That's Just Life

“No! Please! You don’t understand! Why are you doing this?!” I screamed, as his strong, firm hands locked my arms and hands in place. His chilling laughter filled the ,already cold, room.

         “Oh, I quite understand,” he said, his face growing only centimeters from my own. His ice blue eyes locked with my forest green ones for a second. I closed them and looked away, biting my lip as a tear fell. Weakness. Too much of it was too apparent.



         I woke with a start, hitting my head against the cold brick wall with a jolt. My eyes swept my cell, resting upon the gate in the right corner. I sighed, realizing that, like every day, I had only gotten a few minutes’ rest due to nightmares. My real life did not differ greatly from that of my dreams. On the contrary, my dreams were memories; all of which I had pertained at some point in my miserable 15 years of living, and the light scars on my wrists showed that I was quite tired of it all, and had tried to end life countless times. Why it never worked was the real question, not why I attempted suicide; that would be all too apparent, if the person actually knew me, that is.

         I leaned back against the wall, now in an upright sitting position, as I laid my head back, looking at the uniform grey ceiling and listening for the sound of heavy leather boots and keys, as I waited for the fall of Night. I loved the appearance of Nighttime, seeing as black was my favoured colour, that was not a shock, but each Night’s activities pretty much spoiled it. I was nocturnal, some could say; ‘resting’ in the day, and doing… ‘work’ at Night. Of course, my ‘job’ was not a career that any sane human female would ever even consider to pursue.

         Quite a while passed before the sun began to set outside the barred window of my cell. I, at uttermost alert now, sat bolt upright, listening with wide eyes for the sounds that marked the beginning of each long, torturous Night.

         My fingers tapping on the cold floor nervously, the sounds hit my ears; combat boots and a soft rattling of metal that meant keys. Every step from the man who I knew was coming to collect me seemed to draw more breath from my lungs. The key was inserted into the lock, turned, and the iron gate was opened, the metal sounds ringing softly, tauntingly, through the room. A very heavily dressed man entered, grunting something that sounded somewhat like ‘Leve-toi, le petit poussin,’ which translated something like ‘get up, chick.’ I hated being referred to as such things, but I wasn’t really in any position to fight back. I rose, my black robes swaying softly, and followed him reluctantly, biting my lip. He lead me through a long hallway, then up a set of stairs to another long corridor, doors on each side every hundred or so feet. He stopped at one, and I, shaking violently, slowed as well as he opened the door, shoving me in. I stumbled from the force that he had pushed me with, falling forward, but hands caught me before I hit the floor. I erected myself quickly, jerking away from the hands that had just braced my fall, and towards the wall without even looking at the person, who I knew was a guy. A sigh hit my ears, and I brought my gaze up.

         He was surprisingly youthful looking, compared to the other men I’d seen and met here, maybe in his low twenties or older teens. He was slender, with softly bulging muscles, no doubt from the work that was completed here... (which I had no clue what that actually was...only that it was hell for me.) He had light mouse brown hair, cut short and stunning blue-grey eyes.

         He laughed softly, instantly relaxing me for some reason.

‘I won’t hurt you like the others, Aiyonna,’ he said coolly, leaning one shoulder against the grey bricks of the wall.

‘I-I don’t,’ I began.

‘I know. Why would you ? After all that’s happened, and the fact that you have no clue who I am, you have no reason to trust me,’ he interrupted, still maintaining his smooth, calm manner of speech. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, his judgment of me was scarily accurate for a stranger and... well... a guy.

‘Wait-How did you know my name ?’ I asked nervously. He smile sadly.

‘Word spreads quickly around here,’ he said. I blinked, obviously not understanding.

‘Word about what ?’ I questioned. Again ; he smiled painfully.

‘Captives such as yourself,’ he admitted. I tensed, knowing what ‘captives such as myself’ were.

‘But I rather oppose to such treatment. You are human. You have thoughts, emotions, and can go through pain the same as, or more so than, any man. Gender is simply a fifty-fifty chance everyone faces before birth,’ he said, a bit of a flame in his slate coloured eyes as he spoke.

‘All too true, sir,’ I said, shaking my head as I looked at the floor, ‘though many would not share your views, not here, that is.’ He shook his head, smiling as if it hurt to do so, in submission and agreement.

‘Quite correct, mon chere,’ he said. I blinked, taken aback by his use of French ; my favoured tongue.

‘You-you speak- ?’ I asked, in shock. He chuckled softly, more innocently and purer than previously

‘Of course. Some orders here are spoken in other languages. No, you aren’t the only one who must learn new languages in order to escape retribution,’ he added, laughing quietly at my, apparently shocked, expression.

‘Really ? I’d always thought that all the guys here were, well,’ I stammered, my face colouring slightly, ‘spoiled, if that’s the right word.’

         He immediately gathered that he had caught my full attention with a smirk, but not an intimidating one ; if he was hiding that he was going to hurt me, he was a seriously good actor.

‘Eh, no. Not at all. You see, not all of us are ‘volunteers’, paid only with gold, or services from captive girls like you.’ My anger was instantly rekindled, even though I had known this for quite some time ; I was one of their most popular forms of ‘currency’. This, I hated, that I was weak enough, against them, that is, to be used this way. My suspicion fired up again ; unease and distrust-fullness.

         ‘If that is so, why am I here ?’ I inquired. He considered me for only a second before responding.

‘Simply a way to save you from another night of pure hell, even if it is only one every so often.’

         I blinked ; could he really mean this ? That he reaped no personal benefit, but helped me ? As if he could read my thoughts like I could his, he shook his head, looking down.

‘Paranoid, in your beliefs that everyone is trying to harm you. Why should you not be ? You have endured so much that I can hardly believe that you can be this sane.’

‘Sane ?! You call this sanity ?’ I fired back, taking a defensive tone even though he had made no accusations.

‘See ? Paranoia,’ he said, almost teasingly. I clenched my fists.

‘I have every reason to be ! For all I know, you could be trying-,’ but I was interrupted.

‘To betray even the slightest bit of trust you have implanted in me ? Think. If I wanted to, you could be completely at my mercy. As a matter of fact, you are ! But have I even laid a hand on you, besides preventing you from harm ?’

         I had almost opened my mouth to argue, but his words struck me. It was true ;  he could have done anything to me, and I’d have no say or ability to fight back. I closed my forest green eyes, sliding down the wall.

         ‘I hate it here. I would rather endure anything ; death, torture... anything,’ I said, my voice so close to a whisper that it was barely audible as a tear fell from my eyes, which I quickly made an attempt to hide ; no signs of weakness allowed. He seemed to be sharper than the average bloke in here though, and had seemed to observe everything about me without really showing it.

         ‘I know. Both of us share nearly the same view.’

I sighed deeply, but inaudibly, to most, that is. He seemed to pretend not to notice, but I knew he could.

         ‘Why ?’ I asked, lifting my gaze. He raised his eyebrows, crossing his arms.

         ‘Specify,’ he said.

‘Why are you so... different, from every other guy here ? Why won’t you hurt me like everyone else ?’ He  pondered this for a moment.

‘I, unlike most, was forced to join this. Sure, there are lots of others who had been forced to the same fate, but many are now too drunk to care or think about their actions,’ he said, an edge in his voice. I flinched, involuntarily, at his tone, and he must’ve caught that too (not to my surprise), as he immediately dropped it. He chuckled humorlessly.

         ‘In other words ; I have no reason to inflict harm upon you,’ he explained, even though I had comprehended this.

‘Who does ? In my four years of imprisonment, I have always had much time to ponder things, this being one of the most thought-over things ; what did I do to deserve this ?’ I said softly, returning my gaze to the ground out of self-consciousness.