Introduction

I am sitting here, staring at this paper, wondering how to start... Until recently holding a piece of paper in my hand, or a pan, for that matter, was just a dream. My son gave them to me a few days ago, as a way for me to chase away the boredom of a long day spent alone, where all I can do is wait... wait in hope that my son would come to me and also wait fearing that my captor would be the one to take his place, making again all my nightmares come true.

He had gotten a little bit soft on me lately. Now, I think, I represent to him more of a tool for tormenting my son than an object of pleasure. I even got an upgrade, in the form of this room, that even has a window (a really small one, placed way up above my reach and facing, probably, his inner garden, but, after all those years spent in the dark... at least I saw daylight again before my death). He had come to me, the day he had moved me and had warned me that any attempt of escape or search for help will be useless, since any person who would pass that window knows exactly who he is and what he is capable of, and any stupid action on my part would receive the required punishment. Of course, he knew that I would not try anything either way, since any action that would have the potential of freeing me, of compromising him, of putting an end to his vile actions, would also harm my son. They are a team now. My son hates him, for what he had done to me, and he had started to hate my son, for what he is, for what he is going to be (smarter and stronger than he is), but they are a team. My son is not 18 yet, not even yet 16, so maybe he would not be held responsible in the eyes of the law, but he is inside the ring, and while you are inside, you can never get out. I have done everything to make him a better man, but I am afraid that he would end up being just a monster, like his father. But, even if this would turn out true, I could never harm him. He was my only treasure, my only comfort, in all those years of pain. He still is my light and the hope that he would be better would never fade away. I know that, at least, he loves me, which is one good feeling more than his father has. His heart is not only black, like that of the monster that made me give birth to him.

This room I have got... this upgrade... I know that this is also my son's doing. He had asked for a better life for me. What I do not know, is what made Michael (yes, I know, you would never think that such an evil man can have such a common name) indulge him. There must have been something that he hoped to achieve in return. Also, I know what else this means. He had finally got bored with me. Now, I am just the mother of his son to him, he no longer lusts over me (not as much as he used to, at least). This also means that my time of death is getting nearer. I know that all he is waiting for is the moment it will most affect my son. I warned him, but he does not want to hear (but he knows it too, I know he does). Anyway, I don't mind death. It would be a much welcomed moment that would mean that I would be free of pain forever. I just hope that it would not scar my baby too much. But I know he is strong (way stronger than his father might think), so he will handle it.

My room is really small, 3 square meters maximum, but the fact that natural light can get in... is just wonderful. In it there is a one person bed, a desk (with all the drawers looked - that is were he keeps his personal things, things he sometimes uses with me, or, rather, on me), a chair and a small wardrobe, where he had placed a few changes of clothes for me. I even have access to a bathroom, with a toilet and a shower (only cold water, but, hey, it is a shower!) that I can use at will. This is so much more than where he used to keep me. Oh, there is something else in my room: a huge mirror where I can see myself top to bottom. I think that he had thought that my reflection in that mirror would bring me pain, since know all I can see there is a frail woman, with bones almost piercing the skin (extremely scared skin) and hair that had turned to white, which looks way older that 35, my age. Even my blue eyes had lost that glittering of life that once had in my youth, when everybody thought that I was a beauty, with my blonde hair and the curves that had disappeared during all those years of starvation, beatings and repeated rapings. But my beauty was my greatest curse, because I would have never been here if I would not have been beautiful, so I do not regret losing it. Or, maybe, he just put the mirror there so I can see all the work he had performed on me. It had been almost 20 years since he took me, and I have come to know him a little bit, but I cannot always guess what he is thinking.

So, since I sensed my dying day getting closer and closer, all I want to do is write the story of my life. I do not suppose that anyone else than Michael or my son would ever set eyes on this papers (and they already know my story) but I must let it all out, for me, so when I will die I could live this all behind and be free. I know that reliving everything might be painful for me, but I also need to know that I managed to kept sane all those years, even if I only lived in a world of nightmares, were monsters were the only reality.