Page 11 of Filthy Husband
But no matter how lonely I get, I’m not going to marry Danya.
I will never marry that brute.
6
Taylor
I’m sleeping so deeply that I’m nearly in a coma when the door to my bedroom opens. I stir, my body aware that the energy in the room has changed. The peace is gone again. Someone is here.
Multiple sets of footsteps alert me to a bigger issue, and I open my eyes, blinking in the darkness and turning my head to the door. “Dad?” I ask, my voice weak and raspy.
“Do it quickly,” I hear him whisper.
Am I dreaming? If so, this is bound to be a nightmare. Any dream about my father would be.
I sit up, trying to focus on what is happening around me, but I’m not allowed to make sense of it before I feel hands clamp down on my wrists and ankles.
I scream, writhing to free myself, but cold fingers dig their way into my tendons, holding me in place as a bag is thrown over my head.
I saw nothing when I opened my eyes, and now I see even less.
“Dad!” I shout, but I get no response.
The thick comforter is pulled from my sweaty body, and I feel air across my bare legs as someone moves over me. I scream again, panic sweeping over me like a tidal wave. It floods the neurons in my brain, making it impossible to think. I can only react.
A hand grabs my arm, squeezing it so hard that it feels like my bone is going to crack. I scream, but my voice is lost like I’m still dreaming. I have no escape from this nightmare, however. I can’t just wake up.
I feel a prick in my arm, and cold liquid flows into my veins.
I can’t pull away. I’m stuck.
Energy leaves my body like blood gushing from an open wound. My mind is running, but I’m not moving anymore.
Sluggish.
My thoughts cloud into a milky haze, and I feel warm.
My body goes numb just before my brain shuts down.
And then it’s over. Nothing exists anymore, not even me.
* * *
The chairbeneath me groans as I shift my weight. My head feels like a bowling ball being held up by toothpicks. I can barely move, but it’s not because I’m paralyzed anymore. I’m bound to a chair.
My heart slams in my chest, pumping fresh new panic into my system as I try to make sense of what’s happening. My body knows instinctually that I’ve been out for hours, and that wherever I am is very far from where I fell asleep last night.
The data in between is missing.
I remember the needle. I can’t forget that feeling, that horrible violation, even if I wanted to. There’s nothing quite as horrible as someone controlling you against your will, putting things into your body that you don’t want.
I have no idea what they gave me, but whatever it was, it was strong. I can still feel the tingle in my extremities, that odd warmth that would feel good if I didn’t know it was nefarious ends.
At least I’m not dead, but for all I know, that could’ve been the better outcome.
Screaming never helped me before, but it’s all I have now that I’m stuck in the dark with a bag over my head. I open my mouth, but only a muffled groan comes out. There’s a gag over my mouth preventing me from yelling.
What kind of monster does this to his own daughter?
