Nightmare In The Pink Palace
"Why the fuck are you still sleeping, You have chores to do you little bitch, Get the fuck up!"
A rough calloused hand grabbed me by my hair and dragged me down the stairs, I could feel the dark blue strands getting ripped out of my scalp every time I hit another stair. As my head hit the cold wooden floor I didn't dare to look up at my father, knowing it would cause more pain. I lay there on the cold floor curled in in a little ball as my father continued to scream at me. He always called me names, hit me in every way, slaps, punches...he even burned me once when I accidentally overcooked dinner. He suddenly stops yelling when there's a knock on the door. A surge of hope wells up in my chest, the thought of being saved from this hell. But It was a little girl selling girl scout cookies. With that hope crushed I lay there, quietly so I don't cause attention. He bought a box of his favorite, Samoas, then smiled and shut the door. He walked right past me and got my mother. She loved girl scout cookies, I hated them. Her gray eyes flitted over to me, noticing me as if for the first time.
"Why is the little slut just laying there on the floor...shouldn't we punish her?"
"Hmm...Yeah maybe we should do it the real way this time.."
The eerie voice my father had talked in sent shivers down my spine and the cold mischievous look in his eyes told me there would be lots of pain. But I couldn't think of anything he hadn't done. Except for the fact I was still a virgin. I'm glad he left that alone. But what worse pain could there be?
I felt a smaller hand yank me up by my hair, I look up and my eyes meet the cold gray eyes belonging to my mother.
"Get this fucking house cleaned up, we have guests coming tonight." She said that in such a sinister way I couldn't help but flinch.
"Aww look the little bitch is scared."
Her hand came up so fast I didn't have time to react and the blow left a painful stinging sensation and a red mark. She let go of my hair and I nearly fell to the floor. My shaking legs held up and my father tower over me. He grabbed both of my wrists and started squeezing. His death grip lessened slightly as my mom mentioned I needed to hands to clean the house. He leaned his face in towards my neck. Before I had time to understand what was happening his sharp teeth sunk into my neck. A weak cry escaped my lips and my voice was broken over the years of not using it. I felt a warm trickle of blood run down my neck. He brought his face away from my neck, only to lick the spot where he had bit. An antagonized moan forced its way out of my throat as his warm tongue brushed over the bite. He left so quickly I fell to my knees. My wrists aching and my neck throbbing. I try to ignore the pain as I stumble around the house cleaning the bathroom. Scrubbing floors, vacuuming carpets, I cleaned until everything was spotless. Bruises formed on my wrists, the dark purple and blue marks standing out against my pale skin. I make my way up the stairs to my room, if you can call it a room. A dusty old attic. An old mattress on the floor and clothes in boxes. I almost make it to my "bed" when I pass out. I barley feel the cold hard floor against my face.
A musty smell fills my nose and I open my eyes only to see darkness. I hear water rushing through pipes, tiny feet scurrying on cold cement. I was in the basement...well in the big unfinished side. The floor was cold cement, brick walls and you could see the insulation in the ceiling. But it was dark now and I tried to see my hand in front of my face to feel rough rope pull against my wrists. My hands were tied behind me and I could barely move them without the rope pressing against the bruises. I carefully felt around with my fingers, I felt the cold metal of a folding chair. I tried to move my legs but only felt the rope holding me back, tied at the ankles and then to the chair. I don't dare make any sound or movements in fear that someone will hear. Panic floods throughout my body, I'm trembling in fear. They could hurt me. I have no way of protecting myself. I close my eyes and go to my happy place. A giant oak tree where I can sit and climb and be happy. I end up falling asleep again. I dream of happiness and warmth and a good family.
"AAAhhhhhhh!" My high pitched scream pierced the cold air as I felt my fingernail get ripped off. The cold pliers in my fathers hand held my bloody fingernail. My index finger throbbed to the beat of my heart, it was horribly mangled and bloody. A tear slipped down my cheek and my father sat there and smiled horrifically. A single bulb hanging by a thin wire provided just enough light that casting dark shadows on my fathers face.