Chapter 2: Trigger

The tension in the room was overwhelming. He was looking at me with his dark brown eyes like a predator about to attack his prey, eyeing me from top to bottom then back up again. He knew he had full control of the situation.

My hands were tied behind my back, causing me to feel even more hopeless. Still, my eyes begged him to spare me.

“You like being a slut for daddy, don’t you?” he asked, slapping me harshly across my face. I didn’t reply. I didn’t like him calling me slut.

My whole life, I thought he was a nice family friend. Not some sick twisted person.

I wanted to call out for help, but who would I call? I didn’t have anybody. He was the one person I thought I could trust, but he used my trust to get to me and force me to do the things he wanted.

“Answer me, slut,” he said, slapping me harder this time.

I winced and let out a gasp at how evil he sounded, but then I quickly bit my lip. I didn’t want to make any noise for him.

“You’re such a sick person,” I spit out. “I’ll fucking make sure people know who you really are.”

He began booming with laughter at my remark before he took out his leather rope. “You think people are gonna believe you? You’re a slut. You asked for this. Besides, you won’t be able to tell anyone if I kill you,” he said bitterly, laughing at the last part. “Since you wanted to be so bold, I’m gonna punish you.”

With that, he raised the hand with the rope then slowly brought it down to my face. At least it seemed time slowed down. And, as expected, the rope began to make contact with my skin.


I jolted out of my sleep, letting out a scream in vain. I immediately began looking around my room, afraid that he would be standing next to me. He wasn’t, thankfully. But I didn’t feel any better.

I was practically drenched in sweat, my skin felt sticky. I began taking deep breaths. It was just a dream, I tried telling myself. But it wasn’t just a dream. It was reality.

Once I realized I wasn’t exactly calming myself down, I scurried on out of bed and ran into my bathroom. I opened the water to the tub and filled it with cold water as I took out my razor from under the sink. I put it near the tub before I began undressing myself.

Naked, I closed the water since the tub was full. I began getting in the tub, starting with my right foot. I couldn’t help but gasp when my skin made contact with the freezing cold water. When I managed to put my whole body in the tub, my heart was racing. I was freezing and my teeth were ever-so-lightly chattering.

I picked up my razor from near the tub and began slitting my wrists. In total, I drew six lines with the razor. The cuts weren’t deep enough to permanently harm me, but deep enough so I could feel the pain.

It felt good. Too good. But that’s how I learned to cope over the years. I probably had hundreds of cuts around my body by now.

I ended up staying in the tub for a while, as I was lost in my thoughts. I didn’t know how long I stayed there but I knew I stayed long enough for the blood on my arm to dry up.

I stepped out of the tub and then drained out the dirty water before I went to the shower and took a quick shower. I scrubbed and scrubbed as hard as I could so I could feel clean again, but I still felt his dirty hands on me. My skin began burning from the scrubbing and I ended up bleeding but that didn’t make me stop.

After another 20 minutes of scrubbing, I got out the shower and wrapped a towel around my waist. I brushed my teeth before I went back inside my room and put on some sweatpants and a sweatshirt. Not once did I look at myself in the mirror.