[tw] / rape, drugs
[̲̅f̲̅] [̲̅r̲̅] [̲̅o̲̅] [̲̅z̲̅] [̲̅e̲̅] [̲̅n̲̅]
unfeeling, rigid, immobilized
'this it it?'
you think about that night everyday. you're still there. you never left.
it was the night that you died for the very first time.
you were eighteen when you first met him. you were fresh from your first heartbreak. you knew he was bad news but you couldn't resist him. he was handsome and charismatic and he didn't treat you like a little girl. a perfect rebound. a little fun.
you could sense something was terribly wrong about him from the start. his friends were immature. shady. always mumbling amongst each other and ending it abruptly when you approached. they caused trouble every time they went out. they got drunk out of their skulls, high out of their minds. so did he. loud. rowdy. you looked the other way every time. all he had to do was whisper a sweet nothing in your ear and the world could be forgiven. you were his girl.
one day he vanished out of thin air. wouldn't answer his phone. no response when you knocked on his door. none of his friends could give you a straight answer. you were alone, angry and confused. you didn't know whether to give up or wait it out. three weeks later he was back on your doorstep as though nothing had happened. he wouldn't explain, though he wanted to make it up to you. a night on the town. whatever you wanted. he just needed to make a 'quick stop' on the way. you agreed, just pleased to see his face again.
you were none too impressed when his friends were waiting there outside the 'stop'. they escorted you both inside like an entourage. you were swallowed up in amongst their height as you stood between them all. when you asked him what was going on, he didn't answer you. he looked like the life had been drained from him. his gaze was distant. the only sound was your footsteps on the concrete floor as you approached your destination.
a dark room.
a brief conversation.
'yeah... this is the one...'
'alright... you're good.'
that was it. you were handed over. he left you there without an explanation. not a single glance in your direction. trapped in a room with strangers. a lamb led to slaughter. your first death, the one that would lead to every other. everything that made you... you
... was taken away. stripped of your clothing and belongings. stripped of your dignity, your innocence. you became an object then; a product. you would remain so until you'd paid a debt, the one he
had racked up and left you to take care of. you paid that night, and again and again to anyone who was willing to pay for you.
and you'd keep dying.
until the balance was paid.
until there was nothing left of you to kill.