Silence

Have you ever wondered what it would feel like to have no feelings at all? No happiness, no sadness, no evilness, nothing. Just like trees. They don't feel anything at all, and they are okay with it because they never experienced anything emotional. Any ways, they don't have an option. But we do. So what happens when you are numb and there is nothing left at all?

I never hurt myself because I felt dead, I did because I didn't. The pain inside had swallowed everything and it just won't stop. It wanted to get out and tear through my skin. The waves surging inside wanted to break through, and so I had to let it. I had to pick up the blade and drag it across myself and see the blood ooze out of the gashes. At that moment, there was no wrong or right, the devil was not sitting on my shoulder and neither was conscience. It was just me trying to help myself.

Death, I never wanted to kill myself nor show anyone how broken I am. So my thighs seemed to be the better canvas for the art of chaos. A place only I can see, a place no one else knows.

I was thankful for the black ceiling up above. It made it impossible for my thoughts to project in front of my eyes, especially my memories. The only source of light in the corner of the room was not enough to swallow the darkness though but it let me see enough. I wish it hadn't.

I didn't want to see the black walls, I didn't want to see the black floor, I didn't want to see the black veils of the bed to which I was tied to. It was hard not to be consumed by it all but I tried as hard as I could.

There were no mirrors in the room, nothing except the dull brown items of furniture with several shut drawers. I didn't know whether they were unlocked or not since the ropes that bound me to the tall bedposts made it impossible for me to move at all. He was no fool. He left me alone in this room, but he never let me free. All senses of freedom had been long snatched away from me when I woke up in this room with four walls, drawers, and a door. Nothing but empty walls.

Sometimes it felt like I was going to go insane. I would see Liza sitting in one of the dark corners of the room with dead eyes staring at me, asking me why I never told her about him, my past, everything. That it was my fault. I killed her.

Sometimes I would see my mother in her place.

In moments like these, I try not to look in that corner. Instead, I would stare at the dim light shining from the pair of small flower shaped light holders with only the left one working. My body was already out of tears now, only the stains remained.

All that I had left of myself was my body which was clothed in a black nightdress and untouched. At least that's what I believe.

I wasn't completely left alone though, he would come in sometimes to give me food. Other times I would wake up with a full stomach with no such memory of consuming anything but my tears that unwittingly rolled down my cheeks. I don't know what he did to make me unconscious.

He never came in to give me food only. I would often wake up to the sound of flashes as he took Polaroid pictures of me. At first, I would blink and shake my head slowly to get over the blinding flashes while groggily tugging at the ropes then finally, my muffled whimpers echoed through the room since my lips were sealed shut with a duct tape. He didn't like to hear me scream.

Eventually, I got used to it. I don't know how many days I have been here or how many weeks it took me to get used to it, but ultimately I did. Every time he comes in and takes pictures of me, I stare into his dark green eyes and silently ask him.

Why?

He knows the question even though I never say it out loud. He knows it because he looks into my eyes and matches my stares with an undecipherable emotion I never understood. Only silence prevailed in between us. Sometimes I think that it is better that way because I was not yet prepared to hear what I saw in the dark corner.