HELL
1092 Words
Eleanor's POV
I woke up to a sharp pain all over my body. A piercing strong pain, heart-wrenching pain ran through me like wild harmeterrm fire. My arms lay motionless and unmoved. My legs felt as though they were made of lead and steel. My mouth was dried, my lips cracked, and I was bleeding profusely.
I attempted to blink, yet the world remained an unstable haze of shadow and dime light. The ache in my head was so overwhelming that I thought for a fleeting moment I might be dead by now.
But I wasn't. As much as I wished I were.
The instant my vision sharpened, I saw them. And that's when hell truly began....
******
I found myself sleeping helplessly on a strong concrete floor; my hands were tied behind me, and my body was weakened from hunger and exhaustion. The odour in the air was unbearable sweat, urine, poo, something putrid and irritating.
And then I saw them. Three men.Filthy, obese, ugly stupid men.
Their gaze ran over my body like insects, their laughter low and disgusting.
"Finally awake, huh?" One of them mocked, taking a step closer. His breath was a mix of alcohol and something sour, something smelly. "Thought we lost you, woman."
I tried to move, to push myself up, but my muscles refused to respond. My stomach twisted agonizingly.
The second man moved near me, tracing my face with his fingers. I recoiled, spit rising in my throat.
"Soft," he whispered. "I bet she screams beautifully."
I bit my tongue hard enough to taste blood. I would not give them the satisfaction of a scream.
Not for them.Not for anyone.
The third man, the largest of the idiots, unzipped his pants. My heart raced violently against my chest.
No.Not this.
I struggled against my restraints, but my body was too weak, my limbs unresponsive. The cold floor brushed beneath me, and the smell of urine filled the air.
Panic ran through my throat.
I wasn't strong enough.
Not yet.
But I would be....
"Think she'll fight?" the first man chuckled, stepping over me like I was dust.
I clenched my teeth, my body trembling with fury, pure anger.
"She's too weak now," the second one said. "She's been out for two days. No food, no water. She'll break easily."They had one thing right I was weak.
But breaking? HELL NO That would never happen.
The largest one approached, his boots scraping against the concrete dirty floor. Then, without warning, he urinated on me.
I gasped as the warm stream soaked through my tattered clothing, the humiliation heating me more than any physical pain ever could, or humiliation. Laughter echoed around the room.
All I could do was lie there, defenceless, as they degraded me like an animal like I was some sought-after useless dirty piglet.
Tears threatened to spill from my eyes, but I refused to let them fall, I will never appear weak. Crying wouldn't change a thing either.
It would only embolden them, only make them feel special. And I wouldn't give them that pleasure NEVER!
*****
The first man, with yellowed teeth and greasy hair, seized my chin, forcing my head up.
"Not going to beg, sweetheart?" he mocked. "Not even a little?"I spat on his ugly-looking face. His smirk twisted into a snarl. "Bitch."
He slapped me harshly, the impact ringing in my ears and sending me crashing against the cold, dirty floor. The second man cackled. "She's got some fight in her."
"Not for long."
They weren't finished with me.
The second man knelt next to me, pulling at my hair and dragging my head back. His fingers trailed down my body, slow and deliberate.
"I say we enjoy ourselves before the boss arrives."
I froze.
Vincent.
Their boss.
The man who had engineered my downfall, the one who had destroyed my life, that bastard, he has made me suffer. Rage, hot and blinding, twisted in my stomach.
They assumed I was defenseless. They thought I had nothing left. But they were mistaken.
Because even if I possessed nothing else, I still had hate. And hate was a formidable weapon.
The door swung open with a thunderous bang. The men recoiled like startled rodents, their hands instantly leaving my body.
A new figure entered the room, cold and far more threatening than the scum that had been tormenting me.
Vincent Moreau.
Tall. Sharp-eyed. Putting on a perfectly tailored suit, as if he hadn't just stepped into a den of filth and cruelty, that furkin bastard. He radiated power, authority, and a steady and deadly posture that required no fanfare.
It simply existed.
His gaze landed on me, taking in my disheveled state, the urine-drenched clothing, the bruises.
Then he sighed.
"Idiots," he muttered. "Did I give you permission to touch her?"
The men tensed.
"But boss, we"
Vincent's eyes snapped to the man who spoke, and he fell silent. Vincent didn't need to shout.
He didn't need to threaten. His mere gaze was enough to command.
"You don't touch what belongs to me," he stated, his voice smooth and calm. "Especially not when we have a buyer interested."My stomach twisted.
A buyer?
A new wave of dread washed over me. They weren't merely holding me here for torture. They were selling me off.
Vincent stepped closer, standing beside me. He wasn't like the others. He didn't leer. He didn't touch.
He simply observed.
"You've lasted longer than I anticipated," he murmured. "Interesting."I remained silent. I wouldn't grant him the satisfaction of my fear.
He smirked. "You'll make someone very happy."Something within me snapped. I lunged at him.
Even in my weakened and desperate condition, I moved swiftly, teeth bared, triggered by sheer, seething rage.
I managed to grip his throat for one glorious moment. Then pain exploded in my ribs. Vincent's fist struck my side, knocking the breath from my lungs.
I collapsed, gasping for breath, my vision blurring. Vincent straightened his suit with a sigh. "You're going to be a problem, aren't you?"
I spat blood at his feet. "Go to hell."His smirk widened. "Oh, darling. I am hell."He turned to his men.
"Clean her up," he ordered. "The buyer wants her looking... presentable."Then, without another word, he left.
Just like that, I had transformed from a person to a property. But what Vincent didn't know, what none of them knew was that I wasn't a property.
I wasn't some broken little girl to be sold off. I was a storm. And storms aren't sold. They wreak havoc....
- Writer
