Sienna

My head snaps up at the sound of the metal door creaking open. Heavy footsteps pad in and I groan internally. Edgar. My primary torturer is here. Unlike the others who went through the process silently. He likes to talk my ear off. As if we are friends. As if he's not drilling a hole into my arm or he's chopping off a toe. It makes the torture ten times worst.

I study him through the grey, rusty bars as he walks to me, a gleeful smile on his face. Then his nose wrinkles and he makes a horrid face.

"Didn't I fucking say to clean this hellhole!" I flinch at the vulgar language. His yell is unnecessary along with his choice of words. It's only me and him in here. No one to hear my screams and no one to hear his laughter.

I got used to the smell. Pee, poop, vomit, blood, tears and sweat. Despair, sadness, and hopelessness. I guess it's still a surprise for him.

"Good morning Sienna," he greets. Is it really morning? He puts his face close to the bars and smiles. I can smell his cigar breath from here.

In all my time I've been here, years I think, I've never said a word. The only time I move my lips is when Edgar decides to play music. He leaves it on while I heal, only to take it away for days.

"Today's our last day I'm afraid." He pouts like it's the saddest thing in the world.

All I can think is finally. Finally, he'll let me rest. He'll leave me alone and let me pay for what I've done.

Seeing my look of relief, he cackles. "Oh no. I'm not going to kill you. No. Someone else would be very happy to get you into their hands. And what can I say." He opens the cell door and grabs me roughly, pulling me so my face is centimeters away from his. "You've gotten a bit boring for me."

This is a sick man. Taking pleasure in torture. Torture becoming boring. I'd throw up if there was anything in my stomach.

He shifts me in his arms until he's carrying me bridal-style. I shift and grimace at his rough, calloused, sick hands touching my bare body.

He walks to the door and I'm blinded by a white light. It's been forever since I'd seen any source of brightness. Nothing but darkness in both reality and in my dreams.

Edgar continues to walk down the hallway, occasionally turning. I don't hear anyone else nor see anyone. He walks into a room that turns out to be a bathroom and sets me down on the toilet. After turning on the bathtub, he begins playing with his bath water. I look around, seeing an all-white, bare room. There's nothing I could use to kill him or myself.

Once the bathtub is full, he picks me up and drops me into it. Having been in the cold all this time, I cry out at the scalding temperature of the water. The bottom of the bathtub bumps my back causing ripples of pain to run through me.

"Wash up," he says too cheerfully, and then he sits on the toilet watching me.

Hesitantly, I start rubbing my hand over my body. He didn't give me a washcloth or soap, so I make do with what I've got.

My hair is the worst. Dried blood makes my curly hair tangled. I feel tinges of pain every time I come across a knot. When I've got all of the dirt, grime and blood off, he instructs me to stand up. I do so, and he inspects me.

He pokes my arm, a thoughtful frown on his face. "Seems you've healed right up."

I look down at my brown, unmarked skin. Because of my...condition... I heal to the point that I'm good as new. Well, as long as I'm healthy and well-fed, then I will. That's what makes me the perfect victim. Constantly putting myself back together just for them to tear me apart.

He smiles, delighted. Picking me up once more, we head to another room where he gives me a huge red shirt and some blue shorts.

"Put them on," he demands. Again, I obey, but I can't help the thought that this is going to go bad soon. He’s cleaning me up and dressing me. A terrible situation is coming.

My thoughts are correct when he lays me down and proceeds to tie up my wrists and ankles. Then, he breaks them. I hiss and tears form in my eyes, but this isn't the first time I’ve experienced this pain.

Seeing a tear fall out my eye, he wipes it tenderly, but I don't move a muscle. I’ve learned from my time with him that flinching satisfies him.

He throws me over his shoulder, and we walk out of whatever building we were in. Squinting against the sun, I can see the sign on the building. Frese Corp. He keeps walking until I hear a trunk opening. Realizing that I'm about to be enveloped in darkness again, I thrash and try to get away. He drops me into the trunk before throwing a Manila folder on top of me.

He then takes out a needle.

Realizing his intentions, I struggle again. Desperately, I try to cut off access to my neck, but he grabs it harshly. The needle goes in and I'm met with the darkness and the cold once again.