Chapter 16
ONE WEEK LATER…
I’m tired and hungry. My body is weak and shaky.
Sometimes the dizziness is so intense I can’t even sit up.
As bad as it is physically, it’s my mind that’s taking the biggest toll on me.
This room is making me crazy. I’ve started talking to myself, which can’t be healthy.
There’s no neighbor to talk to through the vent.
I’ve never been this lonely before in my life.
Isolation does strange things to your mental health.
I’ve struggled with mild depression since the day I got married, but never anything like this.
I’m not only losing my grip, but my will to survive.
I sit on the floor, watching a cockroach crawl across the floor, likely searching for food.
“You won’t find anything here, buddy. I haven’t eaten in days.”
She doesn’t respond, even though I wish she would.
“I should give you a name, right? How about Marie? You look like a Marie to me.”
Placing my hand on the floor in front of me, she crawls onto my palm and I welcome it. The old me would’ve screeched and ran. Now, she is like a glimmer of light in a dark world.
“The worst thing isn’t the abuse. I’m used to that, anyway. It’s not eating, and not having any human contact besides him. I think I might be going insane, Marie. It kind of helps having you here though. Is that why you came into my room? You knew I needed you.”
Laying my hand back down on the floor, she crawls across my fingers, and goes back to the filthy tile.
“Heather said we’d get out of here one day, but I don’t think I’ll make it that long. I’ve heard that humans can live without food for three weeks. That’s not very long, and I imagine it could be more or less time.”
I hear his feet hitting the tile in the hallway.
“I need you to hide, okay? If I lose you right now-”
I take in a shaky breath.
“I don’t think I’d survive.”
When the footsteps stop, I don’t dare to look, because I know he’s there.
His stare is like a crushing weight on my chest, threatening to bury me alive.
It’s the kind of look you can feel bone deep, the type that would make you walk across the street to avoid a man like this.
Except for me, there’s no street to cross, and there’s no avoidance.
This is my life now. I’m locked up in here for him to hurt repeatedly.
I should be grateful that Raven isn’t here as well, but I’m not.
He is the lesser of two evils. Of the two of these sadistic men, he’s the least likely to end my life.
Raven practically tried to drown me, and I’d still prefer him over Dr. Martin.
As terrifying as that was, I’d take it over whatever is about to happen.
The one guarantee the man in front of me offers is torment.
Physical and mental. If I’m honest with myself I enjoyed my last time with Raven, until the doctor came in.
Raven offers pleasure with pain, whether I consent or not.
This man only gives pain. Agony, mixed with the purest form of self hatred, every time I let him touch me.
His fingers on my skin cause the perpetual knot in my stomach to grow.
It’s not self hatred, but absolute loathing.
I try to tell myself I didn’t have a choice, and I don’t, but I can’t stop feeling this way.
Even after he leaves, the disgust I have for myself remains.
The sound of the cell door opening is deafening, like metal crashing against metal, and every muscle in my body freezes with trepidation. Dr. Martin doesn’t say a word. Walking over to me, he undoes his pants, and whips his dick out.
“Mouth open,” he orders, and as usual I do exactly as I am told.
I assume he’s going to fuck my mouth, and choke when he starts pissing in my mouth. Grabbing my hair, he holds my head still.
“Swallow it. Now. You must be awfully thirsty.”
With a satisfied smile on his face, as he tucks himself into his pants, he says, “We’re doing a thorough exam today.”
“Come with me to an exam room.”
I get up slowly, wishing I could say no, but I can’t.
I reluctantly follow him, my legs heavy like lead.
Dehydration and malnutrition make your body its own enemy.
With each step I take the pain grows more intense feeling like my muscles are ripping away from the bones.
But like the prisoner I am, I continue walking to my demise.
I place one foot in front of the other, as my heart pounds so hard in my chest I feel it in my throat.
His torture is rarely the same. I never know what to expect.
There is only one thing that remains consistent; I know it will be something horrific.
The hallway is dimly lit, as the lights flicker overhead.
This is a different part of the asylum than I was in before, but I don’t know where, because I was drugged when I was brought here.
As bad as the other section was, this is worse.
It’s darker, dirtier, and looks like somewhere you go to die.
I don’t hear people cry here, and I wonder if it’s because they are dead already, or if I’m alone in my misery.
We walk in, and I gasp audibly, followed by the inability to breathe. There are dead bodies hanging from meat hooks, with parts missing. There’s a woman that had her breasts cut off, along with a leg, and parts of her female anatomy missing. Oh, my god. This can’t be real.
My gaze moves between the dead people, and I spot a man missing his eyes.
The smell is the most putrid thing I’ve ever smelled in my life.
It’s like a mixture of rotting meat, shit, and some kind of an odor I can’t identify, that makes me sick to my stomach.
I swallow hard, fighting the bile in my throat, because I know how he’ll react if I vomit again.
I’ve never seen a dead body before. The horrific smell burns the hair of my nostrils, as I continue fighting the urge to throw up what little is in my stomach.
Heather was wrong. This is worse than the basement.
I’m sure of it. Anything that happened to me down there was better than this.
While I never met Dr. Halstead, I cannot imagine he’s worse than this.
Suddenly, I’d welcome the goddamn lobotomy.
“Why are you doing this to me?” I ask, as I stand in shock at the sight before me.
He turns to me, as he runs his fingers over his short beard with a wicked gleam in his gaze.
“You were very bad, Bianca. You let Raven fuck you while I was not present. That’s not allowed. Now, you’re being punished. Disobedient behavior must be corrected. Get undressed.”
Grabbing the hem of my shirt on either side, I whip it off angrily.
“I didn’t let him do anything to me, any more than I let you do these disgusting things to me. The word let suggests I consented, and trust me, I did not.”
His eyes travel from my naked chest to where my pants sit hanging off my waist loosely. The lack of food is already showing on my body. My stomach growls, as if it heard me thinking about the ravenous hunger I’ve been experiencing.
“You’ll eat soon. I don’t know that it’ll be the meal you’re hoping for, but it’ll be something in your stomach, and high in iron. Now, drop the pants before I get angry.”
Hooking my thumbs into the sides, I pull them down, and try to ignore his heated gaze like he has any right to even look at me, let alone touch me.
I’m stuck somewhere between anger and perpetual self loathing.
I hate him for doing this to me, but also despise myself for not fighting him off, even though I know the consequences of trying to stop him.
I’m partially terrified that one of these times he’ll drug me, and I’ll never wake up again.
The other part of me hopes it happens soon.
I just want this to all stop. My husband beat me brutally for two years, and now this. When does it end? Does it ever?
“Lie down,” he says, motioning to the bed. It’s not an actual bed, it’s the kind you’d find in a gynecologist’s office, and that makes me even more nervous.
“Feet in the stirrups.”
I lie down and do what he says, and he walks over to my head, pulls a syringe out of his coat pocket, and I immediately freak out.
“Please. No drugs. I don’t want to be unconscious.”
Stroking my hair, he smiles down at me. “You won’t be. Movement will be impossible. You will not be able to speak, but you’ll be fully aware of everything. It’s just an exam, Bianca. Nothing to be worried about.”
Before I have the chance to argue, and say that you don’t need drugs for an exam, he pushes the needle into my neck. I try to move my head and can’t. It’s like I don’t have a body, and I know immediately this is worse than not being aware of what he does to me.
“Don’t move.” He smirks at me, moving between my legs as he removes his clothing.
“It’s a paralytic agent. I figured you’d like this better, since you don’t like being out. This way, you’ll remember all of our time together.”
I try to close my eyes, so I don’t have to see him, but I can’t do that either.
I scream in pure terror, but it’s all inside my head because he was right.
No part of my body works. This is worse, so much worse, and this time I really hope he kills me, because I’ve reached the end of what I can handle. No more. Please end my life.