Also, no, it's neither a reincarnation story nor will stuff similar to the ones in this chapter be presented again.

Warning: Mature content ahead.

“.. Where are mommy and daddy.. ?”

I don’t remember how many times I asked that. It’s been one week since John and Carl took me away from uncle and aunt’s house. They brought me to some kind of apartment, saying no one would hear me. I didn’t understand at first. My room had no window, but there was one of those things that changes the air in the room. John always turns it on.

I curled up on my bed, gripping and bringing over myself the light blanket they gave me. I was also given a warm shirt that reached my ankles in exchange for my old clothes. When I asked why I had to give them my clothes, John said neither of them wanted to waste time washing them. I haven’t washed myself since I was at home.

I rarely saw Carl, he only brought me food twice a day. John visited me almost every day, sometimes even more than once. He hurt me. It hurt me. It hurt me so much.. *sniff* mommy.. please.. save me.. *hic* it hurts daddy.. *hic*

“Uuuuuuuuwwaaaaaaahhhh..”

John began getting tired of me. He said that like this, I’m no good. That I should react more. I thought that maybe, if I continued like that, he’d bring me back to mommy and daddy. After some days he said he killed “mom” because I didn’t do as he said. I tilted my head in confusion as I knew no one named “mom.” He then said that “mom” was how everyone called mommy while “dad” was daddy. John said daddy would be next, but I didn’t believe him.

He continued to lie to so I tried to punch him, but John just slapped me and went away. He didn’t return for a while but when he did, he brought a photo of dad and mom. They were both lying on the ground on a big pool of blood. I tore the photo to pieces, screaming “No! It’s a lie! You’re lying!”

This time, he punched me in the tummy. It hurt, almost as much as that time.

“They are dead, if not, why are you still here?”

John’s words as he left my room echoed in my mind. ‘No! No! NO! IT’S NOT TRUE!’ I kept thinking to myself for days, probably. I knew how much time I spent here by counting the times Carl visited me. Every two days I added a day on the wall, behind the bed. I broke some of my nails, but I had nothing better to do.

My black hair felt all oily and dirty, my hands and feet were covered by sick stuff, it was all brown but when I strongly brushed it, it would peel off. I was dirty. I felt dirty. John made me dirtier with each visit. I stunk, but the thingy that changed the air made it so that my room didn’t stink, so at night I covered my body with the blanket, leaving my head out so I didn’t have to smell my odor.

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