Regina
Two Weeks Earlier
I don’t know how I got here. Not really. I remember walking down the street before a strange set of arms wrapped around my waist, and the burning prick of a needle pressed into my neck. After that? Darkness.
That is, until I woke up in an office surrounded by naked women who were just as beaten––just as bloodied––as me. When I saw Burlone behind the desk, my pulse spiked, and my breathing grew shallow before I remembered the importance of not letting them see.
I can’t let them see the real me or my real emotions.
No.
I need to be numb.
Fifteen minutes later, I was dragged into an empty room with a twin-sized bed in the center of it. Then I was left alone in nothing but a black bra and matching bikini cut underwear, which is where I find myself now.
Looking around the space, I notice a pair of handcuffs attached to the metal bed frame and struggle to pull my eyes away from the promise they hold.
I never thought I’d find myself here. Although, now that I think about it, I’m not sure anyone really does.
Still, my entire life has been spent in a different kind of prison to keep me from a fate like this.
My eyes gather with tears when I realize he was right.
My father. My brother. Everyone. A girl like me will never be safe.
She’ll never be normal. She’ll never be anything at all.
Inhaling a shaky breath, I hold it for ten seconds then release it through my mouth. But on the next inhale, the lingering scent of pee that clings to the stained mattress burns my nostrils, making me cough.
I’m in so much freaking trouble.
Panicking, I force my eyes closed and squeeze them shut as tight as I possibly can.
I’m screwed. I’m so screwed. I’m so freaking screwed.
The mantra continues over and over again before I drive my fingernails into the palm of my hand, hoping that the bite of pain will ground me.
With another deep breath, I dig deep and search for the courage to look around the rest of the room.
Opening my eyes, I do another quick scan of my prison.
Other than the bed and a medium sized Home Depot bucket tucked in the corner, it’s empty.
The walls are made from cinder blocks, the floors are nothing but a slab of cement, and there aren’t any windows.
As soon as I come to that realization, I feel the walls pressing in from all sides.
I think I’m going to be sick.
Read Little Bird Now