The Way Out of the Dark

I lost another long chunk of time after that. I couldn’t have been out nearly as long as the first time, though.

I drifted in and out of sleep. I felt so weak from the beating that I couldn’t eat, and by not eating, I got even weaker.

When I opened my eyes, I would see shapes moving in and out of the room. I wish I could give more details, but it’s all so vague now.

I found it hard to want to eat. I just thought I was going to die anyway.

I’d never read another book or watch another movie. I’d never know what wine really tastes like, and I’d never go on another road trip. I wouldn’t have a boyfriend, or a husband, or a child.

Participation in my own suffering seemed stupid.

I woke up to a hand slapping my face, but not very hard.

I touched my back. It was coarse, and the tender skin from my wounds were cinched closed. One of the men of the house, his name was Leo, was waking me up.

“Hey, you gotta eat,” he said, slapping my face harder. I opened my eyes wider and sat up. On the table next to me was a plate with scrambled eggs and a slice of toast on it. It smelled so good.

I could see the steam coming off of the eggs, and the toast was glistening. I could feel my mouth watering, so I tried not to look at it.

They knew that I wasn’t eating, and whatever I was eating, it clearly wasn’t enough. What would they do, force-feed me?

I took the bottle of water that was sitting next to the plate and began drinking.

In my junior year of high school, I took a health class. We were told that people can survive up to three weeks without food as long as they have water.

“Eat,” he said, more sternly. I could tell he was losing his patience. I stared back at him, trying not to glance at the plate with food on it.

Suddenly, he pulled a knife from a pocket attached to his belt. He pressed the pointed tip towards my chest, holding my neck with his hand.

He sliced upwards, startling me. I didn’t think he would actually cut me.

“If you don’t fucking eat, he is not going to be happy,” he shouted.

I stared into his eyes, trying to be brave. This is what I wanted, this is what I’d been asking for. All I had to do was act like an asshole, and I’d be free.

“I don’t fucking care,” I said, a tear slipping out from the corner of my eye. He pulled away. He put away his knife and took a deep breath.

“I have to tell him, so you better start eating,” he said before leaving.

I laid back down and took a deep sigh. I made sure to lie down facing away from the plate. That didn’t stop me from smelling it, though.

The door opened, and I expected Highroller to drag me out by what little hair I had left. James knelt down in front of me.

“What’re you doing?” he asked. I had never seen him look so concerned. I just didn’t care.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” I said, tears coming from my eyes. My face stayed stale and emotionless.

“Dad’s going to kill you,” he said. There it was again. That was the second time someone in the house had referred to Highroller as ‘Dad’.

“Why do you call him that?” I asked, my voice worn and slow. I didn’t put much intonation into my voice. It was almost like I had a thin, dark veil over me, a rain cloud if you will.

I didn’t want to eat or sleep or do anything. If I just so happened to have been rescued then, I don’t think I would’ve noticed very much.

“Please eat,” he said, standing up.

“Why?” I asked, not turning to see him. He stuttered, like he didn’t have a succinct reason why.

“If you eat, I will read you Gerald’s Game,” he said. I turned to look at him.

Not only did that mean I would have something to look forward to, something to listen to, but I also wouldn’t be alone.

Whether he wanted to or not, he would be in the room, talking to me. It was something that I wanted, it was something I thought I needed.

I cautiously pulled up my body, sitting up, facing James and the table. The eggs were still hot, and James picked up the plate to give it to me. I held my shaky hands out towards him.

The door slammed open with Highroller and Leo behind him, making James drop the plate. It shattered and food went everywhere.

“A little birdie told me that someone hasn’t been eating,” he said, speaking slowly. He looked at the ground. “And look at the God-damned mess you made,” he said, walking into the room.

“No, Dad, it wasn’t—” James started but Highroller stopped him.

“Oh, don’t you lie for her,” he scoffed. He bent, looking at me oddly. “And I suppose you cut her hair to look like a dyke, too,” he said in disbelief. I took a deep breath.

“I’m so sorry, Highroller,” I spoke up and leaned forward, “I didn’t mean to, it’s my fault.” He stood with his arms crossed. Neither of those things would’ve happened if it wasn’t for me.

“Take her to my room,” he said.

Leo marched in and I lunged away, going off of the bed. But because I hadn’t moved for a long while, the muscles in my legs weren’t as strong and they gave out underneath me.

Leo grabbed my wrists and dragged me out of the room. I could see James running towards me but Highroller stopped him.

He brought his face up to James’ ear and when he pulled away, James’ face fell blank.

“Hey!” I shouted at him, but he didn’t look up. Highroller shot me a glare and followed. James disappeared from the doorway.

I was dragged up the stairs again, but it didn’t hurt as much as the first time. My wrists burned because of how Leo was tugging me up the stairs.

He would lose his grip, and I would slip for a second. When I managed to regain my footing, he would pull me, and I would fall down on the stairs again.

I was tossed onto Highroller’s bed, and when I sat up, he was standing in the doorway.

“Why did you do that to your hair? And don’t you know good food when you see it?” he asked, pushing the door shut. He turned towards me and started walking to the bed.

I stood up on the bed and tried to run for the door. It felt like I had lead weights on my ankles. Highroller grabbed me and slammed me back down on his bed.

I was left coughing and gasping, holding the shoulder that took the most impact. He squeezed my wrists and held them down at the sides of my head.

I tried to squirm away and I touched his leg with my foot. I felt that he was turned on, and I felt disgusted.

“You’ve caused me so much trouble. I’m going to make sure that you never disrespect me again,” he growled. He released me and went into his previously mentioned wooden crate.

I sat up to make a dash for the door and heard the metal clicking of a gun. I turned to see a silver revolver pointed at me with Highroller still facing his box.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, turning towards me. I looked away, staring at the corner of the white bed. I wondered where he got his blankets, and how they’d stay so white.

“Look at me when I talk to you!” he yelled, slamming something. I jumped and hesitantly looked over at him. I started to cry.

I felt alone then, unless one of those other assholes stepped in, I was definitely dead.

Highroller walked over to me and stood next to me. I tried not to look into his eyes, moving my eyes from his shoulders to the gun.

He grabbed my throat and slammed me down on the bed, dragging me up so I was lying down near the top. He held the gun above my head.

“Do you see this here?” He said, I nodded. “This gun is mine, but as a gift, you can have every single bullet in the barrel,” he said, grimly.

My body shook and my toes began to tingle. I thought maybe my spirit was finally leaving my body.

“But not yet, I must discipline you,” he said, tucking the gun into his waistband.

Highroller grabbed my hips and flipped me over. He took my wrists and tightly tied them together with a cable tie.

I struggled against him. I didn’t like having him behind me, somewhere I couldn’t see him. I didn’t like not knowing what he was going to do.

I tried to squirm away from him. He put the muzzle of the gun against the back of my head. It was cold and heavy. I could feel its weight.

A wild chill shot up my spine when I felt cold metal touching the back of my thigh. I remember trying to pull it away, but his knee pinned down my legs.

I heard a cutting sound, the first snip of my underwear. I was struggling as he moved the scissors up, closer to my butt. I heard him cock back the hammer of the revolver.

“Stop. Moving,” he growled in my ear. There was nothing I could do in that moment. I couldn’t stop it, I couldn’t control it.

I needed a miracle, something or someone to ram through that door and save me. But it wasn’t coming, and I knew it wasn’t.

With every cut of my clothes, the more and the less I cared about what he’d do. I dreaded it, and I feared it.

No one wanted something like that to happen to them. I wanted to scream and struggle against him, even if it killed me.

But I didn’t want to die like that. I just wanted it to be over with.

I tried to think about the after before it had even begun. He parted my legs with his knee, and I shut my eyes tightly.