The Road Between

The Worst of Times

Aviana's POV

I woke with a jerk, immediately regretting the movement as my back screamed in protest. 

The cell around me was freezing, dark, and damp. The only light crept in from the dimly lit hall. The grey light through the small, barred window in the solid metal door that separated me from survival.

I whimpered in pain and shakily rose from the cold, wet floor.

The chill from the stone made my body ache. Blood from the healing lashes on my back had marinated my ratty t-shirt, fusing with the scabs of my wounds. My tattered shorts were stiff with aged blood from previous punishments. I hated all of the exposed skin but they were the only clothes I was allowed access to.

My left wrist was swollen to twice its normal size and I could only hope it wasn’t broken again. The laceration on my back had scabbed over nicely since the night before, when Jacob had come to visit. I shuddered in remembrance.

I was confused, as well, because he had been screaming about how he would get me back, or that he wouldn’t let me go. He had been furious and seemed to think I was escaping from this god forsaken place, as if that was possible. 

I jumped suddenly, as footsteps echoed down the hall, interrupting the memory. I folded my arms across my chest, squeezing my hands into fists so tight my knuckles popped. My wrist screamed in protest as pain shot up my arm.

“Let me out!” I screamed, cringing from the sharp pain that tore through my esophagus.

I was, what the men called, grounded yet again. It was a frequent punishment for fighting back when one of them tried to slip into bed with me. Maybe by now, I should have learned to just submit. However, I refused to give up. I wanted so much more from life and I would fight to my last breath for it. 

So here I was again, locked up for days on end. My captors offered one small meal a day and minimal water that may or may not be drugged, depending on the day and who brought it down. My only human interaction was men who needed to blow off steam. My only company was  vermin skittering across the floor.

“Oh, shut up, Ana.” Grumbled a haunting shadow of a voice. 

As the man came into view, I could see his scruffy face and jet black hair. He was in his mid-forties, his dark brown eyes stared me down as he peeked in through the bars. His deathly pale skin never failed to send shivers down my spine, even when I looked in a mirror.

“Let me out, Dan.” I forced myself to stand tall, and meet his gaze with the iciest glare I could muster. 

I refused to show him how scared I truly was. He never seemed to see me as anything but the fragile child I used to be. As the years slowly passed, I mastered the ability to mask my fear. The malicious nature of someone like my father was something I would never physically tolerate. 

The door let out an ear retching shriek. The rusty hinges protested when he pushed it open stepping into the room with me.

I held my ground, even as my legs threatened to betray me. Quietly, I stared back up at him. I hated how much smaller I was than all of them. No matter how tall I stood out, how strong I attempted to look, I could never measure up to the men that surrounded me.

Dan pretended to contemplate my demand before giving an evil chuckle and flashed his wicked grin, “No, but don't you fret my dear, you’ll be out for good soon enough.”

I fought, and managed not to shrink away from the inclination of what he could be suggesting. Despite this being my personal hell, I didn’t want to die. I wanted a chance to live free.

“What do you mean?” I glowered, hating how despite my every effort, my voice broke. 

I squeezed my fists tighter, feeling my untrimmed nails digging into the raw flesh of my palms. The pain was enough to remind me that leaving was a good thing, even if it meant in a body bag, right?

“I’m giving you to the Reaper King, in return for keeping our territory.” Dan smiled maliciously at me.

Or not good, definitely not good. I could feel my panic rising as the horrific stories I had heard of the previous Reaper King, and his heir, ran through my head. How they kept their prisoners for months, reveling in the pain they inflicted. I would never escape if I went there.

“You can’t do that, I'm your daughter!” I shrieked in terror, knowing all too well how that fact meant absolutely nothing to him. 

Rage flashed across Dan's face. His large, skeletal hand reached towards me, and quickly grabbed a fist full of my hair. I could feel a shock of pain as he pulled a sizable amount of hair out by the roots.

While he shoved my face into the coarse brick wall, he groaned longingly, his breath reeking of alcohol. His other hand slithered up the back of my shirt, fingers digging deep into the lashes on my back. It felt as though his nails were carving my bones.

Pain seared through my body, as any healing I had managed in the last ten hours was undone completely. I bit my tongue, blood pooling in my mouth. I fought the scream of agony that was building in my throat. A pained whimper escaped my lips, despite my best efforts. Spots clouded my vision, and fear suddenly swelled inside me.

Terrified that I might lose consciousness. I forced myself to focus on the pain and remain lucid. I would not be left at his mercy again. 

He yanked my hair again, jerking me back before slamming me against the bricks once more. I could feel the disintegrating brick debris piercing my tender face, just before he threw me into a heap on the floor.

With a quick flip of his wrist, he rid his fingers of the hair he clutched in his hand. His hands were gloved in the same blood as the crimson puddle I now lay in again. I felt the dizziness creep over me, knowing more of my blood was outside of my body than in; I had to find a way to save what remained to keep Dan from winning.

“You are weak, pathetic. No child of mine!” He spat as I struggled to stand back up.

“Is that all you’ve got?” I groaned, finally managing to stand on my feet. I placed one hand on the wall, desperate for some support.

Dan chuckled humorlessly. “You’re lucky he wants you alive,” he growled back at me, “now get dressed.” 

He tossed a black mini skirt and red, sequined crop top at my feet. Then marching back to the door he froze,  turning to face me once again. I had to suppress a shudder at the burning hostility in his chasmic eyes.

He grinned as he eyed me lustfully, “You better not disappoint me, after all the time we invested in you.” 

Flashes of many torturous nights suddenly made bile burn its way up my throat. 

“And don’t get blood all over those clothes or we may have to take them off.” He laughed maniacally, tossing his head back before turning to leave

Then I was alone. 

I felt tears burning my eyes, but fought to hold them back. I turned, trying to support my weight against the wall as the acid burnt it’s way up my throat. The violent retching threw me off balance and I collapsed onto the floor. The amount of red in the bile should have concerned me. The realization of my only hope suddenly being shredded and thrown in my face made me apathetic to the fact I could die here.

A minute later, I lifted my brittle frame from the filthy concrete, rubbing my eyes with determination. I would not give him the satisfaction of making me cry. I may be a lot of things but weak was not one of them. 

I would not be their captive. I refuse to ever submit.  Even if this Reaper King killed me, I would die fighting. There needed to be more for me than this.