4. Emily
Scorching pain burns my throat when I swallow. Dehydration set in not long after I was thrown into my prison. It’s a new kind of agony.
Leaning against the stone wall, I struggle with silencing the demons that taunt me. They laugh incessantly at the torment I’m forced to endure.
Paige and I have been separated more times than we’ve been together. I’m not sure how long I’m expected to be isolated, but Nikolai demanded it despite still being in Russia.
His reasoning? I belong to him.
When I first arrived here, he claimed me and has been my tormentor ever since. He’s the head of the snake that coils around me, sucking the life out of me with each tightening of his grip.
It’s been a slight reprieve that he was ordered to go to Russia. He isn’t here to humiliate me any chance he can. He isn’t here to record my rapes and broadcast them to the guards for their sick pleasure or strap me down to a chair and force me to listen to the screams of past women and children.
I’ve always known the world was cruel. I’ve been aware of the mistreatment of women long before I was brought to this place, I just never realized how long the suffering extends. It’s like an eternal Hell that burns a fire so blistering hot that it scorches everything in its wake.
My fingernails sting and threaten to lift due to the repeated stress I’ve placed on them from my scratching. I can’t stop the need to cause myself pain. It has become a necessity at this point.
I’ve begun to hallucinate. I see Declan. My ma. My da – who has long been dead – and I see Liam. Each of them either gives me words of comfort or spews vile insults and promises in complete disgust.
The latter happens far too often.
I wince when I try to lick my cracked lips. The skin splits on contact and the taste of copper coats my tongue.
“Despicable.”
I turn my head slightly and see Liam sitting across from me. His eyes are filled with disappointment and hatred.
“Why are you still fighting to stay alive?” his tone is laced with displeasure.
“I don’t want to die here,” I croak. My voice sounds as though I’ve spent my twenty-two years of life smoking two packs a day.
Liam chuckles darkly with a slow shake of his head and then he disappears.
Clanking echoes down from the grate above me followed by grunting. The metal scraps along the concrete as it’s pulled away and tossed aside.
“Time for some fun,” Igor’s deep voice sends fear racing through my veins.
He reaches and hauls me roughly from the hole in the ground and I wince from the stiffness in my muscles. My knees buckle when he sets me down and I fall to the concrete. He scoffs in annoyance as if I’m a total inconvenience for him. A kick in the ribs causes me to cry out in pain. I try to curl into myself to protect my stomach, but he kicks me again.
“Get up,” he grunts.
With shaky arms, I try with all my might to push myself up to my feet. I whimper as my joints scream in protest. Despite my withering frame, I feel like I’m lifting hundreds of pounds.
I’m not sure how long I was left down there but it was long enough for my limbs to refuse to function.
Once I’m standing, Igor pushes me forward. I stumble but remain upright as he walks me toward my next personal Hell.
Igor pushes the black-steel door open, and I see the metal chair in the center of the windowless room that I’ve become far too familiar with.
“Sit.”
I sway on my feet as I make my way over and fall into the seat. There is no point in trying to resist any orders. It will only end badly for me.
Men that I wasn’t aware were in the room with us begin strapping me down with the leather belts on the arms of the chair. My head is pushed back, and another belt is pressed against my forehead, immobilizing me completely.
Loud cries and screams boom through hidden speakers in the room. I slam my eyes shut and try to focus on anything other than their painful wails that cut through my ears like hot knives.
I gasp as ice-cold water is doused onto my body. The men laugh loudly when I begin to shiver and my teeth chatter violently.
“There’s your nice drink of water,” Igor sneers then turns around and leaves the room.
One of the other men grips my jaw tightly and I whimper from the rough handling. He twists my face, forcing me to meet his black eyes and dread overtakes me.
“I’ll be seeing you after this is all done,” he purrs and shoots me a wink before he slams his lips against mine.
I curl in my lips as best as I can and choke down the bile that threatens to spill. He brutally squeezes my cheeks causing my mouth to part and shoves his tongue down my throat. The rancid taste of stale cigarettes invades my mouth and I gag.
Tears stain my face when he finally releases his hold. His palm connects with my cheek when he pats it in condescension.
His boots thud against the floor when he retreats. The slam of the door shutting ricochets off the walls, and I’m clouded in darkness with nothing but the sounds of those experiencing unbearable torture to keep me company.
The screams have long since faded into the background. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness enough that I can make out the outline of the door in front of me. I feel defeated. Hopeless. I’m left isolated for days at a time with little to no human interaction. It’s agonizing.
Each day of isolation becomes harder and harder to survive. It’s becoming more challenging to decipher what thoughts are truly mine and what are those that the demons feed me.
“You’ll find a way back home, mo stór . Just hold on.” My da’s gentle voice drifts around me like a caress and my lips quiver.
“I don’t know how much longer I can hold on daid .” My voice cracks. “I’m just so tired.”
“Fight, Emily. You need to fight.” His voice is firm.
“I’m not strong enough,” I whisper.
“You’re my daughter. You’re strong beyond words.”
A sob breaks from my lips. “I’m scared.”
I swear I can feel the ghost of his hand stroking my hair. It’s as painful as it is comforting.
“It’s okay to be afraid, mo stór . Just don’t give up hope.”
He’d be disappointed if he knew that hope disappeared from me a long time ago. How can anyone maintain any semblance of hope in a place like this?
“I’ll try.” I lie.
After spending two days strapped to the chair, covered in my urine, I was hauled out and tossed into the communal showers with the other women. I saw Paige, who looks as decayed as I feel.
We weren’t able to provide each other with any sort of comfort. Not after the days we’ve spent away from each other. We’ve essentially become mute. Hiding in the recesses of our minds; only I’m not alone in mine.
Paige’s skin is becoming more and more damaged as time passes. Her already small frame has become skeletal, and it makes me fear how much longer she has before succumbing to the inevitable death that awaits us.
My dad’s spirit pushes me to remain hopeful. To keep holding on. But there is a thin line between being optimistic and utterly pathetic. I’ve toed that line for far too long and I’m beginning to step over it.