The Unknown

As I rise from my afternoon nap, I peek out the window that overlooks the yard. It’s a small window, but it’s the only window in this dreadful place and I am happy to have it. At one time the window was not blocked; however, now the entrance to the window is surrounded by sharp shards of glass cemented into the concrete around it, allowing only a small dim of light to seep through the grime and filth that layers the glass. I guess this is to ensure I never try to escape again.
With my body weakened, I slowly crawl on top of an old, broken , table so that I can get a better look outside. I am just tall enough to see over the barricade in front of the window. It looks like a nice day.
There are a few orange flowers spread amongst on the ground, so I try to guess the season.
“Spring,” I think to myself.
The sun peeks through the glass just enough to allow a pin size ray of light to dance on my palm. I move my bruised hand around as I watch the light dance around, causing the multiple colors of blue, red and purple to stand out from the milky white flesh that remains untouched by his abuse. Oh, how I crave the sunshine and wind on my face and wait the day I can feel it once again!
Just as my thoughts wonder to a better place I hear his footsteps above.
He is back!
The feeling of peace and contentment comes to an abrupt end.
I turn with the intention of jumping from the table. The weakened wooden legs buckle beneath it. I
plummet to the floor. Caught off guard; my body slams onto the hard surface beneath me with such force that a sharp pain
instantly shoots through my body.
In a frenzy I rise as fast as my sore, wounded legs will allow me and run to the middle of the floor, preparing for the wrath I know he is about to put upon me!
I hear his voice. My skin begins to crawl and my head twirl, making it difficult to think. Feeling as if my heart has just been jumped-started it begins to beat faster and faster, until it feels like it is going to explode out of my chest. I wonder what will happen to me this time, what sort of punishment I will have to endure.
As I hear his footsteps coming closer to the door, my muscles tense. I want to scream, but I know I do not dare.
He is now at the door!
I scream only within myself as I hear the handle of the door rattle beneath his hand.
“Oh no! Oh no!” I yell within myself.
Ignoring the pain of my newfound bruises on my legs, I get into the position that he deems appropriate when I am to meet him.
I am to sit in the middle of the floor, on my knees, head down, and hands tucked within my lap. Most importantly, never raise your head until spoken to. This is the norm, and if I am not in that position when he walks in, I will be severely punished.
The door opens just enough so that the rays from the sun can sneak through the crack. Assuring that he does not see me do so, I raise my head slightly and let the beam of light rest on my pallid cheeks. The little bit of warmth coming from the ray of light feels nice against my chilled skin.
For a brief moment I am reminded of another time, another place. A brief spell of happiness escapes the sadness I feel inside. Afraid that he may catch me with my head raised, I close my blue eyes and lower my head slowly, letting my dirty blonde hair shield my face. I hear the door slam behind him. Tears of dread instantly stream down my cheeks.
I know I must get my emotions under control. I want to wipe my eyes, but I know I do not dare move my arms from their present position. Cautiously, I slowly lift my shoulders to my face so that I can rub my eyes on my old, battered, white gown.
Knowing that I am not allowed to move unless I am told to, I stop and let my shoulders rest, praying with all my heart that my actions were unseen.
It is then when I realize that I no longer hear his footsteps. I become paranoid. I have to know where he is. I have to be prepared.
Never moving my head from its present position, I open my eyes and quickly scan the room.
Through my tear filled eyes I see his old, dirty tennis shoes. He is now standing in front of me. The room, eerily silent as he stands within inches from me. Afraid of his intentions, my heart skips a beat, I begin to sweat; and my muscles begin to tense.
Every instinct that I have yells, “Run, Lue! Run.”
I want to listen to the voice in my head but I know I do not dare. There is no escape. There is nothing I can do but sit and await the punishment that I know he is about to put upon me.
Time slowly passes by as he continues to stand in front of me without movement. My eyes begin to burn but I am afraid to close them; afraid that the moment I do he will disappear, leaving with the question as to where he has gone. The silence is unnerving. I try not to move, but my body becomes sore and tired in its present position. I begin to fidget. My hand begins to slip from my lap. Quickly, I try to reposition my hand in hopes that he has not seen it move. Unfortunately I am not that lucky. He grabs my hand and begins to squeeze it with such intensity that a bruise instantly takes over my wrist. Pain shoots through my wrist and up my arm. Instantly my eyes fill with fresh tears.
I do not dare scream. I bite my lip as the pain becomes overwhelming. An unwelcome taste now fresh in my mouth, I slowly feel my bottom lip with my tongue. My lips are wet and slimy. I peek down and see that I have bitten through my lip to the point that blood is dripping onto the floor.
I try to keep my emotions under control, but the pain that he is continuing to put upon me is more then I can take. A slight whimper escapes from within me.
Afraid of what he may do next, I sit as still as I possibly can. I breathe in hesitance, ensuring that I do not make another sound nor move again, not even in the slightest. As silence continues and the torture remains, my fear heightens; I have to know what he has in mind for me.
Through squinted eyes I look over to where I know he is standing. I get a glimpse of his hand wrapped around my wrist. His knuckles are as white as snow, indicating the amount of pressure he is inflicting on my fragile bones. I want to look up at him and apologize for moving in such a way that I have broken his rules.
“If he would just look into my blue eyes and see the pain he is causing me, maybe he will spare me for any further pain,” a little voice inside me insists.
“No, he won’t!” I argue within myself. “He loves to see you in pain. He will never release you if you show him your agony! You know that. You’re twenty- nine years old. Now quit acting like a baby and do what you know you have to do.”
Coming to terms with myself and what needs to be done, I sit and wait, praying that he soon release me.
The silence is broke as a loud growl overtakes the immediate area. Suddenly and with great power he releases me from within his grasp. I am caught off-guard and do not have time to react. My hand slams onto the hard floor besides me. His growling is no longer perceptible to my ears, only the sound of the bones within my hand cracking as the floor is as unforgiving as he. The pain that I felt before is nothing to the agony that I am now experiencing.
Afraid to try and move my newly broken hand, I let it rest on the floor. I am in excruciating pain and want to cry, but I know if I do I will suffer even more painful consequences. I have no other choice but to keep my head pointed toward the ground and my feelings prisoner inside me. I will never show him the pain I am enduring.
As time slowly passes, seconds begin feeling like hours and minutes into days. I know he is not done with me yet, but what I do not know, is what will happen next. Without warning, I feel his power as he grabs my hair and whips my head back toward him. He is now standing behind me!
Suddenly, I am staring at the darkness that keeps me here. His true identity never to be seen, he is wearing a mask that hugs his face like a second skin. I continue to stare, studying his physique as if I am studying a piece of impressionistic art.
Although I have no way of knowing what he truly looks like, something about him I find hypnotizing. I try to look away, but I can’t. His eyes look like empty, bottomless holes; the blackness pulling me in further and further until I am in a trance. I am no longer under my own power. I continue to stare.
“It is like he has no soul,” I think to myself.
As if he has heard my silent words, he chuckles.
Still holding a fistful of my dirty, blonde hair, he smiles as he wipes the tears from my cheeks.
“Is something wrong?” he asks in a devilish tone.
I am afraid to say anything, but at the same time I am afraid not to answer him. Without warrant my answer slips from my mouth.
“Nothing wrong here. Just another day in paradise,” I smirk, as he continues to whip my head in every direction.
The entire time those dreadful words are coming out of my mouth, I know what I am saying is wrong. I can’t help it. I am in pain and out of patience. I take in a deep breath, roll my eyes, and shake my head in disbelief. What have I done? How could I have let myself slip that way? I close my eyes in fear and wait the punishment I know is my only destiny.
With a chuckle, my captor whips my head toward the ground, releasing my hair from his clutches. Instantly the muscles in my neck and shoulders burn, feeling as if a hot poker has just been stabbed into the back of my neck.
I roll my neck around and lift my shoulders trying to relieve the pain. When I realize what I am doing, I instantly stop. Hysteria has now set in. Not only have I spoken in a tone that I am sure he deems inappropriate, I moved without permission. This is it; I know I will be hurt again. I just don’t know how.
“I think, ‘it’s’ going to cry,” he says to me with an evil laugh.

“My name is Lue. I am twenty-nine years old. I live in small town called Swan Valley. I have a mother. I have a father. I have a fiancé, who loves me dearly. His name is Kamrin,” I say in a soft whimper. “I am not an “it”. I am a woman.”
“I guess with that little bit of information, you are now wanting to know something about me?” he asks in the utmost condescending voice.
He walks back over to my side and pauses where my hand lies.
“Let’s play a game,” he says. “I know how old you are. Now I want you to know a little more about me.”
Suddenly, I feel a breeze against my arm as he slams his heel harder and harder onto the ground next to me, each time coming closer to my hand.
“I am going to continue doing this until you guess my age.” He laughs. “So you better start guessing quickly; the heel of my shoe is getting closer to those little fingers of yours.”
Each time the heel of his shoe nicks my skin, he laughs. His disturbing laughter fills the room. He is enjoying the sick game he is playing.
“You’re thirty-five!” I scream.
“Wrong!” He laughs as he slams his foot down closer to my fingers.
“Forty,” I cry.
“Wrong again!” He laughs.
I feel the rubber of his shoe knick my pinky.
“Think,” I demand upon myself.
I try to concentrate on his voice, hoping that I will get an indication to how old he is. I have to get the answer right soon, or I will suffer another fracture.
“Twenty-nine!” I scream. “Twenty-nine!”
As quickly as it all began, it is over. Never saying another word, he turns and walks away.
“I guess I got it right,” I say within myself. “What a
Sick bastard!”
A sense of relief overcomes me, and I pray
that I am safe for now.
I peek through the corner of my eyes and watch as he walks up the stairs toward the door leading out of the “hellhole” he keeps me in. I am safe; my punishment is over. I take in a deep breath and look over at my arm that still lie paralyzed in pain. I am amazed by the bruise that has taken over my entire hand and wrist. I try to move it, but the pain is too intense.
I am exhausted from the anguish I just had encountered; I need a minute before I try to get up and bandage my hand.
I lie on the ground and look up at the moldy ceiling and stare at the chipped paint, imagining they are stars and that I am lying in a plush green field.
I begin to cry. Within moments, I cry myself into hysterics. I am tired, lonesome, and all I want is for this torture and pain to end. I just want to be left alone, and if this is the place I am to die, I wish it would happen without my mind or body enduring any more pain.
A sudden burst of laughter echoes throughout the room. The floor beneath me begins to shake. Startled by the movement of the room and the loud laughter, I leap up and in one movement sit back into a kneeling position.
Evil is back!
“Although you won the game, you still need to learn your lesson!” he screams in my ear.
Before I can prepare myself for any of his hateful doings, he begins to place the heel of his foot onto my broken hand, crushing my bones beneath it. A new wave of agonizing pain overtakes my arm. Angrier then ever I leave my pain unseen…unheard. I will not allow a sound to escape my mouth this time.
“I will not give in to him . . . I will not give him that pleasure,” I think to myself.
My silence angers him even more. He finds it exhilarating to see me in pain, I know that is why he has come back. He has to see more. He desires to keep hurting me until I scream. I will not. I can not do it! This is my only way of
getting back at him. I have to make certain that I do not show him any emotion at all.
It is a fight against good and evil; he will not give in, nor will I. He continues pressing harder and harder onto my knuckles until he is sure there is not a bone left unbroken. The pain is overwhelming. My plan of action is not working. He is not going to stop this time until I finally apologize and give him the pleasure that he is so desiring. Evil will conquer once again.
“I’m sorry. I did not mean to break the rules,” I
whimper.
“Did you learn your lesson?” the man asks in an eerie tone.
“Yes, sir, I did,” I answer in a soft, apologetic voice.
“And what lesson did you learn?” he asks.
“Not to move unless told to,” I cry. “And?” he continues.
“Never to speak to you in such a sarcastic manner,” I answer softly.
Satisfied with my answers, he slowly removes his foot from my hand and walks away.