belt.
I failed. Now I'm going to die.
“ Stand up.” Slowly I rose, not bothering to move the hair falling across my face. Master sneered at me, snapping his belt in front of my face. “Take it off.”
Uncomprehending, I didn't move. Master reached out and ripped my gown, leaving me shivering and exposed in front of him.
“Please. I won't do it again.” Was that my voice? It sounded like me, but I hadn't meant to speak.
“Too late.” I was taken by the arm and pushed onto my hands and knees. I heard the belt snap again above my head.
Then pain. Oh, the pain. Sharp, blinding, pain that reached into my soul and ripped away any vestiges of control. Again the belt struck me, and again. I crumpled onto the floor, my arms unable to hold me up.
I will not repeat the words he spoke to me. The things he called me. Words that hurt worse than the belt lashing across my back.
I screamed each time the leather hit. I had no choice. If I didn't scream, my breath would have stopped in my throat. The screams were the only evidence I was still alive. Beyond that it was only pain, rapidly swirling down into the darkness of obscurity.
Then the pain changed. I was thrown on the cot, the blood on my back hot and sticky beneath me, and he hurt me in a different way. His anger was poured into me, his hate, the essence of his evil. I did not fight. I couldn't...my strength was gone. All I could do was grip the sides of my cot and fight for each breath, fight to keep my heart beating, fight to stay alive.
Without warning I was sick on him, which angered him even more. The beating turned to fists and feet as I lay on the floor, curled up to protect the most tender parts of my body, my hands over my head.
What little I remember of the rest of that day is what I put in my journal, written a couple days after, when the pain of the beating had lessened enough that I could sit upright again.
Day 15: Travis let Jenny put medicine on my wounds. I know I screamed at her when she put ointment on my back. To have her gentle fingers touch where his belt struck me...it was too much.
She said I'm lucky to still be alive. I disagree. I've made up my mind. I don't want to live anymore. I'm never getting out of here. What's the point in surviving? No one will ever find us. Isn't that the point of all those cop shows? These men go on for decades before they are ever found. And those are the ones in the cities, not out here in the middle of abso-freakin-lutely nowhere.
I guess part of my punishment is to be treated like some sort of animal. My blankets are gone. The TV. Even the bible. I get plain toast, bologna and water for every meal. I can't even eat it...it makes me too sick. I threw up this morning just from the smell.
They didn't find my journal though. I keep it under the tub. They'd never find it unless they looked really hard.
I guess it's a good thing I can't eat. Every day I don't is just one less day I have to spend here. God, if there really is a heaven, please take me there soon. Or even hell...I can't imagine how it could be worse than this. If what I hear is correct, at least it has to be warm.
I can't sleep. I can't eat. I'm so cold. Is this what dying feels like? This cold and hunger that can't be cured? It hurts to die. But living hurts even more.
That stupid pregnancy test still taunts me from the back of the toilet. They left it. I would laugh if it didn't hurt too much. If there was a baby in me, I'm sure that last beating would have taken care of it.
Day 16: I wonder if Annabelle is still alive. I haven't heard anything from her for days now. Maybe she's gone. I envy her.
Jenny says I am stronger than her. She's still fighting and I've given up. I don't see how that makes me strong.
I'm so
I failed. Now I'm going to die.
“ Stand up.” Slowly I rose, not bothering to move the hair falling across my face. Master sneered at me, snapping his belt in front of my face. “Take it off.”
Uncomprehending, I didn't move. Master reached out and ripped my gown, leaving me shivering and exposed in front of him.
“Please. I won't do it again.” Was that my voice? It sounded like me, but I hadn't meant to speak.
“Too late.” I was taken by the arm and pushed onto my hands and knees. I heard the belt snap again above my head.
Then pain. Oh, the pain. Sharp, blinding, pain that reached into my soul and ripped away any vestiges of control. Again the belt struck me, and again. I crumpled onto the floor, my arms unable to hold me up.
I will not repeat the words he spoke to me. The things he called me. Words that hurt worse than the belt lashing across my back.
I screamed each time the leather hit. I had no choice. If I didn't scream, my breath would have stopped in my throat. The screams were the only evidence I was still alive. Beyond that it was only pain, rapidly swirling down into the darkness of obscurity.
Then the pain changed. I was thrown on the cot, the blood on my back hot and sticky beneath me, and he hurt me in a different way. His anger was poured into me, his hate, the essence of his evil. I did not fight. I couldn't...my strength was gone. All I could do was grip the sides of my cot and fight for each breath, fight to keep my heart beating, fight to stay alive.
Without warning I was sick on him, which angered him even more. The beating turned to fists and feet as I lay on the floor, curled up to protect the most tender parts of my body, my hands over my head.
What little I remember of the rest of that day is what I put in my journal, written a couple days after, when the pain of the beating had lessened enough that I could sit upright again.
Day 15: Travis let Jenny put medicine on my wounds. I know I screamed at her when she put ointment on my back. To have her gentle fingers touch where his belt struck me...it was too much.
She said I'm lucky to still be alive. I disagree. I've made up my mind. I don't want to live anymore. I'm never getting out of here. What's the point in surviving? No one will ever find us. Isn't that the point of all those cop shows? These men go on for decades before they are ever found. And those are the ones in the cities, not out here in the middle of abso-freakin-lutely nowhere.
I guess part of my punishment is to be treated like some sort of animal. My blankets are gone. The TV. Even the bible. I get plain toast, bologna and water for every meal. I can't even eat it...it makes me too sick. I threw up this morning just from the smell.
They didn't find my journal though. I keep it under the tub. They'd never find it unless they looked really hard.
I guess it's a good thing I can't eat. Every day I don't is just one less day I have to spend here. God, if there really is a heaven, please take me there soon. Or even hell...I can't imagine how it could be worse than this. If what I hear is correct, at least it has to be warm.
I can't sleep. I can't eat. I'm so cold. Is this what dying feels like? This cold and hunger that can't be cured? It hurts to die. But living hurts even more.
That stupid pregnancy test still taunts me from the back of the toilet. They left it. I would laugh if it didn't hurt too much. If there was a baby in me, I'm sure that last beating would have taken care of it.
Day 16: I wonder if Annabelle is still alive. I haven't heard anything from her for days now. Maybe she's gone. I envy her.
Jenny says I am stronger than her. She's still fighting and I've given up. I don't see how that makes me strong.
I'm so
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