Page 9 of Fighting Shadows

I hate his nighttime visits; during the day, he’s my savior, protecting me from Mom's anger as much as he can. At night, he sneaks into my room, touching me and making me feel dirty.

I don’t understand why, but he won’t stop, even when I beg.

If I’m good…

“I love it when you wear the clothes I bought for you. It reminds me of the first day I met you. You looked so innocent, so young.”

He buries his face into my neck, exhaling loudly, his hot breath fanning across my skin.

I felt wrong like I was going to be sick, but I quickly learned that it didn’t matter.

He always gets what he wants.

Charlie thrusts his hips against my leg, his hard penis pressing into me.

“I can’t wait anymore,” he moans, “I need you.”

Before I know what’s happening, he’s on top of me, his frenzied hands pushing up my nightdress, exposing me to him.

“Please stop,” I beg like I do every time, even though I know it’s useless.

He tears off his boxers, revealing his penis to me as he strokes it. His eyes are fixated on where I’m exposed, and tears gather in my eyes.

He presses into me, and pain burns between my legs, making me cry out.

“Charlie, stop! It’s sore; you’re hurting me!” I yell.

I don’t care if I wake Mom up; I want him to stop.

Cold metal bites into the skin over my throat.

“Shh! If you wake your mom up, I’ll slit hers, then Chloe’s throat,” he hisses as he pushes into me further.

I want to stay quiet; I don’t want him to hurt Chlo, but the pain is too much, and I thrash side to side, desperately trying to get him off.

He presses the knife further into my throat, and the feeling of my blood welling under the pressure as it cuts deeper causes me to freeze.

I realized that nobody was coming to save me, that this was my new life.

There’s no use in fighting anymore, so I clench my fists until my nails dig into my palms to distract myself from the pain that feels like I’m being torn to shreds.

I focus on the gray spot on the ceiling from the leak last week, my tears sliding down my cheeks, soaking the pillow under my head.

If I’m good, Chlo doesn’t get hurt…

If I’m good, Mom doesn’t get hurt…

If I’m good…

“Little One,” Charlie coos, bringing me out of my memories of him.

He looks deranged as he stares at me with possession in his eyes, but the burning in my bladder lets me know I need to use the toiletnow.

“I need to pee,” I say, his attention moving from my body to my face.

“I suppose we can do that; remember, if you try to run, I’ll keep you chained to that bed for weeks without a toilet, got it?” he snaps.

“Got it,” I say, flinching when he reaches for the chains.

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