2. Orla

CHAPTER 2

They fell asleep a while ago, though I don't know exactly how long, and I was still tucked neatly under their bed. I wondered why they left me here. Usually, I would be made to strip their bed, put the sheets in my box, and sleep in them as they stood me purposely upside down in the closet. He never left me like that for too long. He just liked the way it made me dizzy and docile enough for him to fuck without a fight. I hated myself more than either of them because I still hadn't figured out a way to keep my bearings during those times.

A small act of mercy is better than none at all, I reasoned as I gently raked my broken fingernails along the jagged wood. I refused to beg for his mercy, so he would do little things like this, unknowingly bestowing it in quiet moments. He would also withhold death after every vile mistreatment. He wanted me to scream the words aloud; he wanted me to beg, and I refused to do so. Of course, he didn't know it yet, but he was turning me into something … feral. At the right time, I would find a way to show him that he was no monster at all, but he managed to shape one out of everything he claimed to be.

Every new bruise hardened me.

Every forced kiss turned me colder.

Every time they held me down for each other's pleasure and violated me, another piece of me that was human died. I let a breath out and did my best not to think about the monsters in the bed above me. In a way, I secretly hoped that they would forget I was here. That they'd leave me to rot and die neatly packed in my little, homemade container, forgetting that I had ever been here at all.

When I was stolen for this, I thought I would find happiness in the tumultuous storm that had been wrought upon me. That the sins of my father wouldn't have travelled so far with me. Sins I had never committed nor was privy to, but vengeance seems to be everlasting in some bloodlines and now here I lie.

A memory for a memory.

A death for a life.

A slave to his rage, his jealousy, and a martyr for my father's sins.

The mattress springs above me creaked gently as someone shifted above me. Comfort was something they always ensured they had. Something they made sure was the last thing I would ever feel. I closed my eyes and told myself that if making me a prisoner to their deviance, let them sleep so well at night, then perhaps I should have just gathered my strength. Tomorrow was going to be much worse than the day before because they seemingly forgot about me, so I knew that they would make up for it.

Me.

Their dirty, useless girl in her death box.