwell sighs. "You need energy."

My gaze shoots over to her, narrowing on her relaxed frame. "And pray tell, why is that? What else do you have planned for me?"

She has the audacity to shift slightly, eyes looking away as she shakes her head. "We'll be back soon."

I watch as the door swings closed behind her, blocking out all sounds except my breathing. The light is so bright in this room—a stark contrast to the dull rooms I'm used to. It makes me feel like I'm on reality television without a break. Instinctively, I search the roof, spotting the small camera in the corner pointing down at me. The red light blinks slowly and all I can envision is some doctor sitting in a fancy office, making notes as they observe their newest experiment.

Flipping the bird toward it, I turn away, sitting on the ground with my legs folded underneath me.

I just need to wait. They will come. It will be okay.

"Are ya sure?"My father's voice echoes in my head."Why would anyone come for ya?"

Tears prickle in my eyes and I shake my head. I drown him out, reminding myself that he's dead. His reign of hurt and pain is over—he can't touch me anymore.

But still…

The doubt is there.

No one ever came when I was on the outside, even when I was a walking cry for help. Teachers, friends, doctors, adults… they all overlooked me.

I can't help but wonder what my life would have looked like if just one person had seen me for what I really was—a broken specimen of fading life.

Why did they not check on me after I found my mother's dead body?

Why did no one raise the alarm when I was treated at the hospital for injuries?

How did no one realize that someone had hurt me without my consent, taking away the most womanly part of my body and soul?

Hell, even after Paige died, there was no one.

I'm not that person anymore…

I'm not invisible.

Theo and Grey see me. I mean something to them.

Fuck… even Damon. We fight all the time but he's never hurt me. He even kissed me—surely that means I'm worth something if I'm visible to even the great, ruthless Damon?

Would my life be better if someone had saved me? If I was on the outside, would I have escaped? My father was adamant I was never leaving, but what if I was able to? With more time and money, maybe I could have made a dash for it. I always wanted to go to Florida—I could have lived my life out on the beach in Miami.

But would I have been happy?

There comes a point where we adapt. You become so used to the trauma and pain that it's all you know. When it disappears, you don't know how to cope without it. Your body stays in that survival mode, constantly on edge until you start to go insane.

If I ran away, I'd be free—but at a price. I'd be alone, unsure how to survive by myself. In a foreign place, I'd be invisible, blending into the crowd of people bustling around.

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