KARI

My name is Kari Lynn Mason and I'm no stranger to pain. I've been consumed by it for more than fifty percent of my life and that was long before I was kidnapped by vampires and forced to become a slave. I suppose that's why it took my master so long to break me. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

It all started when I was nine, the night I murdered my mother. At least, that was the way my father always saw it, even though, I wasn't anywhere near her when it happened. He used to tell me that I was responsible because I was selfish enough to want to go see my friend one last time.

I'm sorry I'm being so vague. This is something that is very hard for me to talk about, but I know someone needs to hear my story. I'll try to explain a little better.

Kaylyn Marie Anderson was my very best friend in the whole wide world. I met her on our first day of first grade. I remember it like it was yesterday, Martin Newman, a second grade butthole, thought it would be funny to walk up behind me and push me down the stairs. I still don't know why, but Kaylyn came to my rescue, she jumped on the boys back and started punching him with her tiny fists. It didn't hurt him, of course, but it did scare him a little and he never bothered us again, after.

Once he managed to pull Kaylyn off of him, he took off up another set of stairs and Kaylyn helped me pick up my stuff and made sure that I wasn't injured. The two of us were connected at the hip after that. We did everything together.

Her dad was in the army, though, and they had to move around a lot. When we were nine, he got offered a very prestigious position with double the salary he had been making then. He would've been stupid to turn it down; both Kaylyn and I knew that. Unfortunately, it meant that the Andersons were going to be moving to Brussels. I wasn't sure where that was back then, but I knew it was really far away and I'd probably never see my best friend again.

Two days before they left, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson told Kaylyn that she could invite me over for one last sleep over. It would be our last chance to say goodbye and my mom knew it. She drove me over that night and told me to call her when I was ready to come home.

She got hit by a drunk driver on the way home that night. My father blamed me because she wouldn't have even been on the road if it wasn't my need to see Kaylyn. I spent years believing those words.

Father started drinking and abusing me less than a month later. He used to tell me that I deserved it for what I did to my mother, and I used to believe him. I was made to do all the cooking and cleaning. It was part of my ongoing punishment for what happened to my mother. I was also made to take care of my four year old sister, Kenzi.

He never raised his hand to her, something that I will forever be grateful for. In fact, he treated her like a princess. She got everything that she wanted and didn't have to do anything around the house. Not that I minded, of course. She didn't need to deal with the shit I had to go through.

After a couple years, I became like Kenzi's mother in so many ways. I would feed her and get her ready for school. I'd check her homework and forge father's signature on her permission forms. I'd sign and fill out any forms she brought home from school. I took her to the doctor's when she was sick and read her bedtime stories, even tucked her in. Everything a mother would and could do for her baby.

I even tried to shield her from the things father would do to me. Whenever, I felt a beating or a fight coming, I always sent her to her room, or to a friend's house. Somewhere, I knew she couldn't hear or see what was going on. She knew, though, all too well, exactly what was going on and she did her best to be strong for me in times like those. And as she got older, she would help me with whatever she could to save me from being hurt. It didn't work, though, he always found something wrong. Not to mention that he always had new and creative ways of punishing me.

I remember one night; he chained me to a wall, naked, in the freezing basement. He left me there for a week with no food, water or warmth, coming down every once in a while to beat me for one thing or another. I probably would've died down there, if I hadn't been thinking about how much Kenzi needed me. She was the only thing I had left to hold on to.

That all changed a week after her eighth birthday, three weeks before my thirteenth. The day she disappeared. And I guess that's where my story really begins.

Do you want to hear it? Because I can guarantee that it is not a happy one. It's quite devastating, actually, and I can promise that you'll think your life is rainbows and sunshine when I'm done. However, I promise that there is a good ending, not a happy one, no, just a good one.

It's one of the most unpleasant stories that you will ever hear, however, I promise that if you stick with me until the end, it'll be worth it. Interested?