Where We've Been

Her Hell

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For Natalie, who told me she missed my writing.

Excuse any mistakes

~~~

There's blood under my fingernails.

It's been caked there for days, hardening into a dark brown crust. There are spots of blood on my body as well, staining the skin between the bruises in different stages of healing. I used to scratch it away, scraping until the flesh underneath prickled and shone bright pink. It didn't take long for me to stop. I learned cuts and blood were constant, and sensitive skin was a disadvantage. I learned the hard way.

I used to tremble, cramps and fear destabilizing my limbs. Now, I'm numb, body still as I hunch in my cage. My head bowed against the low ceiling, my spine almost permanently curled. My bones, some having been broken and inexpertly reset, ache. My ribs feel hollow now. I'm tired.

The cage they keep me in used to be my dog's. They killed him first, when he barked at the door as they asked my mother to use the phone. It used to smell like him, a security blanket, but that faded quickly.

The front door clicked as they unlocked it.

No, it's too soon. The sun wasn't fully set; they don't get here until the sun has vanished to the other side of the earth. I'm supposed to have more time. It's too soon. I could feel it already; sticks and roots stabbing the bottoms of my feet as I ran, skin splitting on my arms and face, the blood hot in my pores.

And the fear. The fear was renewed every time they unlocked the door.

They came in, boots thundering against the floor, and I instinctively backed up in the cage until the thin, metal bars pressed into my flesh. My fingers formed fists, but I wasn't going to fight back. I stopped fighting back after the first days of their game. I hated myself for giving in, but I couldn't keep it up.

"Evening, Angel."

The man who spoke, the one with the dagger tattoo under his eye, grinned at me as they stood in front of my cage. His teeth were too white. The other man, the one who wore the glasses, kept his expression stony. He didn't talk much, but he was faster than Dagger. He caught me first almost every time they played their game.

"Don't call me that," I whispered, but my voice wasn't loud enough for them to care.

Dagger reached down and opened my cage, motioning for me to come out. I didn't move. He snorted and motioned towards Glasses, who stepped forward and reached into the cage. He dug a hand into my hair, his nails digging into my scalp as he yanked me out. I couldn't keep the cries of pain inside my lips.

Glasses didn't let go of my hair as he hauled me towards the back door of the cabin. I tried reaching up a hand to lessen his grip, but his other hand gripped my wrist and squeezed. He knew this was the wrist he'd broken a couple weeks ago. He knew how much it hurt, how it wasn't completely healed.

Dagger had followed us, and he opened the back door. Turning his attention back to me, he stepped close and traced a finger along the scar on my collarbone. This one was his, and he loved it like a trophy.

"You'll get a three-minute head start, Angel."

Glasses threw me out the back door, and as soon as I had some semblance of balance, I was sprinting into the woods.

*

Blood seeped through my fingers as I attempted to apply pressure to the wound. The bullet was still in there, lodged in my lower abdomen. I didn't stop, though, stumbling through the woods as fast as I could muster. Glasses and Dagger were anywhere.