Soul - Colby Brock

Seventy-One - Octavia

How long had it been? I didn't know. All I knew is that it'd been a long time of beating; raping; stabbing. I wanted Colby back. I wanted my daughter. I wanted my brother, my sister, my nephew, my friends. I wanted them all back and I wanted them now.

I had woken up by someone aggressively picking me up from the couch and clamping their hand over my mouth. The guys were nowhere to be found and I knew it wasn't one of them. I could hear them downstairs as he'd dragged me into a secret room in the presidential suite. He had let go of my mouth for two seconds to close the door: in that time I had screamed. I had listened to the guys calling my name and trying to find me. When what felt like a century had passed - I knew it had been more than a day - I was dragged somewhere. At that point, I wasn't doing so good. 

When I had awoken, I was in a large warehouse. I had been raped for the first time shortly after. Then I was stabbed a few times, they had stitched me up so I didn't die. Then I was beaten constantly. Every little thing would result in me getting a solid punch to the gut. 

My downstairs hurt. My stomach hurt. My face hurt. But most importantly, my heart hurt. It ached for Colby. It wanted him back. It wanted Gracie back. It wanted my life back.

I knew that however long it had been, I would be presumed dead by now. The roommates would have all moved out by now. Colby would have moved on by now. 

I hoped Gracie was happy with Emily. I hoped Callum would be happy to lead the gang. I hoped my mother wasn't grieving too much. 

I wanted them all to be happy. I wanted them all to forget about me. I wanted them all to move on.

I didn't know when I'd be found. I didn't know if it was possible to find me. I didn't know if I wanted to be found.

Part of me wanted them to kill me. Part of me wanted them to finish the job. Part of me wanted them to just get on with it. 

I had found out who these people were. They were part of the gang Callum and I had obliterated. They were part of the gang that'd started a war. They were part of the gang that I'd pissed off one-too-many times. 

They were my misfortune. They were my kidnappers. They were my end.