"You're nothing!" she screamed as she cut my cheeks with her knife. "Not worthy of life!" She cut again and again, deeper and deeper. She grabbed my throat and forced my head into a bucket of salty water. It was completely saturated and crystals of salt floated on the surface. I cried out, as it stung worse than usual, and it flooded my lungs. Spluttering as she pulled my head out, I was slapped.
"I didn't want you in the first place, wretch, so make yourself useful and clean!" she sauntered off to get a drink.
I collapsed, head in hands. Every day I promised myself, I would not be hurt again. I would not stay here any longer. And every day that promise would be broken. I wasn't brave enough to leave.
I felt awful. I hadn't eaten in three months and it had been even longer since I had been clean.
"Why it my parlour not spotless?" my mother had come back.
I bit back a response of "It is. I cleaned it an hour ago.".
Up against a wall with a knife pressed to my neck, I was told, "Scream and you die!".
Weighing my options, I paused.
I screamed.