Page 14 of Dark Bonds

As if I needed another reminder of how unpredictable she is.

Using my arms, I shake as I stand. After the antibiotic, I lay there for a long time, drifting in and out of consciousness. Her words, “You are the perfect weight,” swirled through my head over and over. I’m not tall. The last time I was measured, I was at least over five feet. I’m sure I’ve grown some since then, but I’m not sure I’m supposed to be able to feel my ribs or my butt bone.

She’s purposely keeping me weak.

The cold floor sends chills through my bare feet, each step a painful reminder of how frail I’ve become. The air is stale, carrying the faint scent of mold and disinfectant, mixed with something sickeningly sweet—Valerie’s perfume. It takes all my might to walk toward her with my head up. My legs shake and burn, threatening to give out, but somehow, I make it to her.

“Follow me,” she chirps, taking off down the hall in the opposite direction of the doctor’s office. The hallway is dimly lit, the walls a dull, lifeless gray that mirror my own existence. My fingers brush against the rough texture of the wall, grounding me as I force one foot in front of the other.

Just keep moving. Don’t give her a reason.

My feet drag on the carpet, the fibers rough against my bare soles, and I grip the railing as I follow her down a ridiculous staircase. Each step takes effort, my legs trembling with the strain. It’s the first time I’ve seen the house, though I’m not even really seeing it because all my attention is just on walking. The staircase spirals down, the banister cool and smooth under my clammy palm. The walls are adorned with gaudy paintings and gold-trimmed mirrors, reflecting distorted images of my haggard form.

When we reach the bottom, Valerie directs me to the left through an archway, the heavy wooden doors propped open. As I step through, she kicks the props out of the way, the thud of the doors closing echoing in the cavernous space. She leads me to a chair on the right side of the large, open room. I slump into it, the hard surface unforgiving against my bony frame. It isn’t until I plop down that I look around, my eyes adjusting to the dim light.

There are others, all thin, gaunt, and clearly malnourished. Their eyes are hollow. A shiver runs down my spine as I realize I must look just like them. The room smells of sweat and despair, a thick, suffocating scent that clings to my nostrils.

We’re all just ghosts waiting to fade away.

A tall man walks in, wearing a suit. His predatory smile is all teeth, and it sends a chill down my spine. His dark hair is styled without a strand out of place. The click of his expensive shoes on the hardwood floor echoes in the silent room, each step a countdown to something terrible.

“My darlings,” he coos at us, his voice dripping with false affection.

I watch as Valerie takes a seat in the corner of the room, her eyes glazed and unfocused. She looks… drugged, her usual sharpness dulled. It’s unnerving seeing her like this. The sharpscent of alcohol wafts from her direction, mingling with the stale air.

Even monsters have their weaknesses, I suppose.

“Now, today you’ll learn to dance.” Not one of us says anything. We’re all too terrified and beaten down to question him, even though I’m positive we are all dying to know what the hell he means by dance. He walks over to a stripper pole, his long fingers gripping it as he swirls around with a cruel smile. The metal gleams dully in the low light, a silent promise of degradation. “Not the pole, you are all far too weak for that today.”

My eyes shift to Valerie, who seems completely detached from the situation. Her gaze is distant and unfocused, as if she’s in another world. The contrast between her current state and her usual domineering presence is jarring.

“Today, we will use this,” he continues, and I realize I missed him walking over to grab a simple high-backed chair. He places it in the middle of the room. Sitting down, he spreads his legs, his cruel eyes roving over us as his smile falls. “The first one to make me come gets a loaf of bread.”

My heart plummets, and the weight of his words crushes the air from my lungs. I stare at him in disbelief as the room seems to tilt around me. My mouth goes dry, my palms slick with cold sweat, and a suffocating sense of dread settles over me like a shroud. Panic claws at the edges of my mind, screaming that this can’t be real, that this can’t be happening, but the empty, hollow eyes of the other girls tell me otherwise.

This is my reality. This is our hell.

The dozen of us starved girls do everything we can, and when I say everything, I mean it. The room fills with the sounds of desperation as girls try to survive in the only way we’ve been taught. The man’s laughter echoes in my ears, a haunting reminder of the nightmare I’m living.

The humiliation, shame, and sheer horror of the situation presses down on me like a physical weight. I feel my soul withering, piece by piece, as I watch the grotesque spectacle unfold. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I blink them back, refusing to let them fall. I won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing me break.

Survive now. Feel later.

The scent of desperation fills the room, mingling with sweat and fear. The man’s voice is a constant presence, urging us on and mocking our pain. Every movement and sound is an assault on my senses, a relentless barrage that leaves me feeling numb and raw all at once.

Through it all, Valerie sits in the corner, her eyes vacant and mind elsewhere. Her presence is a twisted comfort, a reminder that I’m not alone in this hell, but it also fills me with a burning desire to make her pay for every moment of suffering she’s inflicted on me.

I will survive this and find a way out, and when I do, I will make them all pay.

One day, they’ll regret ever laying eyes on me.

I wake with a start,gasping for breath and rolling to the side to curl up on myself. My breathing turns irregular, and my heart stops before starting again. The panic of that day doesn’t just feel real, it surges to the surface until I feel everything I couldn’t feel in that moment—shame, resentment, and survival.

I fucking survived. I am a survivor.

I still can’t control the sob that rips from my chest. I bite down on my knuckle, my eyes wide and almost unseeing as I stare at a dark corner of the room. The cold air of the nightpresses against my skin, making the beads of sweat on my forehead feel like ice. It’s still dark. I have probably only been asleep for half an hour.

I’m so tired.

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