Two weeks later...

Five burns had turned the skin on my back and side black and chewed away from the red hot fire iron. The first three times, I had talked back or had forgotten to "use my manners" and so I was brutally punished. The fourth and fifth spot, I still don't know what I did to deserve it. The angry red lines of whip cracks also marred my back. I had a gallery of pain and half of it continued to bleed.

Food seemed to be scarce in my little area of the house. If I was lucky and did my chores in time, I got a few crackers and a glass of water, if I was lucky. Miles continued to drink away the old memories of the beatings and be partially sober in the morning. When the few times he ordered pizza, I had to hold my mouth shut. Maybe I wouldn't cry out for the delicious smells.

It had happened a couple of times where Miles got so drunk that he would start to beat me. He abused my physically and verbally with strong kicks and insults I do not care to remember. In the first few days, I brushed off his petty words. They were just little fly bites.

Now, I knew they must be true. If I wasn't worthless, ugly, or a pest, then I wouldn't be here. I told myself every time he beat me that I really was worthless. Each little nick in my skin confirmed it. Each blemish seemed to agonize me with silent words.

Yeah, the two weeks had been pretty rough. They couldn't get much worse, or so I hoped.

Miles came into the room, arousing me from my thoughts. He grabbed me by the throat again, nails scratching a new set of dents into my flesh. All of my nerves tingled in anticipation for the choking pressure he would force on my wind pipes. The light outside seemed to dim as a cloud ducked in front of the sun.

"I thought I told you straighten up the house. We have visitors coming." He snarled in my face. The pads of his fingertips pressed into my skin. I was limp in his grasp, eyes closed. My brain was trained that anytime his hand brushed my neck, I would mostly likely be abused until I passed out.

It was true. Miles had threatened multiple beatings which he gladly carried out. A visitor was coming to the house and if I didn't behave or do as I was told, he would gladly kill me and replace a me with another worthless slave.

"I did, sir. The vases are dusted and the windows are cleaned." I begged to him, looking down in submission as he dropped my limp body. I cringed as the blackened flesh rubbed against my pink skin. He raised his hand and I ducked my head into my shoulders, not quiet backing away but being more obedient.

I wasn't struck but instead dragged up the stairs by my collar. I said nothing, nothing to provoke him. I had been up only a few times to clean the mirrors. The bathroom was a polished white granite themed room. The sinks were made from the stone and so was the tub. The walls were a beautiful creme color. I would've enjoyed it more if I wasn't forced to live here.

Inside the tub, it was already filled with a steaming hot water. I could almost see the mist rolling over the flat surface. The temperature of the water seemed to be set at boiling. The chain around my neck was jerked as I was flung against the side of the tub. There would definitely be a bruise there in an hour. Miles kicked me against the side of the tub, a soft moan escaping. The torment was horrible.

Strong fingers gripped the back of my messy hair and forced my face into the water, no matter how much I resisted. Miles was stronger than me and I couldn't hold him back.

As soon as my face touched the water, I nearly screamed for dear life. The seemed to be just a touch less hot than the fire iron torture. I flailed against his strong grip as my breath was running out. Bubbles tickled my face as the only air escaped my lungs.

It seemed like my life was trickling out one bubble at a time.

Right when I thought I was going to drown, my face was lifted back up into the biting cold air. The quick temperature change sent my head spinning. Was this our new form of misery?

"I'll hold you under longer if you dare to misbehave with the guest in the house. Make yourself presentable." Miles growled.

"Yes, Master." I coughed out. With the door slamming shut, I stood up. There were very little amenities in this house for me to use. On the counter was an old purple hairbrush. Standing up was hard, but not impossible.

I guess I was "broken" already, but I still deserved to be punished for being a dirty alley girl.

The mirror reflected back the broken and shattered look in my eyes. There was nothing left but a hollow stare. Bones poked out against the skin on my chest. There were a few holes that had ripped open through my shirt and exposed the whip marks. I would have to throw on my jacket to disguise them. Recently I used my jacket as my blanket and my stolen beanie as my pillow for long nights. It wasn't much, but all I had left.

Ripping sounds started up as I took the handle of the brush and ran it through my tangled hair. Ten minutes later, I had managed to comb out the wet strands of hair and wipe away any signs of water that lingered on my face. Quietly stepping down the stairs, I threw on my jacket and tucked the hat away under the couch I slept next to.

The doorbell rang just as I looked up.

Notes