The Girl In The Shadows

Chapter 1

A sharp pain in the back of my head. Concrete. Blood. Red blood. Gushing pools of crimson, pain, only pain-

I rip my eyelids open with great force, my eyes meeting the darkness of my desolate room. A tear. It rolls down my cheek, maybe I am alive after all. I don't know what time it is. The days blend into nights and I don't remember the last time I saw a glimpse of hope. I don't remember the last time I felt a real emotion. Maybe the tear is a sign that I'm human. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. I try to close my eyes but all I see is the concrete, all over again. All I see is the scars and the bruises and- God, so much pain. All I feel is discomfort as I drown in my sorrows, hugging my knees, rocking. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Breathe, I tell myself. The pain in my head returns and all of a sudden, I'm there again, pleading, begging, hoping. I'm so tired; so exhausted. Overwhelmed. The only thing I've seen for the greater portion of my life has been grey walls, black floors and white ceilings. Two thousand and thirty-seven cracks coat the floor: another two hundred and five on the walls.

Counting is a good way to distract myself. So, I recount the cracks on the floor until I get to two thousand and thirty-seven and then I count the cracks on the walls until I reach two hundred and five. Only when I feel my eyes go square do I feel tired enough to sleep.

I don't know how much time passes between each moment, nor do I know what day it is. I do not know what time the sun sets or rises, or if it still exists. I fear I will live like this forever. These are the types of thoughts that no one has the answer to. No one can provide me with the answers that matter. Who knew one man could mess up life so badly? The lines on the paper that lies in front of me tell me that I have been entrapped in this cell for roughly three years. I can estimate when a day begins and ends by the footsteps that fill the silence. When it is quiet, do they sleep? Are they in another person's cell, picking a new victim? Who knows. All I know is that they haven't picked me yet. Will they ever? That idea doesn't seem as bad as the days progress.

As each day passes by, I begin to hate myself even more. They say hating yourself exhausting, but that's all I've ever known. I have lost all hope of a happy life and the idea of liberty seems even more unattainable as each day starts and ends. Some days I will stare at the ceiling, unmoving. Other days, I'll dwell on the fact that I will never have a normal future. But most days, I'm numb and tired, sleep deprived and filled with immense, overbearing anxiety. Three years ago, I vowed to myself that I'd never submit to a man in ways others would. You see, in school, they teach you how to do simple math equations, they teach you science and useless things like how to differentiate between different trees. But do you know what they don't teach?

How to defend yourself when a six-foot four man who weighs twice as much as you put a gun to your head and threatens to put a bullet through your skull if you make a sound.

Three years ago, my life changed. It was morphed and manipulated as I was dragged away from my once-happy self.