The light of hope in her went out. “It’s too late,” she whispered.
Time skip
I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping it was all a bad dream. Like so many others I had in the past.
But it wasn’t.
After the lights came on, guards with guns pointed at us ushered us inside. Isla was separated from us, while we were locked in some makeshift room with bars.
I had never been locked up, but something told me it had a similar set up.
Isla cried out as the old man backhanded her. Maple and Freya whimpered, tears streaming down their faces. Another slap followed.
“Please,” I screamed. “Stop it.” I couldn’t stay quiet anymore. Someone had to save Isla. It had to be me. There was nobody else.
“Shut up or I’ll drag you out of there,” the old man threatened. “Two for one. After all, I deserve it after he fucked me over.”
I didn’t understand his reference. It wasn’t until much, much later that I pondered on those words.
I rattled the bars. “Leave her alone, you fucking bastard,” I screeched. Cold sweat rolled down my spine, my knuckles turned white as I gripped the bars like Isla’s life depended on it.
The fucker locked us up like we were dogs.
“For every fucking word,” he threatened before slapping my sister again, “she’ll pay.”
Isla whimpered, tears staining her face. I instantly stilled, my blood freezing in my veins.
Isla’s lip was split and swollen, blood trickled down her chin. Her one eye was bruised. And my heart fucking hurt unlike ever before. It was like that fucking squeaky bed all over again.
A sob escaped her lips and he growled at her to shut up before he went back to his business. Her whimpers quieted, her gaze emptied, and I swore she died right in front of me. I watched life leave her right there in front of my eyes as he kept thrusting into her.
Bile rose in my throat. I didn’t want to see, yet I couldn’t look away. He was raping her.
Please, please God, I prayed in my mind. I’ll do anything.
Give you anything. Please just end this.
I tasted vomit on my tongue. It tasted of alcohol, tears, and a cursed fate that would put this on her. Sickness and disgust blasted me. The old man kept thrusting as he held her down in front of him. His legs trapped her while his one hand held her wrists together. He kept going, his grunts filling the air and mixing with all of our whimpers.
Freya came from behind me and wrapped her arms around me, her head buried in my back.
“Don’t look, Y/n,” she whispered. “It will leave a mark. Damage your soul.”
Too late. I was already damaged from the first time she saved me. Hate and rage slithered through my blood, growing until it suffocated me. I hated him. I hated Father. I hated them all.
Isla stopped fighting. He defeated her. He finally broke her, and I was witnessing it all. Her agony was heart- wrenching. My hand trembled and my fingers flexed
imagining a knife in my hand. So I could stab it into this man’s heart. So I could stab my own father.
Another soft whimper slipped when he ordered her to shut up again. He thrust harder, deeper. He kept going, while every fiber of my being wanted to explode.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to rage. I wanted to go ballistic. And I was ready, until Isla’s eyes met mine.
The order was clear in her eyes. Remain invisible.
Present
“Scream.” I learned to hate that voice. My father’s.
“Cry for me, my little whore.” The cold, cruel whisper invaded my dream. The familiar man’s voice.
A squeaking bed. Fingers curled over the edge of the bed, gripping it hard. Ugly fingers. Wrinkled fingers. One of those fingers held the ring with the Valiente family crest.
A scream bubbled in my throat, but Isla said to be quiet.
So I bit into my hand. Hard. I felt the pain while the noises made my stomach churn. I hated that fucking bed. Hot, salty tears dripped down my chin.
“Scream, damn it.”
The words bellowed through the blackness that threatened to swallow me whole.
I woke up with a start, the sheets stuck to my sweaty skin and my breathing labored.