Page 43 of Burning Souls

This isn’t normal for me. I shouldn’t be liking this, but I am.

I have beenout of that place for two weeks. I'm staying with Jessie and his brothers Sean and Tobias. I’m not sure how I feel about them yet. I spend most of my time locked away upstairs, refusing to come out, or in the shower, curled up on the floor, trying to scrub myself clean.

I never feel clean; I can smell him on me. It makes me sick.

I was caught scrubbing myself raw with bleach, and now I can't shower on my own. I can't even sleep on my own. They take turns staying with me in the chair because I refuse to let them in my bed.

The person I see in the mirror isn't me; I used to smile and have colour to my skin, but now I might as well just be skin and bone. I lost so much weight from being there, and I'm not eating while here.

I'm doing myself no good.

I stare into the bathroom mirror, looking at the horrible image of me. Dark purple fills the gaps around my eye as the bruises are at their worst they have been. My lips left a scar, and my left eyebrow has a scar from when my father sliced me with a knife.

I have long, bright red hair, or I did until a minute ago when I took a pair of kitchen scissors and cut all my hair off. Now I have a pixie cut.

Moments later, the bathroom door is kicked open. Locking the door was a poor choice on my end, I see. Sean stands there looking at me, shocked. So fucking shocked. Shit, do I look worse? Why would I think cutting all my hair off would solve all my problems?

I start crying, I don't know what to do.

“Ash, what the hell happened?” Sean asks in a deep voice. He comes forward, but I instinctively flinch and back away.

“Nothing. I want to be left alone to shower,” I say, not wanting to have this argument. I just want to be alone, and I haven't been able to do that for years.

“Nothing. We have left you for the past two weeks. Not forcing you to eat, but I'm done being nice, you're driving me crazy,” he says, standing by the door. I turn to face him.

“Driving you crazy? Imagine how I feel. I feel like I’m going fucking crazy.”

“I feel like I'm drowning, and I don't want to come up for air. All I want to do is hold my breath and never come back up.” A weight is lifted off me after saying all that.

“Fuck, Ash, can’t you see we are trying? Really fucking hard. Please just let us take care of you, that's all we want to do.” He steps forward, catching me as I fall into his arms, and we both crash to the floor.

“I don't want to feel like this. So hopeless and unable to get over it.” I stop talking and Sean gets up, carrying me over to the walk-in shower I turned on before he places me on the floor, curled up. He removes his clothes, leaving his undies on. My clothes are soaking wet.

A large body sits beside me. Sean takes my top, removing it and leaving me exposed. I flinch and move my hands to cover myself. I don't want him to see the scars and bruises. I look revolting. My stomach is covered in bruises, cuts, and marks. The most recent ones are from a punishment for trying to fight the man off me.

I was dragged out of bed in the middle of the night, hand over my mouth, and another person grabbing my legs. I was utterly hopeless.

Next thing I know, I’m standing in a dark room.

The floor feels like concrete. My feet are bare; I only have a mini vest top, no underwear, standing wholly exposed. I was confined to a chair, hands and feet locked in a way that prevented me from moving or trying to fight.

A cloth over my mouth, a finger pinching my nose shut. Water is poured over the fabric again and again to mimic drowning.

I want to scream, but I’m trapped again. I have no way of defending myself. All I can do is scream at the voices in my head telling me how weak I am.

How this is all my fault, and no one will ever want to love a used-up whore because all I am is just a dirty whore used for her body. It's all women are good for in this day and age.

Sean's voice vaguely brings me back, he looks at me all most worried but soft with a touch of a tear forming which has made me feel worse I don't want him to Pity Me and my fucked-up brain.

“Ash, I'm not interested in hurting you. You have an incredible body, but I won't do anything you don't want me to,” he says, moving closer but not touching me.

“Can I touch you? All I want to do is wash your body and hair. That's it,” he says. I remove my arms, letting him have a full view of my tits. This feels calm and soft; he doesn't want to hurt me. I need a shower. It's been a week since I have had a proper one, so fighting isn't going to do me any good.

The voices in my head are screaming at me. He’s going to hurt you, take your body for what it is, nothing but a piece for a man to use and break.

NO, NO, NO, it’s not fucking true. He isn’t trying to hurt me. I scream into my head, needing the voices to leave me alone.

“Please don’t hurt me,” I say in a muffled voice, narrowing my eyes like a puppy does when it wants food.

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