Silent Desires (Shattered Silence Duet Book 1)
Silent Desires: Chapter 3

I open the front door and hold my breath. Silence. I exhale slowly and gently close the door behind me before heading towards the basement, hoping I get lucky and get down there unnoticed. I’m not that lucky.

I jump back when I see my mother waiting in the kitchen for me, blocking the stairs.

“School ended an hour ago. Where were you?” I look at her as fear courses through my body. I don’t know how to answer, I basically jogged home, despite my ill-fitting shoes. Even without getting lost, it’s a really far walk for my short little legs.

“Did you think you could run away?” I quickly shake my head. “No… Were you whoring yourself out? Maybe to that guidance counselor, so he wouldn’t tell me what a fucking brat you’ve been today?”

She sounds insane. Things always go bad for me when she gets like this. I slowly take off my backpack and drop it to the ground, hoping I can make a faster escape without it. Not that it would do me any good, I know I can’t escape her.

I keep shaking my head at every accusation, hoping she’ll stop and come to her senses. She advances towards me slowly, and I back up with shaky legs. That’s when someone’s arms go around me, locking me against a firm chest. Startled, I look up into Jeff’s disappointed glare.

Jeff is just the latest in a long line of my mother’s shitty boyfriends. I will never know how she seems to replace the worst men in the world to date. But based on my past experiences, I’m starting to assume all men are like this.

I shake my head again. “Now, Mina, you know by showing up late you’ve disrespected me. You’ve let that demon in you take control again, and that deserves a punishment. I want you home by four every day. That gives you forty-five minutes, which is more than enough time. And if you are one minute late, or I hear you’ve been talking to anyone, or doing anything you shouldn’t be doing, I will carve it out of your flesh,” she spits out at me angrily.

My body shakes in fear as she continues. “But for today, I will just take it out of your bone.”

Bone? I look at her in shock and confusion. What does that mean? Jeff chuckles, dragging me to the counter and folding me over so my chest lies against it as he presses against my back, holding me down. This is an all too familiar position that I hate and I try to pull myself free.

“Take off your school clothes, I don’t want you getting blood on them.” My mother says this nonchalantly, like she’s asking for a cup of coffee, as if she has no concern that she’s making me strip in front of her and her boyfriend for a punishment.

I’ve been here before, and it’s much better for me in the long run if I comply. Jeff stands up and I quickly pull off my clothes, trying to hold back the tears that are threatening to fall. She hates it when I cry, it only makes her angrier to see me so weak.

I stand there in the large gauze bandage I use as a bra and my well-worn underwear. Yes, it seems my mother didn’t think to buy a bra for her daughter to wear to school under a white dress shirt. Fortunately, I kept a bandage in my room and was able to use that to bind myself up tight this morning.

Luckily, she doesn’t mention it and lets me keep my undergarments on. “Hold her still,” she says as Jeff pushes me down again and pins my left arm against the counter so my forearm is exposed between his giant hands. “Now, demon, fight all you want, it will just make this much, much more painful for you,” she says with a huge smile.

She’s insane. She constantly told me I had a demon in me, causing me to act out, and that she was doing this to help get rid of it. But I’m starting to wonder if her behavior is normal. Do other high school students have to go home and deal with parents like my mother? Do they live in constant fear, too? Are they constantly told how worthless they are?

Finally, I see what toy she’s brought to play with, and my eyes widen in fear. It’s… It’s a corkscrew wine bottle opener. My eyes shoot up as I stare at her in shock. She can’t actually mean to put that in my arm, can she? In the past, she’s whipped me, hit me and beat me, but this… this is so far beyond anything she’s done before. All because I was a couple minutes late?

I shake my head, the tears coming steadily now. She smiles, contemplating where in my arm to place it. “Hmm… You know what, let’s do it on her upper arm near her shoulder. That way, her dress shirt will cover it at school tomorrow,” she says with a nod of her head and Jeff shifts his grasp to my shoulder and elbow.

Without any more warning, my mother places it against my arm, a couple inches from my shoulder, and starts turning. My back tries to arch as I silently scream. The tears pour down my face as she pushes harder, trying to get it in deeper.

I try to push Jeff off but she’s right, struggling does make it hurt a lot more. The only thing I can do is stand there and take it. I dig my fingers into my palms, not trying to hurt myself, just trying to ground myself and feel something other than the pain she was causing. It doesn’t help, though. And I beg my body to pass out.

I hear Jeff laughing, his hot breath on my ear. “You weren’t kidding about her being mute. This is so convenient, babe!”

The corkscrew stops turning and an even worse pain shoots up and down my arm. I’ve never wished for my voice more than right now, wanting to scream out in agony, I’ve never felt anything like this before.

“Ah! There we go, we’ve hit bone!” She sounds so gleeful as she pushes on the corkscrew and moves it left and right. The pain is so intense that I instantly get nauseous and dizzy. The world goes black and I thankfully, finally, pass out.

I wake up slowly and instantly feel my arm throbbing. I blink my eyes open to see I’m laying on the kitchen floor. I slowly sit up and look around. My backpack looks untouched, and so does the rest of my body.

Thank god for small mercies.

I stumble to the bathroom on the main floor, the only one I’ve ever used, and try to wash my arm in the sink. I wish I didn’t have to clean my whole body in a tiny sink. When I wash my hair in here, it’s so hard to get all the shampoo out and my hair gets really knotted. Of course, my hair was thick and unruly, unlike the girls in the movies with their sleek straight hair that always looked perfect and easy to care for.

When I decide my arm is as good as it’s going to get, I replace a gauze bandage under the sink and wrap it up as tight as I can. It’s not bleeding too much anymore, so I don’t think I’m at risk of bleeding out.

I brush my teeth and head to the basement. I hate it down here. It’s the worst one I’ve been in with its cement walls and damp cement floor. It even has a gross puddle in the corner. I have a small worn mattress in the opposite corner that was here when we moved in a couple months ago. Several springs are poking through the material, so I have to sleep in an awkward position to avoid them stabbing me as I sleep. It normally doesn’t work too well though, as I often wake up with pink scratches along my side and back.

Beside my bed, there’s a wooden crate flipped upside where I’m allowed an alarm clock and a cup of water. The alarm clock is new. It’s so I could get up in time for school. Along the other wall is another crate with my only other clothes on it. Two pairs of pants, a t-shirt, a sweater and a couple pairs of underwear and a few pairs of socks. I look at my bed, at my blanket that is thinner than paper and my pillow that’s lumpy and almost as thin. As a shiver rolls through my body, I wish, not for the first time, that I had big fluffy blankets and pillows down here to keep me warm.

I lay in bed thinking about the day and the two nice men I had met. Jasper, my guardian angel with his kind searching green eyes, and Mr. Hargrove, my anchor, with his caring and helpful attitude. As I start to drift off to sleep, I realize, despite the pain in my arm, I feel happier than I’ve ever felt before. And it was because of hope.

That was a sobering thought. Hope was a bad thing to have. I’d felt it in the past and it always ended up making me feel worse than before.

I had hope when my father told me he’d be back for me, but never came home.

I had hope when my mother introduced me to her first boyfriend, thinking that he was there to take care of me like my father used to, but he didn’t.

I had hope when my older brother said he’d take care of me, but he’d lied.

And I had hope every time we moved that I would get a fresh start, or at least my own bedroom. A real one. One with a window, a closet and maybe, if I was lucky, my own bathroom instead of the bucket in the corner I had to use between allowed visits to the bathroom upstairs. I knew the basement door would be locked by now, keeping me in my prison until my mother let me out for school in the morning. That was always the routine, locked up like some sort of wild animal.

Yes, hope was a dangerous thing for me to have. School would be just another crushed dream. And with that realization, I doze off to a fitful night’s sleep, like the other thousands I’d had before.