The Deal That Made Me His

EBONY (2)

I had made breakfast.

Olivia and Arnold were already eating when I stepped into the room. The old towel clings weakly to my skin, but it doesn’t offer much. My legs—long and exposed—peek out beneath the frayed edge, and I tower awkwardly over the table.

They don’t even glance at me.

The air is cold, brushing against my bare shoulders, and I shiver. Still, I stand there. I don’t dare move.

They haven't wished me a happy birthday.

It's okay. I never expected them to. I was eighteen now. An adult.

Even a simple acknowledgment would’ve been enough.

My father clears his throat.

My shoulders sink, myy fingers fumbling nervously with one another in front of my towel.

“I have your birthday gift,” he says.

For a moment—just one second—something flickers inside me. Curiosity.

He looks me straight in the eyes, “I sold you.”

The words don't register at first. He's looking at me, with no flicker of emotion on his face. No sadness, no guilt, no regret.

Sold.

Sold.

I was given away for money. I stare at him. The man that was supposedly my father. The man I shared the same eyes with. The man I had slaved away for for eighteen years to gain at least a look of gratitude.

Funny enough, I don't feel anything.

No hatred. No blinding rage. No agitation.

I had always known I was worth nothing. I'm grateful he got a little money for me. At least, I'm worth whatever amount it was. I'll be leaving this place. This monstrous abyss where I have known nothing but sorrow and pain.

A sudden breath of anger surges through me. Before I can stop myself - not that I want to anyway - I grab the jug and smash it on his head.

A piercing shriek echoes through the house. My father's ever loyal wife jumps to his side instantly, "Arnold!"

A few pieces of glass dig into my palms but I don't even notice. I stare as he practically falls out of his chair, grabbing his head and groaning. Blood begins to seep out staining his greying blonde hair.

A series of random thoughts begin flashing through my mind.

Who has he sold me to?

Am I going to be used?

Turned into someone’s toy? Stripped of my dignity, my soul?

Am I going to be trafficked? Tossed into some basement with no name?

Before I can think of anything else, I turn and run.

“Get back here!” Olivia barks after me, but I don’t listen. My feet barely touch the stairs as I race up them, towel dragging behind me like a dying flag.

I fly into the guest room bathroom and slam the door, locking it.

Then I drop to the ground. Sobs explode from my chest, violent and loud. I can't stop them. My body folds, my head pressing into the cold tiles as I weep. I crawl into the shower and turn the water on, hoping that the cold liquid would wash away my twisted fate.

I can’t breathe. I can’t think. The water beats down on me like rain on a corpse, cold and cruel. I lie there on the shower floor, sprawled on the icy tiles, the towel clinging uselessly to my thighs. My bones ache, my skin is raw, but none of it matches the ache in my chest.

He sold me. My own father sold me.

I don’t know how long I stay there. Minutes? Hours? Time doesn’t exist in this moment — only pain does. And silence. Deafening silence, until I break it.

Another sob claws its way out of me, ragged and ugly. Then another. And another. I curl tighter, shaking violently, hands over my head like it can block out the world.

Hot tears pool on the cold tiles beneath my cheek, mixing with the water. I cry for myself. For Ethan. For the sisters I am about to leave behind. I cry until my chest burns and my ribs feel like they’d crack under the weight of it all.

A soft knock breaks through my cries.

“Ebony?”

Melody.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

“Ebony, we heard what happened,” Harper says, her voice cracking. “Please say something. Please.”

I can’t. What can I say? That I am okay? That I am strong? That this isn’t destroying me? I lie there, frozen.

They whisper to each other. Harper’s sniffles were muffled, and I imagine her holding Melody’s hand, both of them too scared and weak to break down the door.

I had promised I’d always be with them, that I’d never leave. But now… I am being dragged away and I can’t stop it. I stare at the wall through hazy eyes.

The mirror is cracked at the corner, the light above it flickering. My chest rises and falls rapidly as the dark thoughts slither back in.

If I end it now, would the pain finally stop? The thought grips me tight. I want it to end. I want silence. Peace. Rest.

I push myself up from the floor — slow, trembling. My towel slips off again, but I don’t care. The moment my feet plant on the ground, I sway and lose my balance. I slam down hard on my hip, the pain jolting straight through my spine. It feels like my bones have splintered.

Still, I get up. Somehow. One step at a time. My legs wobble, blood from somewhere trickling down. I grip the sink with white knuckles, and lift my gaze.

The girl in the mirror isn’t me. She is a ghost. Hollow eyes. Pale lips. Dripping hair tangled around her shoulders like black vines. Bloodshot eyes stare back at me — broken. Lifeless.

Who could ever want that?

I grab the side of the mirror and slam my fist into the center. Shards burst everywhere — the mirror shattering like my world has.

Pain doesn’t register. Not yet.

I slide down into a pile of glass and tears and blood. My vision is blurry but I can see the crimson. I can see my own blood, smearing the tiles, dripping from the cuts on my hands. I pick up a shard. A long, jagged piece. It is cold and sharp between my fingers. One s***h. Then another. Three. Four. My wrist blooms red. I switch hands. My thighs. My arms.

It is quiet now. Just the sound of my breathing, the water still dripping from the faucet. I watch the blood with a strange kind of detachment. Like it doesn’t even belong to me.

I don’t feel pain anymore. Just peace. And the cold.

My eyes flutter and everything starts to fade. And I let it. I let the darkness take me.