He would come home stinking of that slaughterhouse, the thick, rancid smell of raw meat, blood, and death clinging to his clothes and skin like a second layer.
I still remember it vividly as he forced my small legs apart on my own bed. And the way that stench would fill my nostrils while he drove into me, tearing me open, over and over again until I learned to go somewhere else inside my own head just to survive.
To the outside world, he was a respected man—a very successful meat seller. A typical pillar of our community. Always smiling at church, always generous with donations from the profits of his butchery.
Yet not one single person ever suspected that the same hands that carved up carcasses all day were the ones that touched up his own daughter every other night.
He broke me long before Graham ever kidnapped me and locked me away.
By the time I was taken, I was already a hollowed-out shell—a ghost wearing a little girl’s skin. My father had taken everything that mattered. My innocence, my voice, and my ability to trust that the world wasn’t made of evil beings wearing familiar faces.
And now, here I am.
Graham waited four years to sell ‘untouched meat’ that had already been thoroughly used and ruined.
My new owner paid sixty million for a lie and a body that already knows exactly what it feels like to be treated like nothing but holes and pain.
The car jolts over a bump, and anguish flares across my whipped back, causing me to release a silent wince while fresh tears flood the fabric of the blindfold.
I wish I was back in that damn basement.
At least there, I was left alone. At least there, for some time, I stopped remembering the smell of raw meat every time a man touched me.
I wish I was back in the dark.
God forgive me… I just want to be back in that damn box forever.
By the time the car finally stops, I am a broken mess.
An eternity of jolting darkness has reduced me to this. A trembling, piss-soaked wreck bent up inside a trunk like nothing.
My clothes cling cold and wet against my thighs, the sharp ammonia stench of my own urine mixing with the smell of dread, sweat and engine oil.
I sob into the material of the bag over my head, each gasp ragged and crushing.
I pray one last time anyway.
The words enter my mind in desperate, choking whispers even though I abandoned God years ago. Even though every sermon I ever heard now feels like a punishing joke.
Please. Please, if you’re real, don’t let this happen to me again. Don’t let them have me.I don’t want to hurt anymore.
But the silence is absolute, and no divine hand reaches down, no light breaking through. Just the wind howling and the wet sound of my own pathetic crying.
Then, the trunk pops open, and my body jerks like I’ve been electrocuted, every muscle seizing at once.
A shadow falls over me, and I feel them staring for a moment before strong hands slide under me, and with a low male grunt, he lifts me like I weigh nothing.
The cold night air hits the damp bag as he carries me, each step jarring through my bones before a door creaks open.
Warmth suddenly washes over me, real warmth, from a home, and it feels obscene, like comfort itself is insulting me now.
He steps inside and kicks the door shut behind him with a heavy finality that sinks straight into my gut.
This is it. This is where I disappear. This is where I lose the last shred of myself completely.
My mind spirals out of control with every stride he takes.
As soon as he stops, I’m carefully lowered onto a hard floor. My fists clench tight against my chest, nails digging into my palms until they burn.