Very soon the story will take a turn... may be 2 more chapters and then 'Book 1 – In hell' would come to a completion. But it won't be the end of the story, only the end of the greater chapter...
It was next to impossible to stay indifferent and remember about those tortures moments like dry facts without getting carried away by a flood of varied emotions. When some unbidden memories flashed through my mind, it seemed someone had dipped my mind into concentrated acid. I did not want to remember it, but I should not forget it either. Recalling those moments brought a searing pain in my heart, it was too difficult to think about it, yet it was far more difficult to forget.
Whenever I remembered them pouring molten wax on my breasts, my skin would tingle. They would urinate and spit on me. They would gag me, pour boiling water in my mouth. They would put insects on my private parts. Burn my skin, eyelashes. And unquestionably they had harassed me sexually, in every way known to man.
They had various instruments of torture in their demonic basement. Handcuffs with nails on the interior part of it ; a metallic table with leather straps, which they often used for tying me up, metallic rods of different sizes, which was heated before being inserted in my private parts. A pole to tie me up.
Their abuse was not only sexual but physical and mental. Each one of them would alternately abuse me in one way or another. Sam and another beast (he too seemed very familiar) would derive pleasure in abusing me sexually and physically. There were other two pigs – and I was certain I never met them before – who would abuse me more mentally than anything else. One of them, very muscular one would do every filthy thing imaginable with me. But the worst one was the other one. He was less bulky and had blonde hair tied up. Once I saw his eyes, those were of devil. It sparkled with oozing with pitiless sadism.
Hell knows how but he always knew what would paralyze my mind with fear. It seemed, he was the deadliest predator and I was the prey. Whenever I tried to fight back or feigned lack of response, he would hit the most sensitive cord of mine.
When I had tried to fight he came up with new ideas. He would tie me in front of a mirror, put adhesive tape on my eyelids in a way that would prevent me from closing them and then he would go on with his devilish experiments. He would ask them to abuse me and torture me in every possible way. He wanted me to see everything. He would often record those scenes. He would highlight how weak I was in front of them, a puppet of their hand. A broken, dirty puppet. I could see myself. Was that I? I could not identify. Bruises covered my bodies, burnt marks overlapped them multiple cuts on my skin, blisters and scratches. There was always blood leaking out of my private parts. My very favourite silky, thick hair was gone now. They shaved it off. I looked like an ugly, dirty rag doll picked up from some sewer.
He would often throw newspaper in front of me. They always had bad news in it. Police could not find any trace of the kidnappers and such. The day when he had burnt the ends of my hair and then shaved the rest, was the worst day of my existence. When I went ahead with my apathy even after he had destroyed my hair, he seemed irked. He perceived it as a challenge. He made Sam read out the newspaper loudly for me, when I did not look at it myself.
He must had read the whole article but I passed out after hearing the first two lines. I could not wrap the concept around my mind; I was too shocked to cry. I did not know if I fainted or stared at my reflection. Edward was dead and it was too much to consider.
It did not end at these. It became worse. Devil knows from where they found my mother's pictures. She did not live in Forks. She lived with her new husband, Phil in Phoenix .And those images of hers were latest ones, I could tell. They would show me those images of hers. When I begged them to tell me how they got it, they never spoke a word. Well if truth be told, no one ever spoke a word to me except Sam, he was their voice.
The agony and fear – the fear about my mother's safety - ripped me apart. It broke me completely.
I could no longer fight them – neither actively nor passively. The first weakness I showed the day they tried to burn me alive. I begged for my life. It was the fifth day, I suppose. After they went I could no longer hold my tears. I cried. I did not want to die but I knew I would soon. Even if they did not kill me, I would die of starvation. So after two days of hunger strike I ate those rotten filthy foods. And while I was eating, it occurred to me that this was the only way of survival – BEG.
The mental torture reduced but the other abuses went on.
It was probably the seventh day, when they inserted a heated zinc rod in my ass. I screamed in pain. I could not tolerate anymore. I was certain I would die. Alas, my lowly behaviour, my pleadings, my 'begging' got me nowhere...