Page 16

No, don’t mention him right now.

He pulls away, grabbing the soap before gently washing the rest of my body. His touch is different than theirs. They loved my body. They loved to use it for their benefit. I hate my body. But Riot, he worships it.

“Get out of that head, Penelope.” He slaps my ass, making me yelp. He said my real name this time. For the first time, I crave to hear my name said again. After he’s finished washing me off, his hands wrap around the back of my thighs, lifting me up. My legs automatically wrap around his waist as he carries me out of the shower.

He sets me on the counter, wrapping me in a fluffy towel, which he uses to gently pat me dry, before throwing it next to the door. Without hesitation, he lifts me back into his arms, carrying me to bed and laying me on it. My hair sticks to anything and everything, soaking all the pillows I’m lying on.

“Stay here, do not put clothes on,” He demands before stepping into the closet, shutting the door behind him. I see the light under the door, and his shadow move around, before the door opens and he steps out in sweatpants. Sorry, I mean just sweatpants.

He pulls the sheets off me, climbing in behind me and pulling me against his chest. Replacing the blanket on us, he kisses the back of my hair, whispering in my ear, “Sleep, Мой мох.” His voice changes as he switches languages, the edges smoothing out, something akin to velvet. Not wasting time, I close my eyes and succumb to sleep. Warm from his arms around me, his face buried in my neck.

I wake up to the room lit up from the sun. The bed is cold as I turn around and see a note in Riot’s place.

‘Will be gone for a few days. In Russia. Behave.’

I sigh, the once hopeful feeling in my stomach now turned sour. Does he regret touching me? My thoughts start to spiral the more he gets in my head. Did he feel disgusted looking at me? I mean, I’m literally just skin and bones.

Getting out of bed, I rummage through Riot’s closet for something to wear. I settle on a Guns N’ Roses band tee with the usual pair of sweatpants rolled at the waist a few times. I wander out to the living room, not surprised to find it empty.

I wish I had music. He listened to music all the time, but it was always loud and angry. I wanted to find music that’s soft, calm, something that doesn’t make my anxiety shoot through the roof.

I look around, trying to see if Riot has a sort of radio like my father did. I see a few devices, but after pressing all the buttons on them, none of them end up playing music. Accepting my defeat, I go grab my key card and a jacket from Riot’s closet and make my way up to the roof.

It’s getting chillier as we move into the fall months, August about to end soon. Pulling the jacket closer to my body, I take a deep whiff, smelling Riot’s woodsy scent.

Deciding to check out the garden part of the roof, I walk around trying to find it, but all I find are empty garden beds, filled with soil and shriveled flowers. I can’t even enjoy the beauty of flowers. God really is punishing me.

I’ll have to ask if I can get flowers to plant. Maybe I can have something nice.

Walking over to the ledge where I usually sit, I take my normal spot. The streets a little less busy with people, but busier with cars as it gets colder. With my hands tucked in the pockets of the jacket, I can’t help the emotions that come over me. I hate my life, I hate that I can’t be happy. Everything was taken from me, I wasn’t given a fair chance at life. My thoughts drift to my seventh birthday.

My eyes open, a little dry from sleeping for twelve hours straight. I think I got sick from someone, but I don’t know who. I’m never around anyone since I’m homeschooled. Daddy hasn’t let me leave the trailer since Mommy died. I know he’s a bad man. He hurt her, made her not breathe.

I get out of bed, excited for my birthday, my bare feet padding on the cold floor as I make my way to the kitchen. Daddy’s standing by the counter, a dark expression on his face. “Daddy, what’s for my birthday breakfast?” I beam, bouncing on my feet with excitement, waiting for his response. I want chocolate chip pancakes so bad. They are my favorite breakfast food. Along with some crispy bacon, yum.

He looks over at me, anger all over his face. He walks over to me quickly, grabbing my arm, causing me to yelp in pain. He drags me back to my bedroom, tossing me on the worn mattress. He promised to buy me a new one soon. Once I reposition, sitting up slightly on my elbows, I watch as his eyes scan me all over, and a bad feeling sits deep in my belly.

It takes a second for the pain to register, he just slapped me across the face. Tears well in my eyes, looking up at him with fear. My breathing is labored, but he doesn’t care, doesn’t care to apologize or ask if I’m okay.

His hands land on my small hips, pulling my pants down. Fear swells more as his eyes change to something I’ve never seen. “Daddy, what are you doing?” I choke out, scooting more towards the wall and away from him.

“Your mother isn’t here anymore for what she’s needed for, so I guess you will do.” He glares at me. He takes his belt off, dropping it to the floor with a thud as he crawls up my small frame. I start crying harder, trying to push him away with all the strength I have, but it doesn’t work. He’s a big, bulky man. He’s strong, and I’m weak.

My crying stops as his hands circle my throat, cutting my air supply off as he squeezes harder and harder, my vision getting spotty and everything getting blurry. I feel something poke me down there, and before I can scream and fight more, everything goes black. My world stops at this very moment.

A throat clearing forces me out of my dark thoughts, I look towards the noise, tears streaming down my face. I see Linda with a plate of food in her hands, a paper pad and pen also on the tray. She sees my face and sets the plate down, hurrying her way over to me before pulling me off the ledge and into her warm, comforting arms. “Oh dear, what happened?” she asks, stroking my hair softly, untangling parts of it.

I sigh, letting the tears stream down, my sobs shaking my body. Her arms run up and down my side, swaying me side to side like you would sway a baby to comfort them. We lowered to the ground, her never letting me go.

“H-he hur-t-t me,” I whisper, still not confident in my voice. It cracks with every word I speak. She rocks me side to side, singing a soothing song in Russian. I don’t know what she’s singing, but I enjoy the comfort, Russian sounding like velvet on her tongue. “Who?” She asks, concern etched on every inch of her face.

“Daddy.” A small tear runs down her face. Her eyes were full of sadness and pity for me.

“I know it’s scary, my dear, but you’re free now. He won’t hurt you again, my Dmitri will make sure of that.” Her words bring me some comfort, knowing I’m safe from him for now, but I doubt Riot will protect me. I am nothing of importance to him, but if it came down to something happening to me, I doubt he would help. Or care.

Linda and I sat on the roof for a few hours. I ate the plate of food while listening to her talk, speaking very few words myself. I want to talk, I’ve always wanted to talk, but if I talked with him, bad things followed, so I stopped. Linda makes me feel safe to talk freely, like I’m not going to get punished for it. She doesn’t push me to speak more, which I appreciate. I still write on the notepad so that I can talk to her.

She left a little bit ago, she prepared meals for the week for me while I was on the roof. She showed me how to use the TV, the microwave, the oven, and the stove. She also asked Riot, or I guess Dmitri, to order me clothes and a radio so I can listen to music.