“Happy birthday, doll.”

???

I wake up to the silence. Not the kind of silence that’s just absence. No, this silence is different. Thicker. Wrong.

The mattress is empty. A dark stain spreads across it, crusted at the edges where the blood had soaked in and dried. I remember the way she choked, the wet, gasping sounds as her hands clawed at her own throat. The way her eyes locked onto mine, terrified before they just…stopped.

I don’t remember passing out until I think of the pill he gave me.

My fingers twitch at my sides. I should feel something. Scream. Cry. Something. But there’s nothing. Just this heavy, hollow numbness, like my body knows I can’t afford to break. Not yet.

I stared at the stain.

She’s gone.

Two years of her whispers in the dark. Two years of him laughing as he made us argue over food, showers and his attention. Two years of her voice hissing, “I hate you,” and then, softer, “I’m sorry.”

In the end, she stopped caring about anything. The girl didn't deserve what he did to her. Now, it was just me. Alone again.

The door upstairs creaked. His footsteps. His voice hummed like nothing had happened. I climb off the bed to kneel, but I don't look up.

The walls are grey.

The air is grey.

I am grey.

And the silence.

The silence is the loudest thing of all.

Chapter 9

Maeve

The stairs groaned under his weight—slow, deliberate. I don’t look up. I already know his face, his smile, the way his fingers twitched when he was excited. I knelt on the cold concrete, head bowed, greasy strands of hair hanging like a curtain between us.

If I stayed still enough, maybe he’ll get bored. Maybe he’ll leave. The basement air shifts as he stops in front of me. I can smell the overpowering cologne, but today, it suffocates me. His shadow stretches over me, swallowing the dim light.

Then it comes. A sharp, metallicshhk. The sound of his zipper coming down. My stomach twists, but I don’t move. My fingers dig into my thighs, nails biting into my skin, but the pain isn’t enough. I need more.

Shhk.

Slow. Taunting.

I know what comes next. I know what he wants.

But today, I don’t react. I just stare at the floor, at the cracks in the concrete, not daring to look at the dark stain where she bled out.

“Isn’t this better, doll? Just you and me. My broken little doll,” he said, moving my hair away. “Now you are flawless.”

I closed my eyes.

And I disappeared.

But not before I opened my mouth for him.

???