13. Darkness

Thirteen

Darkness

T he darkness was my only friend, my solace, my escape. I lay curled up on the cold, concrete floor that I had the luxury of sleeping on, with a small infant sized mattress with a sheet that had the thickness of a piece of construction paper and the texture of cheap toiler paper, tucked tight to my chest, with my arms wrapped around myself like a vice. My bare skin prickled against the rough, dirty surface.

I tried to make myself small, insignificant, invisible but that would only last so long.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen daylight. The room had no windows, just damp walls closing in on me from all sides. A single bright bulb flickered overhead, casting eerie shadows. The air was thick and musty, tinged with the coppery scent of blood. My blood.

I'd lost track of time. Was it days, weeks, since he'd taken me? Why can't he just kill me and put an end to my misery?

I can't help but lay here and think about the things I could have done differently. I was such a fuckin' fool and played into his trick. It's like I learned nothing from my years of training in the Army. All the training down the drain because I wanted to hate fuck someone to release some pent-up tension.

Does that make me selfish? Inconsiderate? Probably.

Halloween was the one night of the year I thought I'd get to be free and let loose. I thought I'd treat myself to hunt not be hunted.

Ghost's face lingers in my mind. When I close my eyes, I can see him; I can even hear him at times. His heartbeat sounds like a melody I use to survive this torture—a rhythmic reminder that somewhere deep inside, I still exist.

I force myself to get up and cover my mouth from letting out any pain that I feel so that I can't be heard. I trace the walls to see if I can find anything unexpected to use at my advantage, as protection. This place is solid and overall well-kept.

There was no door handle to even be able to attempt an escape. No windows. A singular vent that was on the ceiling. In other words a prison cell. I wonder how long he plans on keeping me in here.

I hear distant footsteps approaching the locked door that was reinforced from inside and out. I can hear a man's muffled voice that sounds like he is greeting Marklov, which means someone is likely to be guarding the door on the outside.

He must hold some strong kind of power to be able to have men keep an eye on the woman he drugged, kidnapped, and raped.

I started to hear the door creak open, and my heart began to race causing my body to tremble even more. I quickly moved back to my area on the floor. My aching body became more harsh on me causing me to whimper and moan in agonizing pain.

My back was turned towards the door and I could hear him stop in the doorway and I felt his eyes on me, devouring every inch of my trembling body.

He made a deep guttural moan "Get up Little Sinister, wakey, wakey" he sneered using that awful nickname that he gave me as a child. "It is time for your bath" He purred, his voice dripping with false affection.

I wanted to scream, to fight back with what little energy I had keeping me awake, but I knew that it would be futile. He has me at my weakest, I haven't eaten or drank water in what feels like days.

My stomach was sinking in and my lips were cracked so badly and when I tried licking them it was like two pieces of sandpaper rubbing against each other.

He reached down to pick me up and grabbed me roughly by my arm yanking me up and handcuffing my wrist to his. "Just in case, not that you would make it far in your condition anyway" He teased. He is right though, I am too weak to even hold myself up properly let alone make a run for it.

As much as I would love to take a hot bath I knew that with something as a luxury meant I was in for more pain.

I followed him to the door and he knocked three times letting the guard know that it was him. When the door opened the brightness caused my eyes to burn and I squinted, trying to block out the brightness of the white walls, there were lights lined up and down the long hallway like I had just entered the pearly white gates, this place was the complete opposite of that.

Marklov led me down the hallway, his grip tight on my arm leaving more bruises on my battered skin. "I want you squeaky clean for tonight's festivities, and if you behave you will be rewarded with food and water," he said in an unpleasant voice.

The tiles below my feet are cold and clean, I look and feel like shit. This bath is much needed but I am terrified for what may come of it.

* * *

The door opens and the room only consists of a large tub, toilet, and some basic toiletries on the counter. The flooring is beautiful and made of marble. The scent of cleaning supplies lingers in the air as if it were prepped just for me. The tub is filled with clean water, steaming and inviting, a stark contrast to the cold, harsh reality of my situation. "Get in" he grunts out.

I look down at my wrist, where I am confined to him as if I'm hinting at a question. He grabs me by the chin, his grip painfully tight, and forces me to meet his gaze. I can't pull myself to look him in the eyes for fear of what I might see - the darkness, the emptiness, the sheer evil that resides within him.

"If I uncuff you, are you going to behave, Little Sinister?" he asks, a sickening sweetness in his tone. My throat clenches, and I gulp down a hard swallow. I nod in agreement, keeping my eyes down, my head bowed in submission. I know what he wants to hear, and I can't risk the consequences of defying him.

He leans in forcefully grabbing my wrists. "If you disobey me, I will bring you more pain than you can imagine possible." He takes the cuffs off. I step into the tub cautiously with my body trembling on the way in, the water hot and soothing against my skin. I can feel the tension in my muscles start to ease, the warmth spreading through my body, releasing the knots of pain that I have been holding in. It feels so good.

My knees are up to my chest and I have my arms wrapped around myself to create a sense of comfort and ease some of the fear and anxiety that have become a constant presence since he took me.

I can't help but sit here and think back to the first time he hurt me, the first time he laid his hands on me in anger. I was just a child, innocent and trusting, unaware of the monsters that lurked in the shadows of this world. Why would my own mother would keep someone like that around?

There was a time when they were arguing and I was hiding in my closet, that night had changed everything in my mind that deterred between me being strange and unusual to just being fuckin' off of my bloody rocker. I had woken up to screams, to the sound of flesh on flesh, to the sound of my mother's cries for help more times than I can count on both of my hands.

I had tried to intervene, to protect my mother, but he had turned on me, his anger and rage unleashed in a torrent of violence. I had felt the pain, the sting of the belt as it connected with my skin, leaving welts and bruises that would last for weeks. Sometimes it wouldn't even be a belt he would grab whatever was nearest to him.

When I left home, I desperately tried to block out as much of the trauma as I could. I buried the memories deep, hoping they would fade into oblivion. But how can anyone truly forget the events that first cast shadows over their soul? Those moments that etched darkness into the very core of my being refused to be silenced. They lingered, haunting my thoughts and shaping every part of who I am. The deeper I tried to bury them, the more they clawed their way back, reminding me that some scars never fully heal.