Free Coming Back by Emma South Page B

damned.  It was like an animal inside me that had been driven feral from starvation and mistreatment, only held in check by the cage of my own terror and the ludicrous hope that there was a way out of this hell.
    He pressed his lips together and bunched his fists as he came at me, and I held my hands out to push him away, an exercise in futility.  I squinted my eyes against the blows that I thought were coming, but instead he pushed my hands aside, grabbed me by the front of the shirt near my shoulders, and threw me closer to the middle of the room, my back hitting the edge of the treadmill and knocking the wind out of me.
    Before I even realized it, I was gasping and crawling for the door, which he’d left open.  My chest hurt with the effort of breathing, but all I could see was that narrow glimpse of freedom.
    His boot came down on my back and flattened me to the ground with an impact that forced what remaining air I had out in one pained puff.  My eyes stayed fixed on that door even as I felt his weight come down on me, straddling me from behind for a moment before he twisted me around so roughly that I felt my shirt graze my skin and heard it rip somewhere.
    I didn’t have the breath to scream or fight, all I could do was watch helplessly as I saw his fist poised to come down and change my face into something my own mother wouldn’t recognize.  It came down but hit me in the stomach, igniting a pain that was scarily deep inside me.  That might have done some real damage.
    I wheezed up at him, my face red with the effort of staying alive, as he roughly grabbed a handful of my hair and made sure I was looking right at him.  He slapped me across the face with his free hand again and again.  There was no escape from it, each one punctuated by words he was spitting out in his rage.
    “Do… you… know… what… a… fucking… worthless… piece… of… shit… you… are?”
    One side of my face felt like the skin had been flayed off.  I was regaining the ability to breathe, but only far enough to groan a little bit.  That wasn’t answer enough for him, and he used his grip on my hair to bang my head against the floor a few times.
    “Well?  Do you ?” he screamed.
    I shook my head.
    “The motherfucker who was supposed to buy you has pulled out!  I fucking got you specifically for that order and you’re still not good enough.  Son of a bitch !”
    He hit me in the stomach again, so hard I swore I could almost feel my organs bursting, and the air was forced out of me again.  I almost passed out from the pain.  My heart was going at a million miles a minute and there was no oxygen to go around.
    “You better hope there’s somebody else out there willing to pay that much for you,” he said, grabbing my breast and squeezing so hard there was no way he wasn’t leaving bruises, “otherwise I’m just going to fuck you myself and bury you alive.  Or maybe I’ll get fifty friends over and we can all have turns.  Film the whole thing in high definition?  I might even let you go after that, worthless, used-up slut.  Bitches don’t talk after shit like that anyway.  Not when they know what’s been recorded.”
    His hand lingered on my throat.  “You’re on my fucking nerves, bitch, you need to get with the program quick-smart.  You’re already more hassle than any of the others, but you’re worth nothing .  You are nothing .  Want some fucking proof?”
    He stood over me, and I began to curl up around that burning feeling in my stomach as he angrily tried to get something out of his pocket.  It turned out to be some piece of paper, which he threw at me with a smirk.
    “They gave up on you pretty quick, bitch.”
    He stomped out of the room and slammed the door behind him.  I curled up even further as I listened to the locks sealing me in my prison once again and tried to breathe.
    It was at least twenty minutes before I struggled to a sitting position and curled both arms protectively