Seven

My eyes open and nothing in my field of vision holds any kind of familiarity.

Fuck.

Where am I?

I try to sit up from the stiff position I’ve been put in on my back, but all of my muscles protest fervently making me give up almost immediately. I sigh heavily and decide to relax so as not to strain myself. There’s no need to overexert myself if I have nowhere to go. The only thing I can do while my body is out of commission is taking in my surroundings while lying on this unfamiliar bed…I suppose.

An average sized room surrounds me.

Clean.

Probably rarely used. The lack of dust on the brown desk that sits on one side of the bed shows that the room is either cleaned regularly, or was cleaned for my arrival. Was my arrival expected?

An average square window is above me. It’s mostly dark outside but there seems to be a bit of light from the sun lingering around. Has it just recently gone down, or will it be coming up in a little while? I can’t tell. I determine that it’s either very late at night or really early in the morning.

The walls of this room appear to be a deep wine-like red. Two- no three doors, all white...or is it cream? An IV bag stands idly next to my bed. Behind its thin structure is a large mahogany dresser with four drawers.

The IV is strapped to my arm and pokes through my skin. Supplying something in to my body. When I passed out I must have been sufficiently injured for them to drug me up and hook me to an IV bag. I can’t gather the energy to look under the covers and scan my injuries, so I instead choose to look up at the bare ceiling.

Fucking…Tao. This is his fault.

Maybe I should rewind a bit, so that we’re all on the same page. How I got here. How I ended up battered and kidnapped. What Tao’s deceiving ass has to do with this whole ordeal. Let’s go back to a few days ago when my “so-called” best friend managed to get me in to this enormous pile of horse shit.
*3 Days Prior*
I was headed back home from the convenience store closest to the orphanage and my scratchy grey pants and shirt were packed full of different snacks and fruits. I had managed to get apples, bananas, tangerines, jelly snacks, stuffed buns, moon pies and more. I was quite content with that days haul. I had stolen enough snacks for not only myself, but also for the younger boys in the home.

Now, I just want to go ahead and say that I don’t prefer stealing to buying, nor do I condone such behaviors. But sometimes it’s the only way to get around it this hellhole of a city, and I don’t have any money of my own to spend in the first place. I came here not knowing how to find decent food on my own. I came here having no idea how to steal, or even knowing what it was in the first place, but after years of working for that bitch Momma I’ve gotten good at it. It’s not something to brag about, I’m aware, but it’s a fact. It’s been years since I woke up in her home for the underprivileged and I’ve done more awful things than I care to own up to. Most of which falls under the title of felony if I were to go around doing it in the first and second rings.

After a month or so living under Momma I came to learn that this city, also affectionately referred to as the Capital, is separated into 3 factions/rings.

We were in the third and outermost ring of the actual city. We were also the so called poor area. The 3rd ring is enormous and this particular part was the worst. Full of druggies, bums, and criminals (myself included). What I once saw as a shiny and silver world was soon revealed to be quite broken and old.

The ring that we surrounded, also known as the 2nd ring, were the rich. They were richer than most of us at least. That being said, not all of the rich lived in the 2nd ring, some of them found homes in the 3rd ring. It was easier to get around the law in this part of the city anyway. The tall and imposing urban buildings here made a way for those who wanted to be surrounded by others to do so seamlessly and inconspicuously. Those people lived in a different part of the 3rd ring. It was cleaner, they still had better access to safety and medicine. They had the perks of being rich while being in an area that was still monitored poorly enough that they can make more money on illegal activities.

Those that lived in the second ring lived in a cleaner area of the city and they were well-off. Never starving, never homeless, and never upset. That’s how I imagined them at least. The 2nd ring was more of a rich suburb. Large houses, large yards, fresh food, wide streets with perfect sidewalks. Malls and stores that weren’t in shady towers, still outrageously priced enough to give them that sense of superiority.

I wanted to be in that part of the city, but we were separated by a large electric wall that had different checkpoints every mile or so around it’s circumference. Each checkpoint was fairly easy to get past, but the authorities made sure we never crossed over for too long when we didn’t belong there. The silver bands we were made to wear made sure of that. It was for the safety of the 2nd ringers, and to make sure that we 3rd ringers didn’t contaminate the better parts of the city.

Even when I was able to get passed security my clothes were a dead giveaway of where I truly belonged. Of where I was assigned and destined to live. Everything was brighter there. There were a lot of women and all of the clothes were bright and pastel and reminded me of springtime; it was a refreshing change from my 3rd ring beige and grey.

The dull colors were typical of those of us who called the 3rd ring home, and it did a better job than what the others wore of hiding just how dirty we were. I’ve only been to the 2nd ring twice and I was there making another drug run for Momma to one of her more…established buyers. Of those 2 visits I noticed 3 things: 1) all of their clothes were bright and pastel, 2) it was mainly only women in the parts of the 2nd ring I had gone to, and 3) they were nearly all mutts.

A mutt is a slang term for a mutant. Both terms are derogatory and probably the most offensive thing you can call one of the magic users. I’m fully aware that there is a politically correct term for their kind, but they don’t deserve respect. They don’t deserve my respect at least. What have they ever done to help me? They’re all monsters, they deserved to be addressed as such.

The innermost part of the city is where the castle is. As I said before, this city is the capital. The capital of not only this patch of land, but of the world. I don’t know how many cities are in the world, but this is the biggest and most important. My city is where the Queen herself calls home.

A large golden gate protects the castle and some other smaller estates that house the relatives of the Queen. It’s a clear marker of where the 2nd ring ends and the royal property begins. You can always visibly see the outside of the castle, but getting into it is another story. The huge castle sits on top of a hill that overlooks the rest of the Capital and the city circles around it, like some kind of protective barrier.

I glanced up from the dusty street up to see its light blue walls.

I wondered how many people lived in there. It’s enormous, there have to be at least a thousand people in there. They’re all mutts probably. The mutts rule over our world after all.

Would I be able to live there had I not been born as a human? Probably not. I haven’t even met anyone who’s been in there. Their lives must be easy, they’ve got no reason to ever want to leave. I was envious.

I tore my gaze away from its towering walls and continued my walk home. I passed by others who were walking around the area and I didn’t cast them more than a glance. They did the same to me. I could only hope that no one noticed how heavy and lumpy my clothes looked. If I was caught and dragged home again this month I’d be dead for sure. That’d make 3 times, and wasn’t even near the end of July yet.

I passed by one of the shattered television screens that use to hang all around the Capital. One of the last of its kind. There used to be a weekly announcement from the Queen or from one her close advisors that everyone would tune in to hear. We would turn on the TVs in our homes, or head outside to see her on the large screens on the sides of buildings. The announcements weren’t ever important, more just to show us who was in charge around here. They stopped happening about 5 years ago.

When they suddenly stopped, it didn’t make much of a difference, everyone gets most of their announcements and news from their personal tablets and devices anyway. We just didn’t get to see the Queen as often as we had become accustomed to. Most of the screens are gone now, stolen or broken. If I looked close enough I could see the glass from where they had fallen, or even the stain of dirt on a building that outlined where a screen once hung. The advertisements and interactive boards are still fully functional, they light up the night in a way that makes me feel weirdly safe.

I’m never in the dark for long around here. Never left without something to look at. Distracted enough so that my thoughts don’t drift back to places where I don’t need to linger.
For that, I’m thankful that they exist.

I was almost home free when I instinctively paused by a tall building that was mostly an apartment complex, it held a shoe shop on its ground floor. It’s a place that I was once forced to work at. Only negative thoughts come to mind when I see that particular shop and I cringed unconsciously as the memory resurfaced.

I was cleaning up around the shop I had found temporary work at, and he had been the boss’s assistant. He was average looking at best. Pale skin, black hair, light brown eyes they drooped a bit on the edges. He was always slightly perspiring and he smelt like the latest male cologne. Cougar Catcher or something like that. It was strong, and reminded me more of a hospital than something that made me attracted to him. He was maybe 5 years older than me, and he was a mutt. He had the ability to alter his skin in to other materials. Leather, metal, glass, the like.

I was finishing up with my final sweeping when he asked me if I needed a ride home. He had the newest air scooter that could fit two. I told him no, but I politely thanked him for his offer. When he walked away I thought the discussion was over. I hoped that it was, but my life wasn’t set up to occur as I wanted it to. He came back not even a minute later and asked if I was going straight home after this. I told him yes, but I didn’t understand why that was important to him.

I was getting uncomfortable with his presence and I wanted to go home, so went to put up the broom in the cleaning room but he continued on. “Hey, let’s go get drinks or something before you go.” He said. I didn’t respond and walked passed him to the door, hoping that my silence would be the only answer he needed. He grabbed my wrist and I turned around. I wasn’t going to deal with his advances tonight, especially if he’s going to grab me like this. This wasn’t the first time he had hit on me, and then gotten upset when I brushed him off.

“I’m done being nice little girl. You can’t just flaunt around the store like the little slut you are and not expect me to want you.”

This was the first time he had said something so aggressive at my rejection of his proposal. I told him to let go. I didn’t know what he was talking about. I just worked here. I wasn’t “flaunting around”. I tried to yank my arm free but his grip tightened. His other hand grabbed my other wrist and he pinned them above my head and backed me into the door of the supply closet. He smashed his chapped lips against my own and forced his tongue down my throat. I bit his tongue hard enough for him to yell out in pain, and hoped he would loosen his grip enough for me to get away.

He didn’t.

His eyes blazed angrily and he yanked me in the direction of the checkout counter. The upper half of my body was forced on to the countertop and I immediately knew what was about to happen to me. I fell into panic. I begged him. I begged him not to do this to me. I begged him to let me go. But my pleas fell on deaf ears. He ripped the shorts that I was wearing so that they no longer stayed up, and then the tattered white underwear that acted as my last line of defense were the next to go. He leaned all of his weight on to my back, inhibiting my ability to move or even breathe properly. He spat into his hand and rubbed it against my entrance before briskly forcing himself into me.

I screamed. I cried out. He covered my mouth with the same spit covered hand that had touched my most private area and continued on. Each movement that he made forced another scream out of my mouth. I could smell myself on his palm, that and his saliva. My cries were muffled and my tears fell hotly down my cheeks. I was hurting. I was embarrassed. I felt dirty and inhuman.

Once he finished he pulled out and I collapsed on the floor. He left without another word, and I was left sitting in a growing puddle of my own blood and his cum.

I was 14 at the time.

The flashback ends and I forced back the tears that were threatening to fall. The embarrassment and sadness that reappeared were almost overwhelming and I focused my mind on something else to distract me. I focused on remembering what happened afterwards hoping to change the direction of my feelings. I’d rather be mad than sad.

I limped back to the orphanage. I didn’t bother to clean up the puddle I left, nor myself. I wore my torn pants and held them together weakly with my hand. I went back hoping that I’d be welcomed into Momma’s arms. I wanted her to tell me that she’d go and find him and make him pay for doing this to me. But she doesn’t.

When I found her she was mad alright. But she was mad at me. When she saw me, I saw something in her face shift and then suddenly I lost all of my ability to move my body. I was forced to stand straight, letting go of my pants, and they fell to the ground with a soft thud.
She was using her powers on me.

I knew that she had been one of them before this moment. And I knew that she was going to hurt me. This wouldn’t be the first time that she had begun to physically hurt me, but it was the first time she had used her ability to control blood as a method of hurting me. Before she would just hit me, maybe freeze me in my place, and then hug me in her arms and turn the situation on me making me assume that I had deserved it. Now, I was terrified. And I knew with my whole being that I didn’t deserve this.

While keeping my body stagnant, she forced the blood in my brain to drain out, and then immediately rush back up in to it. I lost my ability to think after the wave of crippling dizziness hit me and the headache began to form. The small shift of my blood was nothing to her, but my body was almost shutting down from the simple action. My vision was hazy, my head was pounding, and my heart was beating chaotically while trying to keep up with the blood shift. I didn’t know how to deal with the unfamiliar sensation or situation. I couldn’t. With me dazed she took to opportunity to grab one of her canes off the beige wall, and with a large swing she proceeded to slam it in to my ribcage.

I cried out in pain. She called me a dumb bitch. A smack to the ribs followed. A slut. A smack to my thigh. A whore. A smack to my shoulder. Worthless. My stomach and back were hit after the final insult.

She hit me a few more times after that, and once she was done she ultimately allowed my body to flop to the ground. I immediately curled into a ball and let out the loudest sobs my body would release.

It hurt to breathe.

She told me that I deserved it and that I was to go back and apologize for teasing him first thing tomorrow. As if it was my fault for his actions. She walked away, I was left whimpering half naked on my floor, and no one came to help me.

I didn’t blame them. The one who acts like a hero is always the next to be hit, and we all got enough of that on a normal day. They looked at me with eyes full of pity and I cracked. My tears turned angry and that was the moment I realized it.

She doesn’t care.

She doesn’t care about any of us. It’s kill or get killed around here, and we were her minions. She would say that she loved us, that we would understand one day. But she was full of shit. She just needed us to do her dirty work while she kept the benefits. She had us out running her “errands” and almost dying every day because of it. I hadn’t missed the fact that sometimes boys would go missing. They were dead. Or they got sold off. She never did anything about it. She never made any effort to save any of us.

I hated this.

I hated her.

But part of me still felt that I deserved this. Maybe I was (am) a masochist, but I keep letting her do this to us. I let her use me to pedal her drugs, I let myself steal her drugs. I let her rent me out to random men so that they could have their way with me. I stole for her and for the kids who were stuck in this hell here with me. When I got caught, I’d let her hit me. And then I’d let her hug me and tell me that she was doing this for my own good.

The fright I had as I passed the place where I was first raped was turned into anger as I continued home to the place I hated (and still hate) most in this world.

Momma’s Home for the Underprivileged.

The medium sized house sat between two large apartment buildings. Both of which were nearly abandoned, home to addicts and the depressed. We were surrounded by people who were just as hopeless and a nuisance to society as us. The only difference was that we were all human, and they were mutants.

Once I returned I was greeted by a small crowd of young boys who all hug me as I enter. The younger ones have taken to me as if I’m some kind of older sister. And in a way, I like to pretend that I am. Maybe I can make up for my mistakes by keeping them from doing the same. None of them have been here long, and with the way people have come and gone, I don’t think that they’ll be here much longer. It breaks my heart to know that they will leave soon with nothing but the knowledge learned here to guide them in life. Each to places that will offer nothing but pain and agony.

I handed out treats and snacks and told them to run off and stay out of trouble. It’s the least that I can do for them.

There are about 20 of us right now. I’m probably the oldest. And I’m the only girl. I’ve been the only girl for about 8 years. Most would be uncomfortable with it, but seeing as these boys are basically my family, are young enough to not care, and I’ve lived through worse, being the only female is an irrelevant detail in this life.

As I head up to our shared room I’m stopped by Mark, an 11 year old and one of the older boys. He tells me that Momma has gone to the 2nd ring and won’t be back for another 2 days. A negotiation with a mutt man apparently. When I thank him he smiles and disappears behind me going off to do whatever it is that the kids his age do.

I often worry about the boys here. There are few of us, and most of them aren’t here for long. We’re helpless in this town; we’re only humans after all. Humans who are more or less “owned” by a mutant. Their kind out number us and with their abilities to control matter they prove to be a threat. Those…mutts are the reason all of us are here. They killed most of our families and they kidnapped the others to bring us all here. They treat us like shit and we are helpless to try fight back. What can we do when they can kill us without even throwing a punch?

They are the enemy.

It’s us against them. Us against the world.

And I won’t let them hurt us if I can help it.

Notes