⚠ Abuse and Drink Spiking

"So pathetic."

I squeezed my eyes shut, crawling into a fetal position under the joke of a cloth he had termed as 'a generous warm blanket'. A loud crash was followed by the slamming of a door, I held my breath in hopes that he would be too drunk to remember my existence.

"WHERE ARE YOU, YOU USELESS CREATURE!"

Before I could even react to the sound of his footsteps, he snatched the cloth off of me and snickered, exposing his rotten teeth. Waves of disgust hit me in the form of nasty smell of some cheap beer mixed with his own bodily sweat. I attempted to crawl away from him but his ugly fingers attached themselves to my sleeve before jerking me off the ground.

"Such an ungrateful bastard, just like your mother," he spat. The horrid smell suffocated me enough that I could have fainted if it were not for the fear of being anything but awake around him. "WHERE IS THAT HOE?!" He threw me back to the floor, his steps staggering a little until his hand found the wall to get support.

I crawled away from him until my back was pressed flat against the corner, half-hidden by the darkness that resided in this room if not for the open door.

He saw my half-exposed face and rolled his eyes, sighing as if my mere existence wore him out. "Look at yourself, even rats would be disgusted by you." He let out a stinky burp, pushed off the wall and came to crouch in front of me where the shadows didn't reach him.

He always stayed where light could shine over him, never crossing the invisible barrier of darkness that had grown to protect me from him.

According to him, being here in this desolate room, away from the sunlight with nothing but stark gloom to fill my vision and the chilling air to caress me was good enough to make me suffer. That is exactly why he would imprison in the room for hours until his drunk form would come crawling back to demand my dead mother's presence, or, on the few worse days, unload his burden on my body that he had designated as his personal punching bag.

"I'm your father, you pathetic idiot. So ungrateful; have you ever even tried to thank me for everything I have done? If I didn't keep you locked up here you, too, would have your skull squished under the tyre of a random vehicle with that molecule-sized brain of yours spilling out."

I did nothing but stare at him and remained quiet. His words no longer reached me, I had grown immune to everything he had to throw at me- my mother's death, my disgusting appearance, the money he had to waste on us while my mother had lived, supposedly being a better step-father than my actual father had been . . . how much of a better place the world would be if I no longer existed.

But he left nothing for me to fulfill his last wish, no blades, no knives, no gun, no ropes. Nothing, unless I counted banging my head to the wall until death would finally take mercy. But no, if even a drop of my blood were to ruin anything that was his, he would come for me even in death to make sure that I'd pay for it.

But I had given up on searching for ways to satisfy his last bit of utterances. It was when he had shifted me to this empty room, previously my mother's, on the top floor from the storage of the basement, that I found that little window. Though small, I found that thanks to his mercy, I could easily slip through it.

And so the window brought me escape, back into the world I had abruptly been cut off from upon my mother's death. And between probing for places to sleep at, I made the tiny bar, one that I was sure he would never go into for the sake of his non-existence standards, my new solace for the nights to come. As even strangers could be trusted more than him, it was their beds I preferred over his cold marble floor.

"You think I'm bad?" he boomed, snatching my attention back to him. "If I were bad, I would beat you and nail your body to the door-" he burped again- "until you wouldn't fucking exist. But that stinking rat-like flesh of yours is too dis . . . disgusting." He squinted his eyes at me, as if daring me to offer him a response. When I didn't, he went back to spluttering nonsense until he lost interest and locked the door behind himself, once again allowing me to breath gratefully to the darkness.

I waited for a while until I was sure that he must have passed out and stood up on my feet. I went to the adjoined bathroom and climbed up on the toilet seat, then carefully jumped onto the basin so that my fingers could reach the window's thick wooden frame. With my weight distributed between my left hand and right toe, I used my right hand to push the window open and then shifted my weight onto my arms, lifting myself and slid from the window.

I let out a quiet 'umph' as my shoulders met the ground first, followed by my waist and my legs. The jump had hurt the first time I had attempted it, but the pain had been worth the whiff of fresh air that had filled my lungs, and worth having the moonlight gleam on me after ages. After jumping from the window frame became the new normal, the pain eventually accepted the defeat at the hands of my stubbornness and left me alone, only occasionally returning when I would be too careless.

I walked down the empty street, pulling at my sleeves so that they could hide my frail fingers. The occasional couples that passed by didn't spare me a glance. I probably looked like a roadside beggar, hidden in my mother's dirty oversized sweater and jeans that had lost colour and were worn out in multiple places. The farther I walked away from my personal hellhole, the more clearly I could hear the distasteful heavy metal music resonating from the small bar at the end of the market, made evident by nothing other than a half-hidden neon sign that read 'Sizzle'.

The towering bouncer, too hooked into his mobile screen as he furiously tapped his fingers on it, just let me in without checking. The second I stepped in, the sweaty odours mixed with that of various alcoholic substances abused my nose, the drunken bodies pushed me as they staggered around like lost puppies.

Even though one glance at the exterior would make one think that it was probably a cheap whorehouse, the interior gave a different aura. The walls were covered in classy geometric patterns that looked as if they were moving whenever the lights flickered onto their shiny silver textures.

Straight across the entry point were glass cases that were bound to catch the eyes of whoever stumbled in, for they contained dancers in forms of showpieces. Two women rolled their hips around the fixed poles, dressed in nothing but panties, their breasts bounced in the open as they twirled their butts, teasing the crowd. But they were untouchable; next to the glass case were two separating barriers, one electrified and the one next to the dance floor just a plain rod, warning not to cross.

The dance floor was where most of the mingling happened, bodies moved against each other as if there was no tomorrow, some even shamelessly started making out. The whole of the mass looked like a distant dream that kept breaking under the flickering DJ lights. Keeping your eyes fixed on them too long promised a severe headache.

But that was not where I belonged. I belonged on the right side of the entry point where the bar, with its glass surface and fountains that spilled not water but alcohol, existed. A few more bodies bumped into me as I made my way towards it, allowing me to find an easy target that had her purse hanging open. Her hand flew to my forearm to retain her balance, my fingers slipped into her purse and pulled out a few notes before she could pull away.

I placed the money in front of the bartender, he raised an eyebrow at me but took it.

The first few times that I had come to the bar, all I had done was hide in the corner, scared that it was a place for predators when I already was nothing but a pathetic victim.

But even that hadn't been enough to make me turn back once I had had the opportunity to stay away, and thankfully, I soon came to realise that people here didn't bother those who didn't want to be bothered. And so I returned until the bartender had pointed out that I couldn't just exist there in the corner, which is why unless I had something to give, he would notify someone about an underaged joke of a creature hovering in the corner.

After that was the first time I stole from someone, in order to pay for the drinks that allowed my presence. He knew the money was stolen, but he couldn't care. The more drinks he sold, the more he earned. And rather than someone else's pockets, he preferred the money to be in his own. Ever since we had struck a silent deal, I would steal no more than an amount that was unnoticeable from different pockets, he would serve me drinks and allow me to remain until I could find someone willing to take me to their home.

The bartender slid me a glass of margarita and went back to tending to others. I momentarily stared at the yellowish-green liquid before my fingers wrapped around the narrow stem of the glass. I tipped the salt-laced-rim in my mouth, savouring the drink as it sizzled on my tongue. The salty texture hit my taste buds first, followed by extreme sweetness. And when the sweetness subsided, the bitter tequila and sour limes burned down my throat.

I opened my eyes once again, gazing at the crowd as I searched for anyone who would be even remotely interested in me. Distractedly, I took in another sip, but the drink got stuck in my throat when I saw a particular man walking towards the bar. He wore a faint sandy shirt that blended into his skin as if not even there, accompanied with a pair of grey office pants. A grey coat hung from his arms, bouncing at his knees as he moved with such smoothness that I could have argued he was floating. Waves of coffee curls fell on his shoulders, dipping into collarbones that were hollower than someone's grave itself.

For the first time I felt conscious of my own appearance, and it was almost out of reflex that my hand not-so-subtly flew to my own damaged charcoal hair that hadn't been washed in weeks, unless I counted the times when I would have an icy cold bucket of water be splashed on me, leaving me as a dripping-shivering mess until the water would dry on its own.

I turned away from the approaching figure and downed the rest of my drink in one swift motion. I did not need to make a fool of myself by being caught looking at something that screamed so breathlessly of perfection. But the world itself must enjoy laughing at me because I felt the seat next to me being pulled and being occupied by someone that smelt strongly of expensive perfume. Even the unhealthy amount of liquorice odours weren't enough to tone it down.

"A whiskey, please." He gestured at the bartender. "Neat," he added after a moment of thought and placed his coat on the bar stand.

The empty glass nearly tipped from my fingers when those rich coffee eyes turned to me, and his fine lips pulled up in a . . . soft smile?

"Hayes," he introduced himself in a strangely southern accent. I could pin-point the Spanish touch in his cadence as my actual father, too, had had one.

I stared at the hand that was extended towards me, the richness of his sandy skin was more prominent this close, so much so that he could have been the desert itself and I wouldn't have been surprised.

Usually no one cared enough to ask names as long as they got a body to fill their desires with. It was a small price they demanded in exchange for my presence in their bed, an obvious one. But now, with his hand hanging in the air as it refused to go down until it got what it had come forward for, I had no clue what name to spill from my mouth as I no longer had one.

All I could remember being called was 'Useless', 'Pathetic' or 'Cursed'.

The bartender came to my save as he pushed to Hayes his glass of whiskey.

The hand dejectedly retreated to the glass and he cleared his throat, drawing my attention back to his eyes. "Apologies if I'm bothering you."

"No!" the protest flew from my mouth before I could even comprehend the silliness of my actions. A hint of amusement lit up the corners of his mouth as he sipped in his drink.

"Are you here with someone?" The kind smile settled on him once again.

This statement was not one that I was so unfamiliar with. "No," the answer came out as robotically as it did every night.

He nodded at my short reply, a shadow passed over his face but was gone before my brain could even articulate it. "Do you plan to leave with someone?" The question was as blunt as anything but when combined with the untrustable devil sitting between his lips, sent waves of confusion in my mind.

"No," I answered still, for how did it matter? Some people preferred to put on a mask of kindness to lure me home, what they failed to understand was the un-necessity of it as I would accompany them anyway. And spending a night with a man so handsome was a better bargain than what I received most of the time. Actually, scratching that, none of my encounters had ever been even close enough to match up to him. His beauty wasn't plain but rather touched by something unusual that I couldn't quite comprehend.

He nodded again, his eyes trailing after his finger that circled the rim of his glass. Without a word, he pushed the glass towards me and sat still.

I looked at the glass, it was clear that he wanted me to drink it. But whiskey was not my preference, I had tasted a sip of it no more than once and then decided that it just wasn't my thing. But the glass sat in front of me, waiting, with a drink that I had been willingly offered not bought from with stolen money.

So ungrateful, the taunt returned to my consciousness like a snake returning to its burrow. And with that, I picked up the glass and downed it all together, the liquid soaring like a hot fire as it lit up my nerves. The stuff was too strong and left a bitter taste in my mouth. But I looked up at Hayes, bits of pride fluttered in my stomach at his approving eyes.

"Do you want to go home with me?"

"Yes," my response came out as I felt the whiskey slowly starting to take its effect on me. My lips tipped upwards and I got up from my seat, almost staggering as dizziness started caressing my eyelids. I felt light as a feather, which probably was why I lost my balance.

He caught me before I could greet the ground and pulled me up. "Careful." He guided me out of the bar as my legs refused to work anymore.

My vision blurred as signals of warning started blaring in my head. I wasn't just getting drunk, drinks didn't act up so fast. I opened my mouth to speak but it was right at the moment that heavy air hit my chest and I felt his grip on me tighten.

The feeling of the cold winds slapping me on my face reminded me of a time when I would pop my head out of the window of my father's moving car. I would giggle in amazement as my surroundings would zoom past me and my hair would flow all over my face, sometimes even poking my eyes. Except, right now, I didn't feel like giggling and instead of amazement, a hunch of something being amiss was prominent on my mind.

Then all of a sudden the wind stopped slapping my body, the sleeping city no longer zoomed past me as if I was traveling in a vehicle going full-speed and not just walking. I stood enveloped by a blur of grey and tried to make out different objects but my vision kept slipping. "I-" the single syllable left my mouth only to be swallowed by a sight of glowing red orbs.

My vision focused again, but all I could see were the bright red orbs and the lips as they moved in a smooth motion, emitting a vox so strong and hypnotising that it clouded my mind and filled my veins like the poison it was.

"Sleep," it commanded.

And sleep I did.

🌙

I see the line of cars and they're all painted black
With flowers and my love, both never to come back
I see people turn their heads and quickly looked away
Like a newborn baby it just happens everyday
I look inside myself and see my heart is black
I see my red door, I must have it painted black
Maybe then I'll fade away and not have to face the facts
It's not easy facing up when your whole world is black

- Paint It, Black
(Ciara)

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(WORD COUNT: 2900)

QUESTION OF THE CHAPTER:
If you could be any one supernatural creature, which would you be and why?

AUTHOR'S NOTE:
This chapter is dedicated to ketakikhadakkar for being the first pair of eyes that analyse this book. Thank you.