Flightless Bird

Tagged a Martyer

Two hours later and I was walking down the sidewalk to my apartment, relishing in the wonderful day and trying my hardest not to think of what would come of it.

Mr. Knightly had taken me to eat at a small Italian restaurant down the road from the boutique, and it seemed he knew the owner there too.

Or at least, they knew him.

———

I glanced through the menu, my hands slightly trembling to see the prices on the menu, when he cleared his throat. I looked up to meet his stern eyes which told me that it didn't matter

"Order whatever you like, it's my treat."

"But-" I started.

"Scarlett," he countered before I could even begin. Mr. Knightly was impossibly generous, yet accepting was not going to be easy. I nodded slightly, eyes downcast as I ordered the cheapest thing I could find on the menu. The waitress hurried off and we were left in silence, me refusing the meet his gaze as he looked me over.

It had been a while since I'd eaten, let alone eaten in a restaurant or a whole meal for that matter. I hadn't the time to use the coffee bar yet at work, so Thalia's lunch was the last thing I could remember eating. I was ravenous as soon as the garlic bread was placed on the table, though I refrained from taking any. Concern for price and appearing gluttonous must have been painted across my face, as Mr. Knightly began to speak.

"Scarlett...is anything the matter?" He asked. I finally looked back up, fighting guilt and anxiety. His brow was once again furrowed as he seemed to struggle to read my expression.

"No, sir...I'm just, I don't know how to repay you for all this. I've never been given so much as you have given me. I just don't know how to thank you enough for-" I rambled before he stopped me. Someday I'll get my point across before his mind fills in the blanks and interrupts me.

"It's my treat, which means you have nothing to repay. Don't worry about cost, it's nothing to me." He interjected.

It was everything to me though.

I couldn't help but wonder 'why me?' As I got lost in his deep, blue eyes. Maybe he was just as lost as me, staring into mine? What if he could see the hurt and the pain I fought to keep beneath the surface?

And for just a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of pain in his too.

Or maybe it was a flicker of recognition?

———

I held onto the happy feeling inside as the dread of retiring home fought at the edges of my subconscious. After our discussion, we had joked and laughed about different acquaintances we knew. It was freeing to laugh so much and smile even more, a feeling I had never felt before. Maybe I had too serious an upbringing, or maybe I was too caught up in my head, but I had scarcely laughed as hard as I did tonight.

His eyes were dancing, and his warm face made me smile to recall. I hoped it would be smiling on Monday, but I couldn't let myself hope too hard for it.

My pace slowed as I caught sight of the building. I had told Mr. Knightly to drop me off at the corner half a mile away, claiming it to be where I lived. It was a better area, though still worn, than where I actually lived. My apartment looked beyond decrepit in comparison to where he dropped me.

It was safer this way, that he didn't know. It prevented complications, and the last thing I needed was pity. I needed to be strong, even if I felt so regularly weak; I did not want to be tagged a martyr.

I took several deep breaths to try to calm my racing heart before I placed my foot on the first step of the rickety, metal stair case. Our door was just above the back alley, the apartment extremely small but with two levels and basement access. It was all I could afford.

My breaths grew shallow as I made my way up to the door, and I turned the knob expecting the devil behind it.

To my surprise, he was not.

That did little to calm my beating heart as I neared hyperventilation— I knew he could be anywhere, and that was even infinitely more dangerous. It meant he would hurt me very badly tonight, and that knowledge alone had tears falling down my cheeks. I thought of Mr. Knightly...what would he do if he saw me now?

I can't pretend that his presence alone made me feel safe— that was a thought to be forbidden.

I slowly turned the corner to the kitchen to find Samuel sitting at the table, slowly spinning a knife between his hand and the table, carving a round rivet as he continued to stare murdurously at the wood and blade.

He was deadly.

I was terrified.

"Well well, if it isn't the little whore herself." He began, darkness in his tone. I stayed silent, trembling in my shoes. "I see you've been making the boss real happy. Even got yourself new clothes. Tell me, how long have you been lying to me exactly?" He met my petrified eyes. I couldn't speak, but I swallowed hard and tried.

"I never l-lied-"

"SHUT UP! Shut up you fucking slut! You think I'm stupid or something? You've been lying to me about the fucking money now where the hell is it?" He roared, to which I backed myself into the corner of the threshold.

"I swear I don't have it! I haven't been paid yet! The company bought it all!" I threw him under the bus. Guilt filled me as I feared for my boss. I should've said it was me but I knew that if I claimed I had it he would kill me, and I wasn't ready to go just yet. I had been before, but today had given me the worst thing I could have ever been given: hope.

I could not afford it.

"You mean to tell me that a man you met last week payed thousands of dollars for your fucking wardrobe? You must be sleeping with him then, you fucking whore! You lying ass bitch-" every word brought him a step closer as he threw the chair against the wall. He slammed his fists on either side of my head before he was mere centimeters from my face, spit flying as he continued to scream profanities. It was nothing like the pose from Knightly earlier this week; Samuel's was a threat beyond.

The first hit came flying out of his screaming tirade, throwing me into the side of the stove. He kicked me over and over, until I was fighting consciousness and barely breathing. When he finally stopped he spat on the floor near my head, breathing heavily while watching me fight to breathe again. Short gasps were all I could manage as I shook in a bloody mess on the floor.

Suddenly, my hair was being ripped upwards and my body being dragged like a rag doll. The splintered wood embedded in my skin as he pulled me out of the kitchen toward the stairs. I screamed and fought as hard as my weakened body could to escape but I knew what was going to happen.

Samuel threw my body down the stairs of the basement, and each hit was agony. I fought to stay awake, to stay alive as he thundered down after me. I could not move to save myself, I could only whimper in terror.

I felt my body being dragged again, my wrists being tied and my body forced into an upright position, dangling by my arms. I screamed in pain as my back stretched, my arms feeling as if they would dislocate if pulled any harder.

That was when the first whip came, with the studded whip.

Unlike the belt whips, this one was real, with blades tied to the ends to hold and rip my skin with every hit. I screamed and cried in agony, awakened by the tearing of my back and stomach, fearing for my life as the blood dripped down my body and pooled at my feet. Over and over he hit me, and I lost count of the lashes as I bled out.

The world grew dark and heavy as he tore chunks of my flesh out, and I passed out, hanging like a slaughtered calf, unable to fight any longer for my life.