Broken
1254 Words
Journal entry #5
Day Ten
They dragged me from my cage without warning, yanking my arm like I was nothing. I was trembling, cold and terrified. They tore my clothes off and shoved me into a freezing shower. The water pounded over me, hard and merciless, like they wanted to wash away everything I was — my dignity, my hope, my soul.
When they finished, they pulled me, still dripping, into a room with a two-way mirror. And there, on the other side, was Maxwell. Chained down. Bruised. His eyes locked onto mine, pleading, scared.
I wanted to scream, to reach him, but I was forced back. The monster — the man who called himself Alpha — stood beside me, calm and cruel. He told me to “be a good girl” if I wanted to see Ellie again.
Then they started. First, they cut him — deep, deliberate slashes that made him howl in pain. His body trembled, blood seeping into the cold floor. But that wasn’t enough for them. One of the monsters drove a knife into his side, twisting it slowly as Maxwell gasped for breath, eyes wild with terror.
I felt my heart stop. I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t scream.
His life drained before my eyes. His last look was for me — pure agony and love all at once.
And when it was over, the Alpha smiled, like this was just another game.
I’m broken. But they will never break my soul.
Journal Entry #6
Day Eleven
I don’t know how I’m still standing. After Maxwell… it’s like the air was knocked out of me. I want to hate them all, but I’m so exhausted I barely have the strength to feel anything.
They told me to be good, to obey, to stay quiet. For Ellie’s sake.
I don’t know if they even have her. But I have to believe they do.
⸻
Journal Entry #7
Day Thirteen
Somehow, the other prisoners are my only light. We share quiet moments in the dark, whispering fragments of stories, hoping for rescue.
I learned the name of the man who killed Maxwell. He calls himself an Alpha. A monster who thinks power means everything.
I keep writing, because if I stop, I might disappear.
⸻
Journal Entry #8
Day Fourteen
The pain is constant now — in my body, my mind. But I’ve started to listen to the rhythms in the building. The footsteps, the murmurs, the cage doors.
I’m watching, waiting for a chance.
⸻
Journal Entry #9
Day Sixteen
Hope is fragile, but it’s still there.
I keep telling myself Ellie is out there. I will find her. I will survive.
For her.
Day Seventeen
I’m still alive.
Somehow, after everything, I’m still here.
Maybe that’s the curse.
This morning, they opened my cage.
My heart was in my throat — I thought they were coming to drag me away again. The last time, they made me watch Maxwell die. His screams still echo in my head, even when the room is quiet. Especially when it’s quiet.
But this time… it was different.
They tossed something at me — a long, shapeless grey shirt, stiff with starch and smelling like bleach and something metallic. Blood, maybe. It’s the first time they’ve given me anything to cover myself since that shower — the one where they scrubbed me down like an animal while I cried and tried to keep what little dignity I had left.
The shirt was too big, but I clung to it like armor. It didn’t feel like kindness. It felt like control. Like they were dressing me for a part I didn’t audition for.
Then they handed me a tray.
It held cold broth, crusty bread, and bottles of water. “Pass it out,” the guard grunted. “No talking. No eye contact.”
He didn’t need to warn me twice. The memory of that whip slicing the air last week still makes my back sting.
The hallway of cages was endless. Every face behind those silver bars had one thing in common: pain. Girls hunched over, trembling, too exhausted to cry. Some stared blankly like they weren’t really there anymore. And some — a few — watched me with curiosity. Hope? No. That’s too generous. But maybe recognition. We were all stuck here, after all.
I moved like a shadow, tray in shaking hands, bare feet aching against the cold cement.
And then I saw her.
The girl in the cage beside mine — the one with the wild, curly dark hair and fierce, tired eyes. I hadn’t dared to look at her before. We were all too scared of being punished just for noticing one another.
But today… I glanced up.
She was already watching me.
We didn’t speak. We didn’t smile. But I handed her the food with just a fraction more care. She didn’t thank me — she didn’t dare — but her fingers brushed mine, and for a split second, I felt something familiar. Something alive.
That night, back in my cage, I couldn’t sleep. My body ached. The shirt clung to me in all the wrong places. My mind wouldn’t stop spinning.
And so I whispered.
Just a little sound. Just to test if I’d lost my voice completely.
To my shock… someone whispered back.
Her.
She whispered her name first. Amber.
That was it. Just one word. Barely audible over the distant groans of the other prisoners and the clinking of chains. But I felt it down to my bones. She was real. She was trying.
So I whispered mine in return.
Cassidy.
And in that moment, I wasn’t alone.
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Day Eighteen
Amber whispered again today.
We didn’t say much. We can’t. The guards listen for everything. But she asked if I had family. I told her I had a daughter. She didn’t ask more — maybe because she knows that kind of loss.
She said something strange, though. She said she thinks there’s something off about the men here. Not just that they’re cruel — we all know that — but something else.
“Wolves,” she whispered last night. “They’re all wolves.”
I didn’t understand what she meant. Not really. I still don’t.
But there’s something in her voice… like she knows more than she lets on.
I don’t know what to make of it yet.
⸻
Day Nineteen
I live for the whispering now.
Three days ago, I was a shell. Just breathing. Surviving. Waiting to die.
Now, I wait for nightfall.
Amber told me something today that shook me — she said the silver isn’t just to hurt us. It’s to keep them from shifting.
Them?
She wouldn’t say more. Just went quiet after that.
But it stuck with me.
I keep thinking back to the man who called himself Alpha. The one who made me watch them kill Maxwell. The way he looked at me, like I was prey, not a person. The way his eyes flashed that unnatural gold when he smiled.
Wolves.
Is it possible? Could this be more than just human trafficking or some sadistic cult?
I don’t know what’s worse — the idea that this is all human cruelty… or that it’s something beyond that.
Amber is careful. She only talks at night, only in whispers. But I trust her now.
In this place, trust is dangerous. But so is hope.
Still… I think I’ve found both.
And I don’t want to let go.
- Writer
