A/N Yes, I know, I know, I've been gone for much too long, but look! I come bearing brand new Novella! I get some credit, right?

Anyway, this is one of my well known, angsty, tormented personage stories. Um, the beginning is a little...well...one extreme of graphic. There are some things in this chapter mostly...I think...that some of you might not enjoy. It's kinda obvious when they're coming up, so if you're bothered by it, then go ahead and skip over. It's not really important, it just shows how tortured my new character is.

Umm...:scrolls through:...it's the last five paragraphs before the bubbles (OooO) so if you don't want to read it, you've been warned, and if you didn't to read it, but didn't read this either, I'm sorry you missed the warning.

Anyway, this one is finished, so there shouldn't be any stalling unless I'm just too damned lazy to post.

It's depressing...but what else is new?

Warnings: Rape, suicide, murder, weapons (hence the murder), self harm, sex...That about covers it.

Enjoy!


CHAPTER 1

I don't know my name

I don't know my name. He calls me a bitch so I guess that's who I am. I don't know how long I've been here, this room is all I know, is all I've known…for however long. My only companions are the bruises that cover my body, the pain in my back that won't ever leave, the weight of the shackles on my wrists, the ache of the cheek that he always smacks, before and after. The worst is that pain inside. That one never goes away. He makes sure it doesn't.

I guess I shouldn't complain. It's how I know I'm alive.

I don't remember his name. I knew it once, when I first met him, when he pulled me into his trap, promising that everything would be better once I got away from home. It was worse than home. But I couldn't leave. I didn't eat enough to move, I didn't drink enough to stay alive. He usually makes sure that I'm conscious. He likes when I scream.

I'm surprised I'm still alive to be honest. Even I know I'm completely skin and bone. My limbs work…but I doubt I could support my own weight.

I'm dirty. I don't get to bathe. He'll push me onto the floor once a week and dump water on me. It's usually cold. He warms me up afterwards anyway and I won't deny that it hurts. It always hurts.

I woke this morning to a slap to the face. "Bitch! You wake up when I wake up! Wake your ass up!" he screamed into my face. I groaned and winced. My face was permanently purple, it had to be. He was always slapping me. I didn't have a mirror to look though.

I woke up as I was told and braced myself for what was coming. I tried not to scream. But I always did. It never mattered. If I didn't he'd try harder until I would. I'd cry for hours afterwards.

He fed me once a day. I didn't get much anyway, it was usually applesauce and never much. I'd eat, but I could never finish a glass of water. He poured what was left on my face.

It was worse when he had company. It was like he was trying to show off for them. He had toys for those days and it was worse than the usual. Everything he had was shaped funny, had sharp edges, sometimes spikes. I hated the spikes. He'd gag me when he'd use them since I could never keep quiet enough. For as long as I was with him it was still tight and he never bothered to loosen me up, forcing whatever he'd decide on into me, as far as he could get it. Then he'd make me push it out, in front of his friends. As many times as I'd done it and it and it was never any less humiliating. But what came next was worse. He'd take me while it was in, never letting it come out. It usually took more than the gag at that point.

His friends always got to watch the after torture. He'd beat me a little, because I never did anything right, dump water on me and shove my face into the puddle. I was usually unconscious by the time he was done. I never woke up on the bed.

There was one time, however, that took the cake compared to everything else. I think it was the way the friend he brought in to entertain looked at me. As soon as he came in I knew he was different. He didn't look like the other men. He was softer, cleaner, his eyes looked so gentle I was sure I could die in them and die happily. And then the way he questioned my captor when he saw me.

"Wh…why…why is he tied up?"

"Pft, because he's a sick lil bitch. He likes it, don't you Bitch?" I stared at him. He slapped me and I winced. "Don't you!"

"Yes," I rasped, anything to please him. I looked up at the man a little. He looked horrified.

"I don't like this," he said, looking between me and my captor.

"You haven't even seem him do his tricks yet. Take a seat," he said, motioning to the chair off to the side. He sat and I winced as the chains my shackles were attached to were lifted so my arms were above my head. I looked up at the man leaning over me, pleading. He just laughed. "You'd like if I stopped, wouldn't you? Little lying Bitch!" A smack to the face. "You fuckin enjoy this, you sick little freak." Another slap.

"Stop…" It was an impulse from that guy. I knew it was, the shocked look on his face after he'd said it.

My captor glared at him. "Just shut up and watch. He loves performing for my guests." He reached for the bedside table and stopped dead. The anger on his face made me close my eyes. My chin was grabbed and he forced me to look at the half-full glass on the table. "What the fuck is this, huh? What the fuck is this!? I'm nice enough to give you water and you don't even finish it? You fucking Bitch!" His hand went around my throat and I choked, not expecting water to be dumped on my face. I couldn't breathe, at all, and he laughed at me, even as I lashed out, trying desperately to free myself, to get some kind of air. His hand tightened around my throat momentarily before finally he let me go and I gasped in air, coughing and spluttering, straining against my bindings but getting no where. The gag was forced into my mouth and I immediately started crying. I knew he wasn't going to be nice to me at all this time.

"Shut up! All you do is fuckin cry! Stupid Bitch, this is all you're good for, so get used to it." He slapped me again and I just caught sight of the new guy jumping.

"C'mon, man, what the fuck, this is sick!" he said in my defense.

"Shut up. He does this all the time, he likes it, loves it even." I weakly went about shaking my head, just slightly, praying that maybe this guy could save me. I was smacked again for the little motion. My face was numb and I was dizzy. He never gave me a chance to recover, shoving that thing up there, following it closely. That was the worst pain ever. Stretching to accommodate him was bad enough, but both him and that stupid thing at the same time…I'd never screamed so much in my life. Tears were streaming down my face and I was actually fighting him, trying to make him stop. He beat me up pretty bad after that. The guy had run out of the room anyway.

The water was ice cold that time and I almost went into shock. For once he gave me a blanket, but not before he smacked me a few more times for being a bitch. I never saw that guy again, but I did hear his life threatened. He honestly wasn't like the others.

OooO

I was forgotten for a while. It wouldn't have bothered me so much if I'd at least been fed some. As it was I nearly starved to death, so weak I couldn't stay awake for more than a little bit to make myself tired again. I hated this and every time I had my mind, even the slightest, I prayed to whoever was listening to just end my life. I was dying anyway.

I vaguely remember waking up a little once. I think I was awake. It was probably a dream. There was someone with me. Someone next to me on that disgusting bed, and I remember instinctively pushing into them, whoever they were, just for the warmth, for the feeling of freedom that I got. I'd been crying a lot longer than I'd noticed, and cried and shivered like mad when I was hugged. I'd never been hugged, not since I could remember. I hated the feeling I got. I hated it because I knew that it wasn't going to be there when I woke up. I knew I'd be Bitch again and I'd be smacked and beaten. I didn't want to go back. I vaguely remember mumbling "Let me die" before I passed out again…if I'd even been awake.