Abused and Bought

Boy in the Bubble

Another kick to her chest, another screech. Another chip of her ribs clicked in her ears to drown out the screams of the girl above her.

"Worthless piece of trash!" The girl screeched above her, sending another wave of pain to her ribcage. "It's your fault I wasn't bought!"

Grace sighed through her nose. This was normal, getting blamed for things she didn't do, nor would want to do. If anything, she had wished that man had bought her less pain. But it was the girl's spoiled attitude that had drawn the customer away. Grace was getting the blame.

A sharp pinch of pain throbbed in her skull as the girl clutched her hair, nearly ripping from her head as it was pulled up. Grace's eye twitched in pain, the only sign she gave. The girl brought her close, her red curls tickling her cheeks, a shade lighter than her face.

"It's because of you that I wasn't bought. You had to go and ruin everything." She hissed.

Grace said nothing. As the runt, she was the punching bag, the go-to of any blame. She was the oldest of the batch, going on her fourth year living in the large, colorful, iron-barred pen she had to call home.

The girl growled, an unpleasant sound coming from her throat as she lifted her free hand, tightening her grip on Grace's hair. She threw it down, Grace's head snapping to the side with the sharp contact. Her cheek throbbed, the taste of iron greeting Grace's tongue. "Go ahead and die already. No one's stopping you." The girl sneered. She released her hair, storming away as Grace fell to the floor with a thud.

Gingerly, she rose her hand to her cheek, already knowing it would bruise, adding another decoration to her pale and battered skin. The girl sashayed back to the front of the pen, pushing out her bulbous chest at any man who walked by. Grace sighed through her nose once again. The air suffocated on giggles and dreamy sighs, muffled by the bustling crowd that passed by here and there.

She crawled backward, shielding her body behind the apple-red curtains that dangled over the back of the pen, her little hiding spot, where she tucked in her knees, her long, dirty, knotted blonde hair acting like a pathetic barrier.

It was the last of the rounds, and the day was going to end soon.

The hours ticked by, the sun sinking lower and lower past the rooftops until the bell rang for the last time.

The lights shut off, Shop Owner's loud voice echoing through the empty store.

"Alright, pets!" He bellowed though the shout did not completely need it. "Get some sleep! I don't want customers complaining about sleepy merchandise!"

Grace rolled her eyes, curling into a tight ball. The other girls shuffled around, curling up with each other to fight the night chill. Shop Owner never kept the heat on at night. Grace curled up tighter, clutching the curtain. Once again, she was going to sleep alone. Why wouldn't she? She was the runt; they would rather be caught dead than caught sleeping with her.

The air grew quiet, sleepy mumbles and snores floating around the bundle of girls as the hours passed. Grace shivered, the night chill kissing at her skin and sprinkled with goosebumps as she once again thought of the last lyrics she heard before Shop Owner brought her to the pet shop.

"Punch my face, do it cause I like the pain.

Every time you curse my name,

I know you want the satisfaction. It's not gonna happen.

Knock me out, kick me while I'm on the ground

It's only gonna let you down,

Come the lightning and the thunder; you're the one who'll suffer, suffer."

The rest of the song had faded from her mind, leaving only those painfully ironic words. She scoffed, her lips stretching into a rueful smile. Who knew it would be so similar to her predicament.

She stared through the shop windows, other shops just as dark, the night sky littered with stars, the light of the moon throbbing somewhere out of her view.

Soon, or so she thought, it would be the third year of no speaking. Going mute had been a life-saver, sparing her bruises that she would have gotten if she ever talked back. Besides, even during her first year of living in this pen, she had been a victim of thousands of barbs and beatings. This year was no different, nor would the following.

She gingerly ran her fingers over the fresh bruise, the skin hot and throbbing beneath her touch. It felt awful, was awful, but there was nothing she could do about it.

The only solution was to be bought or die.

She shivered at both, her lips pulling into a grimace. Neither sounded pleasant. She knew what would happen if she was bought. There were only three options.

Blood bags, servants, and toys.

None sounded pleasant.

She shifted her gaze to the ceiling; the usual pale, grey plaster turned black until morning. She sighed again, turning back onto her side as she pulled the curtain, shielding her body from the outside world.

Tomorrow would be another day, a morning of beatings, an evening of barbs, a night of cold. It was the same old song, stuck on a painful, broken repeat.

Her eyelids began to bob, her mouth spreading wide in a yawn. Hopefully, she could sleep peacefully. Maybe if she willed hard enough, she could dream of her parents.

A throb is pulsed in her chest. Her parents... she often wondered about them. Were they looking for her? Of course, they surely knew by now; it's been four years since she's been home. Maybe they were looking but never thought that she had been kidnapped right off the street and taken to a human pet shop, gathering bruises with every beating she took.

Her eyes fluttered shut, her conscience seeping away. Hopefully, just hopefully, tomorrow, she could sleep in peace.

Hopefully.