Page 18 of Daughter of a Monster

He didn’t speak. He didn’t touch me or demand I touch him. He simply lowered me to this position and then his footsteps retreated, a door shut and I was left alone.

At least I think I’m alone. There are no sounds of anyone breathing. No one has spoken. But I’ve also not uttered a word. For all I know I could be in a roomful of women, all as silent as me.

It took me a while to remove the blindfold. I forgot I could. I’m so used to commands and orders I’d forgotten I had the choice. My fingers shook as they released the knot at the back of my head. I feared what I was going to find, but all that greeted me was more darkness. It’s an all-consuming kind. The kind where if I wave my hand in front of my face, I can’t see the movement. Pitch black. The darkness enters my mind, allowing it to go places I usually refuse to go.

Before I came here, I was passed from man to man, owner to owner, master to master. Each of them unique. Each of them evil. That’s what you get for being a troublemaker, for refusing to accept your fate. I fought when others didn’t and got beaten in the process. I’m broken, but rather than being broken in a way that saved me from pain, choosing to submit and allow the men to do whatever it was they wanted to do, my brokenness allowed me to rebel, and I welcomed the punishments my rebellion would bring. I like pain. It reminds me I’m still alive.

I don’t think about who I was before. I don’t know who that person is. She’s a stranger. Someone I used to know. Dead. Now, I am a different person. A person who has been beaten and used. One who’s taught herself to live outside her body, as though the things happening to her are happening to someone else.

It’s the only way to survive.

A few years back, I found a glimmer of comfort among other women belonging to the man who bought me. But I ruined that. I didn’t accept my fate. I refused to admit that my body was no longer mine and my punishment was worse than any of the punishments I’d faced before. I was discarded. Sold at auction. Alone.

And now I’m here. Wherever here is. Not that I care. It doesn’t matter. I don’t know the location or even which country I’m in. The only thing I know is I’m surrounded by darkness, by the unknown.

It takes a while for my heart to stop pounding but once it does I’m struck by the silence. It’s so dark, so quiet, I begin to wonder if I’m even alive. Maybe I’m dead. Maybe the man who carried me in here was the grim reaper. Maybe this is what the afterlife is.

Nothing.

The thought gives me comfort. Maybe hell, in all its glory is nothing more than emptiness. I can exist with emptiness. Emptiness doesn’t hurt like it used to. It allows me peace.

I’m cramped sitting here against the wall, but I don’t move. Part of me is afraid to explore the space because I don’t know what I’ll find. I’m scared to stretch my legs across the concrete floor in case they brush against something and I won’t know what it is.

Or I will.

That could be worse.

The smell is damp. Musty. As though I’m somewhere that hasn’t experienced fresh air in years. And it’s cold. Not cold enough so I’m shivering, but enough for me to wish I was dressed in more than a nightgown. There’s nothing on my feet. My hair is loose and free. It feels matted. It hasn’t been washed in days.

When the sound of a metal door creaking open reaches my ears, I huddle myself closer to the wall, as if it can protect me. I pull my knees tighter to my chest and wrap my arms around them, waiting in the dark as clipped footsteps cross the ground. They come closer and closer until I feel like they’re almost on top of me.

I hold my breath, waiting for the unknown.

Will he speak to me?

Will he touch me?

Hurt me?

Will he drag me out of here and into some fresh nightmare?

It must be dark outside because the open door only allows the smallest amount of light in. It takes a while for my eyes to adjust but slowly shapes form. The door is up some stairs which is why it felt like the footsteps were descending on top of me. I can make out the silhouette of a man. He’s standing still, facing me but not moving.

He’s tall but not big. There’s something almost slender and delicate about him. He doesn’t say anything and I refuse to acknowledge him, instead pressing my knees closer to my chest, and shuffling backward as though it is possible to get closer to the wall.

He squats down, elbows resting on his knees. I can just make out dark lines shaped like diamonds hovering in the air in front of him. They’re some sort of wire. Like a caged fence exists between us.

“Good evening, Hope.”

My head whips up. Hope. It’s my name. Rather ironic, I know, considering I’ve long given it up. What surprises me is the fact that he knows. I suppose they all might have, my owners, but none of them have called me by my name. They have called me petal, and sweetheart, darling and angel, whatever name they dream up, but never Hope.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want.” His voice is almost kind. It’s deep but there’s a musical quality to it. Almost soothing.

He straightens himself. “I’m going to turn the light on now, okay?”

Of course, I don’t reply. I’m not giving him the satisfaction of talking unless he demands it of me. There’s the flip of a switch and then a low humming sound as a light flickers above. It blinks on and off a few times before assuming its brilliance, blinding me. I drop my head onto my knees, shielding my eyes from the glare by covering them with my hands. Tears form instantly from the brightness of the glow, even hidden behind my fingers.

But at least it’s better than darkness.

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