What These Bruises Say ›› n.h

Hostage, Despising, and Niall Horan

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Chapter 15

-Scarlett-

“Where are you, you worthless piece of trash?!” Richie snarled as he searched the room for my shattered body. 

I was in a pile on the floor. So sore that the littlest touch could send me over the edge. 

I’m so exposed. A ratty t-shirt to cover me. No underwear. No bra. No pants. Nothing. 

I whimpered in response to him. He grabbed me by my hair and yanked me to my feet. I screamed out in pain, earning a smile off of the pervert. 

“Ready for round 19?” he smirked. My eyes went wide and my head shook rapidly back and forth. 

“Please, no.” I replied, my voice hoarse from screaming and lack of water.  

“You don’t get an opinion in this world, sweetheart.” He growled and pushed me onto the broken, dirty bed. 

“Please. No.” I whimpered. “Stop!” 

Surprisingly he stopped. 

“I’m not in the mood.” He huffed and stormed out of the room. I sighed in relief. 

19 rounds. 19 times. 19 times I’ve been raped in the past month. 

But that’s not what hurts. What hurts is that not one person I used to know and love came. Not one police officer was called to investigate. 

How to I know that a cop wasn’t called? 

Don’t you think if you were being held behind the hotel One Direction was staying at, you’d at least be found?

Not me. No. 

A small house. Four rooms. Kitchen, bathroom, lounge, and my hostage room.

My room has no source of light. A small bed that’s broken and uncomfortable. A wooden floor, with splinters sticking out all over the place. 

If there is one thing I’ve learned from this, it’s never trust anyone. Ever. 

They always get bored. They’ll leave you. Or in my case, get rid of you. 

You have no idea how many times I’ve wished for this to just be a dream, but I end up waking up in the same dark room. On the most uncomfortable bed. Heartbroken and depressed.