Page 95 of Doubts & Fears

“How many times do I have to tell you? Why can’t you remember the simplest things? Answer me, you fucking stupid bitch,” he screamed.

“I’m sorry,” I cried, tears running down my face.

“No you aren’t. You’re a waste of my time. I can’t believe we thought you were the prized one. Ha! You were supposed to be the most gifted, the one who would be my star, but you’re worthless. You can’t remember a simple thing like your name.”

“I’ll try harder, Sir. Please give me another chance,” I begged.

“Did I give you permission to speak? DID I, BITCH?” he roared, making me tremble. My back ached, but I knew better than to move.

“No, Sir.”

“Can you tell me why you insist on writing that name down after all this time?”

“I forgot is all, Sir, but it won’t happen again.” I sobbed.

“You’re damn right it won’t happen again. Thereare thirteen letters in Mischa Natalya. Do you know what that means?”

“That my punishment is thirteen lashes, Sir,” I said, choking on fear.

Our instructor handed him the paddle that hung on the wall in our classroom. I panicked; it had two sides. One was smooth, and the other side had sharp metal spikes.

He loved beating me. I had come to that realization throughout my time in captivity. He especially liked to ensure that when he did, it was never singularly localized. No, he enjoyed making sure I would hurt over my entire backside. It was summer, so that gave him the freedom to not hold back. By the time my season came around, I’d be healed.

“See, this is what I don’t understand about you, girl. You really aren’t stupid, so you either like it when I discipline you, or you know that deep inside, you deserve this.”

He pulled my skirt up, and the smooth side of the paddle made contact with the back of my legs. I counted as we were taught, while the other girls looked on in horror. Anytime he could use a situation to his advantage, he did. The paddle bit into my flesh and stung.

I shrieked; god, it hurt. I tried to escape inside my mind, but I hadn’t gotten very good at it, and that was probably a good thing because he asked me a question. What would happen next was only the beginning of the end for Mischa.

After several hits, he asked,“So, which is it, filthy bitch? Do you like the sting of the paddle on your ass?” he screamed.

“Seven,” I called out and then added quickly, “No, Sir, it’s because I deserve it.”

“Yes, you do. Now, after each number, you will tell us all why Mischa deserves it.”

“Eight. Mischa’s a stupid little girl.”

He brought it down again. This time, the metal side connected, and I screamed. Showing no mercy, he brought it down harder.

“Nine. It was all Mischa’s fault.”

He laughed in his sick, twisted way. The mask was a permanent smile of terror on his face.

“Ten. Mischa was nobody special,” I shouted as the tears fell. I could hear the other girls crying as well. After each slap on my backside, a part of a little dancing mouse named Mischa died.

“Eleven. Mischa never should have been born. Please, Sir, it hurts.” My voice broke as I tried to plead with him. I should have known better, and maybe if I hadn’t added the last part, he wouldn’t have done what he did next.

He laughed. “I haven’t even drawn blood. Now, bitch, tell everyone why it’s all Mischa’s fault.”

“Twelve. Mis-Mischa k-killed her papa.” I sobbed, my heart breaking as I thought about him.

“That’s right, you did. But that stupid bitch not only killed her papa. Who else did she kill?” he screamed. For the last one, he made sure the spikes would draw blood.

He brought the paddle down across my right shoulder, ripping through my shirt and sticking in my flesh. I would carry the scars for the rest of my life as the top three formed a triangle, almost.

It cut deeply, and the blood flowed down my shoulder and back. “Thirteen,” I screamed, “Mischa killed her mommy and baby sister.” I collapsed onto the floor, feeling like I was going to get sick.

Winter rocked back and forth, Summer put her hands over her ears and sobbed loudly, and poor Autumn curled up in a ball on the ground, her mouth moving, but no sound escaping. I read her lips.

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