I’m not thinking of ways to hurt them back.
I’m just not thinking.
What’s the use of thinking? I’m already dead.
They killed my will to live.
CHAPTER THREE
CARA
“Girlie!” The whisper comes from the old man. He’s standing right outside the door. It’s too early for him to bring me food.
Maybe it’s my last meal.
A humorless chuckle bubbles over my lips. Hah! Like I’ll be able to keep anything down.
“Get ready to run,” he whispers.
The door creaks open, and my head snaps up, but he’s already gone. I’m not sure I heard him right. Did he say run?
The door stands wide open, and sunlight streams in. I can’t move a muscle. I’m scared out of my mind.
I hear gravel crunching under a heavy footfall. A dark figure appears in the doorway, and I cower back.
“Please,” I whimper. Yes, I’m begging for my worthless life.
I don’t know how many times I’ve said that word in the last few hours. They’ve degraded me until all that’s left is a beggar, pleading for the crumbs of my life that are scattered around me.
The man stalks toward me, and I whimper, recoiling back like the coward I am. When he kneels down next to me, I anticipate a blow, but instead, he shrugs out of his jacket. I press harder into the walls. I can’t take being raped again. They should rather just kill me.
Repulsion and hatred wells up inside me as flashes of the night torture me. The true nightmare is the memories you have to face when you’re awake. Every time it feels like you’re able to take a breath, they just drag you down deeper, suffocating you more.
“Move forward,” the man snaps icily. He doesn’t wait for me to move. When he takes hold of my shoulders, his hands are firm. I recoil from his touch, but he pulls me up onto unsteady legs and forces my arms into the sleeves. I hear the zip go up, and then I feel his fingers close around mine, taking hold of my hand in a really tight grip.
My first thought is to wonder what kind of rapist dresses his victim.
My second thought is that he’s not going to rape me, but kill me, and I’m not sure how I feel about dying.
There were times during the night that I wished they would just kill me. I’m not scared of dying, but rather where I’ll end up afterward. I’m not sure where I’ll go and that makes fear bleed into my soul until I’m a shaking, sobbing mess.
“Stay behind me at all times. Do not scream. Do not get in front of me.” His voice is hard. It takes a split second for the meaning of his words to sink into my terrified mind. I’m not sure why he’s telling me this, and I don’t have time to ponder his words because he’s already moving and pulling at my arm.
I give my first unsteady step forward, and then I have my third clear thought – could he actually be helping me? Dare I hope that he’s here to save me?
The second step hurts, and with every movement, the stickiness and raw ache between my legs remind me of the vile things they did to me.
&nb
sp; When we reach the door, my breaths are desperate gasps as I try to swallow down the pain and harrowing memories.
“I’ll set the room on fire, Predator. You do your job,” the old man says to the man holding my hand.
What the hell kind of name is Predator?
He pulls me in behind him, and my chest closes up when he lets go of my hand.
Shit, this is it!