I don't know if this is the end or not. I don't know if I'll be able to live up to the hype I've once created for myself after this ends- If it ever does. I... I've been lying to Patrick. It's not going to be okay. Nothing is ever okay. I can never get too comfortable, because just one ripple in a desolate surface can cause a tidal wave can bring my entire life down. The welts that decorate my pale skin only prove that. I can't look at them without breaking down in a heap on the floor. How long has it been, anyway? 30 minutes? An hour? A day? There are no clocks or windows in here. My stomach moans, gasping for replenishment. My tongue strokes itself up against the roof of my parched, dry mouth. My throat is dry and sore from screaming and crying. Each time I manage to calm myself, I just trace back to the events, and in time I am back on the floor, my body racked with sobs.
My mind begins to descend into its darkest depths. I am drowning. I am crying. I am screaming. I am losing my mind. But nobody can hear a sound.
One day earlier.
"Are you sure you're gonna be okay?" Patrick asked me for the millionth time that evening. I was still no better by the time our next show rolled around. Believe me, I wanted to go. But Patrick was always the one to protest that I stay home and rest so I don't end up worse. Once Patrick sets his mind to something, there's no convincing him otherwise. So I humored him.
"Yeah, definitely. Have fun, okay?" I pecked him on the lips before sending him off with the others. It wasn't like I was unsafe. I was becoming acquainted with most of the security guards. We got along very well.
"See you tonight, babe," Patrick shouted, sending a flurry of emotions through me. He had never called me that before. It almost sounded like an official title falling from his lips. I couldn't help but smile.
The rest of the evening was eerily quiet. I expected to hear some mellow chatter from the security guards and staff, but it was empty when I popped in. I made myself mac and cheese for dinner and drew a warm bath for myself to soothe my stomach.
I peeled off the clothes that I had shamelessly worn all day and lowered myself into the warm water, the entire atmosphere of it almost lulling me to sleep- but I focused on washing up, and dried myself off and wrapped a towel around myself, tucking it in so it stayed up and covered my naked body.
I wonder if Patrick will be back tonight, I mused, running a comb through my loose hair that dripped steadily at the ends, weaving my fingers through it before flipping it over and twisting it into a messy bun. I tossed my dirty clothes into the hamper and retreated back to my bedroom.
"Shouldn't you be performing, sweetheart?"
My chest jerked, and in surprise, I chomped into my lip, hard. It was one of the security guards. Only, it was the only person I didn't trust. He looked completely shady to begin with.
"Uh, no... I- I decided to stay in. I'm not feeling very well."
His worn, crusty lips curled into a smile. "Ah, well, that wasn't too smart of you, was it?"
Cold beads of sweat began to develop at my hairline. "Excuse me?"
"Oh, you mean you don't remember me?"
Fear began to claw at my throat. My memory jogged back to that horrible night where I was almost killed. My eyes dropped down to the jagged white scar carved by the knife he wielded. He smiled, dark gaps substituting for his missing teeth. I could smell the nicotine laced in his breath from the wall. "N- No. I don't remember you."
He tilted his head to the side. "Now, now, you're a smart girl. You can figure it out," he chided as he took slow steps towards me.
My stomach twisted itself in knots while my mind began to contort itself; I had to figure a way out of here. This man was going to hurt me.
"What the hell do you want?" I choked, my eyes darting around the room for something to defend myself with. His body was impending, those yellow slits where his eyes should've been were coming closer.
He chuckled... And then began to remove his jacket.
What the hell?
I stood there confused for a minute or two, not sure what his intentions were until his hand shot towards me and wrapped itself around my wrist.
"No-" He slammed me down on my stomach against the bed while he began to undress himself, keeping me bound still with one knee.
No, no. NO.
What the hell?
NO!
Fucking hell!
"Get OFF!" I screamed, squirming under his grip.
"Listen here, girl," he growled, grabbing a fistful of my hair and pulling it back so my neck was bending, strained towards him. "You give me what I want and I'll leave it at that. You refuse, and I will just have to use my trusty pistol."
He pushed my head back down against the sheets. I couldn't see, speak, and I could barely breathe. I could feel his grimy, cold hands against my body.
I was an object, a tool, a toy. I was a victim. I was nothing. The sheets under me were damp from the tears falling from my face.
I didn't know how long it lasted; I must have blacked out from fear, because when I opened my eyes the next time, the first thing I could distinguish was a searing pain in my neck, thighs, arms, and stomach. It was pitch black, I wasn't sure where I was, but based on the bone chilling surface my body rested on, I could tell I was no longer in my room. I sat up slowly, screaming as the pain in my stomach resurfaced, twisting and contorting my guts.
"Help?" I called out, my throat parched and dry. Some could describe it as sandpaper. It was so dark that I was beginning to see shapes, dark masses, shadows dancing in my vision.
A bitter taste began to claw at my throat. I coughed, my chest heaving, every cough a violent blow to my chest. Maybe I'm dreaming. Maybe I'm just dreaming.
i know this wasn't an easy chapter to read, you guys. it wasn't exactly pleasant to write either. sorry. :-(
