"Dust all the bookshelves, then polish the silver, then…" Mrs. White's
voice droned on and on. Autumn pretended to listen with a few well-placed
nods. After working through the same routine year after year she knew
exactly what was needed and when. It was a pointless existence. Breaking
her back for someone else's sake was not what she – or anyone – needed.
But she didn't know any better and she figured she was better off than
others.
For almost ten years, she was able to handle it. With her only determination being to live in spite what that rich family put her through, she mustered up the strength to open her tired eyes each morning, to drag her body out of her bed – a bed that she told herself to be thankful for – and to start another dreary day.
But then things started to change. It was a gradual change, but those are the worst kind. Changes like that sneak up on you, and before you know it, you are agreeing to something you were once strong enough to oppose.
She didn't notice his subtle, yet violating gaze at first. But soon it became something she was accustomed to, and by that time he had become bold enough to touch her. What happened next was something more painful than Autumn ever could've imagined existed. She screamed on the inside because her voice didn't matter anymore. She thought – she hoped she would die.
I wasn't that lucky, she recalled with a shiver as his face, grinning maniacally just inches from hers haunted her mind. Instead of dying, he put her through that humiliating experience night after night in the dark, behind closed doors, pressed against him and her mattress, whispering evil nothings.
Living in that posh mansion, across the street from Central Park, became less determined and more deteriorating. Autumn felt as if she would fall apart if it weren't for her skin holding her together.
For almost ten years, she was able to handle it. With her only determination being to live in spite what that rich family put her through, she mustered up the strength to open her tired eyes each morning, to drag her body out of her bed – a bed that she told herself to be thankful for – and to start another dreary day.
But then things started to change. It was a gradual change, but those are the worst kind. Changes like that sneak up on you, and before you know it, you are agreeing to something you were once strong enough to oppose.
She didn't notice his subtle, yet violating gaze at first. But soon it became something she was accustomed to, and by that time he had become bold enough to touch her. What happened next was something more painful than Autumn ever could've imagined existed. She screamed on the inside because her voice didn't matter anymore. She thought – she hoped she would die.
I wasn't that lucky, she recalled with a shiver as his face, grinning maniacally just inches from hers haunted her mind. Instead of dying, he put her through that humiliating experience night after night in the dark, behind closed doors, pressed against him and her mattress, whispering evil nothings.
Living in that posh mansion, across the street from Central Park, became less determined and more deteriorating. Autumn felt as if she would fall apart if it weren't for her skin holding her together.