𝘾𝙍𝘼𝙎𝙃𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙄𝙉𝙏𝙊 𝙔𝙊𝙐 ↣ 𝙊𝙉𝙀 𝘿𝙄𝙍𝙀𝘾𝙏𝙄𝙊𝙉

nine - little black dress

[when you're born
in a burning house
you think the whole world
is on fire,

but it isn't.]

_________________________________

The cellar door creaked as it was pushed open.

I sat up and rubbed my eyes, looking up the stairs. I could only make out the shadow-y outline of James. He was better in that lighting. Better when I couldn't see his face and his eyes. Better when he was far away, at the top of the stairs.

"You awake?" his voice rang though the cellar.

"Yeah," I said quietly. I pulled my knees up to my chest. "Can I please have something to eat?"

"Come on up here," James said. He left the basement door open and backed out, into where I knew the kitchen was.

I pushed myself up off of the thin, dirty mattress. It was better than the ground. I was dizzy as I walked. I wondered if it was from being malnourished, dehydrated, or drugged? I used the railing to drag myself up the stairs.

The light in the kitchen was bright. It must have been morning, as I could see the sun through the east facing windows. James was sitting at the table, reading the news paper how he did every morning. There was a bottle of scotch next to him, like every morning.

"Go ahead and get yourself some cereal or something, and then take a shower. We're going out."

I nodded and moved numbly to get myself a bowl of cereal. I ate it rabidly, as any 13 year old who was being starved would have. I cleaned my dishes and put them back in the cabinet, before going to the bathroom.

There, I found fresh clothes waiting for me.

I showered quickly, detangling my hair the best I could with no shampoo or conditioner. I covered my mouth when it came time to run water over my back. It was raw with lashes from the night before. I looked down, not surprised to see blood rinsing down the drain.

-

I didn't know where James brought me. I'd never been there before. As I looked around, though, I started to connect the dots as to why. James had a lot of friends.

My predicament? I was tied to the headboard in the guest bedroom and none of the men in the house were the right kind of men to save me.

I shook my head, tiredly, when the fourth man walked into the room. He looked at my body like he was allowed to. I wanted to hide.

There was no where for me to hide.

He sat down next to me, first, and pulled the gag down from around my mouth.

"Please don't," I mumbled. He grabbed my chin and turned my head to look up at him. "Don't touch me," I mumbled, shaking my head to get his hand off of me.

His hand snapped around my throat. I gasped at the pressure and tried to reach for his hands to pry them off. My own hands were restrained, and the attempt I made was futile.

"Get off me!"

"No! Stop, get off!"

"No!"

"Please..."

"Princess!"

I startled awake. Zayn Malik was standing above me. He was gripping my wrists and holding them against his chest. Through the dim light, I made out the terror on his face.