Page 6 of Shattered In Darkness

My skin goes cold, then there’s the emptiness that follows. Flashes of his hands, his cold and possessive eyes, his slimy dominance popping into my mind. Since my mother went away, I do not remember what it is like to feel safe. Warm. Loved purely.

All I know is him. The monster. My doom. My imprisonment.

“I understand. I will perform exactly to their standard.” I keep my voice professional and robotic, exactly like I practiced.

“Good girl. I don’t want to have to give you a punishment if you act up. Come home right after, and you’ll get a reward.”

The line goes dead. I can still remember the last punishment he gave me. It was after he left. The boy I thought could save me.

Marcus found out that I hired a PI to look for him. Marcus did not like that. That night he hit me. My face turned a nasty shade of color and stayed swollen for over a week. He forbade me from going anywhere, so I was trapped in the house with the monster, nursing a swollen and beaten face. He told me that I am his, and I am not allowed to look for the boy.

Or think about him.

To make sure of it, he tied me down and fucked me. Then made me repeat his name over and over. I can still hear it in my nightmares; the screams,.my tears leaking down my face. I can feel the sting of his hand every time I resisted his name.

Marcus. Marcus. Marcus.

Please, I can’t take it anymore. Please stop.

Marcus. Marcus. Marcus.

That’s when I knew: I cannot fight him. I have to be obedient. Until death takes his breath away. That is who I am now.

The cruelest thing about trauma does, though, is make you homesick for a version of yourself you can never return to. Where is that fiery girl with spark? The one who didn’t back down, the one who was carefree, the one who could stand up to anyone. Where did she go?

Now, I don’t know who I am without fear telling me what to do. Back down. Stay quiet. Stay still. Do what they want. Smile for the camera. Be a good girl.

I keep walking, I don’t drag my feet; I keep the same pace I’ve kept for years. Steady and quiet.

The building sits in the shadows of the street. I’ve only been here once before but it takes no time for me to recognize it. The tall structure, its black brick exterior, and the alleyway that cuts along the side. People come here to do shady and raunchy business.

On paper, this place was rented under one of Marcus’s event companies. Girls were sent here and photographed, used, and moved along before anyone could ask questions.

Today, I am here for the same reason.

The entrance isn’t obvious; no big glass doors, no reception desk behind a well-decorated counter. Just a metal door with peeling black paint and a keypad that’s been scratched up. There’s a camera above it, angled down to watch the street and the alley. It watches me.

I almost want to hide. Almost. Then, I remember my life revolves around being watched. I have to get used to it.

I punch in the code given to me; the lock clicks, and the door opens before I even touch the handle. A man wearing a dark hoodie stands on the other side. Not a security guard. No name tag. Just a stern face and empty eyes.

Just like me.

He looks me up and down and I remember what my father tells me.

Don’t be a prude, Lola. With a body like that, they should be allowed to look. But don’t let them touch you. Never let them touch unless I say so.

He steps aside without a word. The hallway is narrow, the lights are dim and yellowed, like they’ve been on for years and no one has bothered to change the bulbs. The walls are brick black, just like the exterior. There’s music somewhere deeper in the building, the bass low. Not club music, more like background noise. Something to cover sounds.

Like the sound of a scream.

I walk into the designated room and the door shuts behind me. There is one small window on the far wall, and cameras in the corners. I feel that heavy feeling on my lungs whenever I’m alone in a room with a man. The iron grip on the lungs. The sensation of drowning and choking.

Stand tall, sweetheart. Stand tall. sweetheart.

Her words pass through me, and I do exactly that.

Another man appears near the end of the hall. He wears an earpiece, and doesn’t look at me like a person. He looks at me like I am a product being delivered.