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Not to die... Is to be tortured, Chapter 2 |
| Written by Jessica | |
| Thursday, 29 May 2008 | |
My head hurt like hell, I could barely see the bare grey walls that I knew were in front of where I sat, hunched over, in still coldness of the room. The pain was blinding, it consumed my every thought and I knew that it would not be going away any time soon. My body was covered in wounds that varied in size and depth; raw flesh marked me for what I was, trapped, and yet Michael still insisted that I was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Was I beautiful? Did he see something that I did not? Could he be so blind as to see me as beautiful? My ribs were visible beneath my pale skin and yet I did not feel hungry at all because all I could do was to pray for death. My arms were like sticks, the muscle wasted away as my prayers got answered. When I had caught a glimpse of my reflection, in the slightly reflective bowl in which my food was surved, I hadn't been shocked at what I saw; my face had been gaunt, my cheek bones even more defined, my eyes had lost their life and my lips were purple from the bitter cold I endured. I heard the all to familiar sound of his italian shoes on the cold, hard, ground and I froze: surly it could not be that time already? But as there were another set of footsteps, I doubted it was time to play. "She's pretty, isn't she?" I heard Michael admire, however bitterly, as if to someone else. I turned from my reflection to see that, yes, he was speaking to another man, and not himself. "Certainly," the other man said, "She looks healthy, is she?" something other than cruelty laced his casual tone, he sounded curious, but also defensive. I did not hear what Michael said in reply, it must have become bored with me...maybe the otherman had thought better of it and asked to move on... I sighed in relief as the room became silent and still again, but maybe next time I would not be so lucky. I heard steps again and I braced myself for what I might see, only it was not Michael with that man, but instead an old maid carrying my meal for the day. I could not eat the food that I had been given, whenever I looked at the slime dripping from the meat I thought that I was going to be sick. I could have eaten but chose not to; wouldn't starvation be a nicer way of dying than at the hands of a man who's only desire is to cause me pain? I screamed as Michael took my ankles, and the other my wrists, and dragged me out of the forsaken prison cell that I had occupied, alone, for just over a month; If anything would be a home to me it was this dark, damp, prison and nowhere else. What was happening? I thought as I thrashed and screamed for them to let me go, but they did not.
I struggled all the way, thrashing and swearing non-stop, and yet it did no good; Michael's face contorted with irritation and eagerness, he spat at me and hissed, "Stop making this difficult for me, little *****. Be a good girl and just do what you're told!" He was losing his temper, I could see his face becoming more red and I could tell that it would not be long before my time had run out. * By the time they finally entered the chamber, I was tired and no longer had the energy to fight them. "Where have you taken me?" I asked, afraid of what he had in store for me, for I knew what kind of a man Michael was. There was silence on his behalf as he stared down at me with eyes full of something other than the usual venom and loathing. I hastened to think what that something could be; I felt unsure that I could ever even like him, yet when he looked at me with those soft brown eyes, I felt a twinge of guilt for every bad thought.
Copyright 2008 Jessica |
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| Last Updated ( Tuesday, 03 June 2008 ) |
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