Her Revenge

Chapter 6 - Visits

Emilia Morales 

Age: 14 

Carlos was driving us home from school while I scrolled through my phone. He had some random rap music playing on the radio and we fell into a comfortable silence. This was our new reality. I didn't really talk much anymore. Father told me that my opinion was not one that should be voiced and that I should only speak if I was spoken to. And to be honest, even if I had wanted to speak, I wasn't sure if I even had anything I wanted to say. I had spent countless hours of begging for them to stop but it was useless. My words were meaningless to them. No amount of words I would have said would have mattered, it didn't and it wouldn't stop them from taking something that I could never take back. 

It used to affect me a lot more than it does now. I'm just desensitised to it all now I guess. I'm used to the dragging of my hair, sweaty bodies rubbing against me, hand shaped bruises littering my body, pulling and shoving, lying in a pool of my own blood and innocence, the constant aching of my entire body. It started when I was 9, the really bad stuff I mean. I didn't understand it when I was younger, why my father was letting so many different men undress and do so many unspeakable things to my body. As I grew older I learnt about sex and I just accepted that sex was like that and there was nothing I could do about it. I used to fight against them, but that only made it hurt more and they seemed to enjoy it more too. They would laugh with each other say things like, "We have a fighter here, boys". I figured that if I didn't fight anymore that would make them lose interest in me and not want me anymore. But it did nothing, and now their hot breath would skim my ear as they whisper, "You're such a good slut", or, "I'm glad we trained you to be such a good little whore". I wasn't sure which was worse, I just knew that after it happens I have a routine. Lay there like a soldier after they finish and stare at the roof. I would stay there until I was sure that they were all gone. I would then collect my clothes and make my way back to my room. Where I would shower, scrubbing my skin raw trying to get their touch off, even though sometimes it seemed like it was tattooed onto my body. I would then wrap my blankets around myself, staring out my bedroom window contemplating the worst of thoughts, until my mind would shut down on me. And even then I wasn't safe. 

I shake my head trying to remove those torturous thoughts, looking over towards my brother, a worrisome expression plastered across his face. 

"Are you okay?", I ask him. 

Carlos briefly looks over towards me, a hint of surprise taking over his features before looking back towards the road. He taps his fingers against the steering wheel a few times before loudly exhaling. 

"Yeah, it's just Mama called earlier to tell me that father isn't happy at the moment and he will be easily angered and I don't really want to deal with that right now, that's all", he replies. 

I blink and read the hidden message beneath his words. Father will most likely be looking for a fight tonight and I don't want to take any more hits for you anymore. I understood it. But Carlos also didn't know about the amount that happens in the dark, when no one is looking, how many hits I take for him. I nod in response but I don't say anything else as I draw my attention back to the random social media sight that I had opened. Before I knew it we were home, well the mansion in which I live in. Home is meant to be where you feel safe and loved. I don't feel safe here. The only love I get here in from Mama and even that is sparse nowadays. 

Carlos and I exit the car, backpacks on our shoulders and we walk towards the doors, they open as we reach them, and the staff greets us with bright smiles. I muster a small smile and nod in thanks. It was then I heard voices, unfamiliar ones. The hair on the back of my neck raises I think of all of the dreadful possibilities those voices could lead to. Are these more of father's 'friends'? 

I look over to Carlos and see that he looks to be just as confused as I am. We both walk towards the kitchen, where the voices are coming from. In there were four figures, Mama, another woman around her age and a man I assumed was her husband. In the unknown woman's arms was a small child, probably not even 2 years old. Mama's eyes look over to Carlos and I and she smiles brightly. 

"Carlos, Emilia, welcome home", she says as she comes over and kisses our cheeks, "Say hello to our guests Maria and Enzo Bianchi and their daughter Chiara". 

My brother grumbles a hello and I give them a nod. Bianchi. The Italian Mafia. So that must mean- 

Suddenly an arm is draped over my shoulders and I brought into a muscular chest, a strongly accented voice passes through my ears, "Ahh my favourite Spanish siblings, did you miss me?" 

I turn my head to see a smiling boy with deep, piercing blue eyes. Sebastian Bianchi. 

(Word Count: 950)