CHAPTER 1

"Abuse if you slight it, will gradually die away; but if you show yourself irritated, you will be thought to have deserved it." - Tacitus

Isla Isabelle POV

I awoke from a fitful slumber on the cold, filthy carpet of our basement, my sanctuary from the harsh realities of my life. The sound of heavy footsteps echoed down the creaky staircase, sending shivers down my spine.

My heart raced as I realized the door was being unlocked, a foreboding sense of dread enveloping me. Instinctively, I pressed myself into the dark corner of the room, hoping to disappear into the shadows, knowing that today would bring another wave of torment.

"Bitch! Wake up, you good-for-nothing slut who sucks up all our money! Get up and make us breakfast now!"

Sir's voice boomed, filled with venom and contempt. I flinched as cold water splashed over my tiny, fragile body, making me tremble uncontrollably. The biting chill cut through my thin clothing, as if mirroring the coldness that resided within the souls of the people who were supposed to care for me.

I lived with my mother and stepfather, though they denied me the privilege of calling them "mother" and "father." To them, I was a burden, a mistake that had ruined their lives. Instead, they insisted on being addressed as "ma'am" and "sir," a cruel reminder of the emotional distance they maintained.

I had never known the warmth of parental love, the feeling of being cherished and protected. Instead, I was confined within the four walls of our suffocating home, my world limited to the basement, devoid of sunlight or freedom.

The reasons behind their restrictions remained a mystery to me, locked away like secrets in a forbidden chest. With tears welling up in my innocent eyes, I mustered the courage to speak, my voice trembling in a baby-like tone.

"B-but siw, I downt know cook," I stammered, my words filled with vulnerability and a longing for compassion.

My tiny voice carried the weight of fear and uncertainty, hoping against hope for a glimmer of understanding. Yet, before the words could fully escape my quivering lips, a searing pain shot through my cheek as Sir's hand struck with force.

The sting of the slap silenced me, a harsh reminder of my insignificance in this cruel and twisted existence.

"I don't care, slut! Get up and do some house chores because I will have a visitor later," sir barked, his words searing into my tender ears. With a jolt, he unchained my feet from the cold, hard ground, his grip tight and painful.

Reluctantly, I followed him up the creaking stairs, my small hand tightly gripping the ragged railing for support. As we ascended, a sense of trepidation gnawed at my heart. I knew all too well the torment that awaited me within those walls. The weight of my responsibilities settled heavily upon my frail shoulders.

Upon reaching the top, I was met with a disheartening scene. There, slumped on our worn-out couch, was my mother, her body limp and lifeless, a bottle of beer clutched in one hand and drugs in the other.

It was a sight that had become all too familiar—a heartbreaking reminder of the darkness that consumed her. Taking a deep breath, I began my arduous task of cleaning the house, armed only with a worn cloth that was damp with water and dirt.

My young age had taught me the basics of cleaning, but cooking remained a mystery to me. Despite this, they still forced me to perform tasks beyond my abilities, fully aware of my limitations.

As I diligently wiped the kitchen counter, a surge of panic shot through me when I accidentally knocked over the half-empty bottle of beer. My heart raced, and I prayed fervently that ma'am and sir hadn't heard the loud clatter.

Fear consumed me, knowing that any sign of imperfection would result in unspeakable consequences. With trembling hands, I rushed to clean up the mess, desperately trying to erase any evidence of my mistake.

I carefully gathered the broken glass shards and hastily wiped away the spilled beer, my heart pounding in my chest.

It felt like a race against time, a desperate attempt to conceal my misstep before it was discovered. But my efforts proved futile, for just as I neared completion, sir stormed into the room, his face twisted in rage.

"What the hell happened, whore? What did you do with my beer? You can't do anything right in this house!" His voice reverberated with anger and contempt, a chilling reminder of the wrath that awaited me.

In an instant, his fury erupted like a volcano, raining down upon me with merciless blows. His fists landed on my fragile body, each punch feeling like a dagger piercing my innocence.

I crumpled under the weight of his rage, my small form no match for his violent outburst. And in the chaos of the moment, a shard of broken glass found its way into my tender skin, further exacerbating the pain and anguish that consumed me.

Through the haze of tears and searing pain, I mustered the strength to plead for mercy, my words quivering in a baby-like voice.

"Siw, pwease stop... it huwrts. I won do it agwen, I pwomise." I whimpered, my voice saturated with fear and desperation. But my pleas fell on deaf ears, lost amidst the brutality that held me captive.

In that harrowing moment, I clung to the flickering flame of hope, yearning for a future where love and tenderness would replace the cruelty that had become my daily existence. As the pain engulfed me, I whispered silent prayers, hoping against all odds that my cries for mercy would one day be answered.

Thrown like a discarded rag doll, I crashed onto the cold, hard floor of the basement. My tiny body, battered and broken, trembled with pain as I lay there, helpless and chained to the unforgiving ground. Blood trickled from the wounds inflicted upon me, staining the concrete beneath me with a haunting reminder of the violence I endured.

Their cruel words, laced with venom and disdain, echoed in my ears, ingraining themselves within the very fabric of my being. In the shadows of the room, I sought solace and refuge, seeking comfort in the embrace of darkness.

There, hidden away in a secret corner of the basement, I found a small hole where I kept Mr. Bun-Bun hidden from prying eyes. I knew all too well the consequences if ma'am and sir were to discover him—more pain, more suffering, and the fear of losing my one source of solace.

With trembling hands, I gently retrieved Mr. Bun-Bun from his hiding place, cradling him close to my chest. He was my confidant, the only one who truly understood the depths of my despair. Whispering into his soft ear, I shared my heartache, the wounds that remained unseen by the world.

"Helow, Mr. Bun-Bun," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. "You know, today I got a lot of boo-boos becauwse I mwed a mistake. But I'm a big girl, so I downt cwry, even it huwrt weally bad." My words, filled with a mixture of pain and determination, hung in the air.

I spoke softly, cautious not to let my voice carry beyond the confines of our secret space, for the walls held their own silent stories.

I knew that ma'am and sir could never hear my vulnerable whispers, for their hearts were closed to the suffering they caused.

hey had proven time and again that their cruelty knew no bounds. And so, I sought solace in the darkness, sharing my secrets with Mr. Bun-Bun, my faithful companion who listened without judgment.

Exhaustion weighed heavy upon me, my body weary from the onslaught of pain. In the hushed sanctuary of our hidden corner, surrounded by darkness and the tender presence of Mr. Bun-Bun, sleep washed over me like a balm.

The pain and weariness melded together, allowing me a brief respite from the harsh reality that gripped my existence.

In the realm of dreams, I dared to hope for a different tomorrow, a world where love and kindness would triumph over cruelty.

As I drifted into slumber, my small form nestled against Mr. Bun-Bun's plush embrace, I sought solace in the promise of a new day, where my pain would be seen and my cries for help would be answered.

In the depths of my restless slumber, I was abruptly awakened by a loud thud resonating from the basement door. My heart skipped a beat as I realized someone was entering, and a wave of terror washed over me.

With each passing second, the anticipation grew, until finally, the door swung open with a resounding bang. In that instant, I tried to shrink into the shadows, desperate to make myself invisible, but my efforts were futile.

Ma'am and sir's eyes bore into me, their gaze piercing through the darkness, as if they had a radar for my presence. There was no escape from their wrath, no sanctuary from their venomous words and violent actions.

Ma'am reeked of alcohol and drugs, her senses dulled by substances that further darkened her already troubled soul. Without warning, she unleashed her fury upon me, her fists raining down with a force that surpassed my tiny frame.

Each blow left its mark, both physically and emotionally, as the pain cut through my fragile being. Through the haze of agony, I strained to comprehend the words that spilled from ma'am's lips.

"Whore! I hope you wouldn't have come into our lives. You make us miserable every day. You ruin my life!" Her words echoed in my ears, a jumble of confusion and hurt.

I struggled to grasp the meaning behind her accusations, to understand why my existence was met with such disdain and cruelty.

As the assault continued, the world around me blurred, the pain mingling with a deep sense of bewilderment. How could I be the cause of their misery? I was just a child, lost in a sea of confusion and despair. The words she hurled at me held no logic, leaving me adrift in a sea of unanswered questions.

"Natalie, finish that off! The visitor will be here in a minute!" sir's voice boomed from upstairs, his urgency echoing through the desolate basement.

Ma'am, having unleashed her wrath upon me, heeded his command and abruptly left, leaving behind a trail of bruises and aching wounds that marred my tender skin.

As I lay there, chained and broken, the weight of their abuse bore down upon me, both physically and emotionally. The pain radiated through every fiber of my being, a constant reminder of the torment I endured.

I whimpered softly, my small body trembling, as tears mingled with the blood that dripped from my wounds.

Days turned into weeks, and hunger gnawed at my emaciated frame. They denied me the basic sustenance a child so desperately needs, their words branding me as unworthy of nourishment.

I had not eaten in what felt like an eternity, my stomach aching with a relentless emptiness. The pain of hunger became a constant companion, whispering of my worthlessness, driving me further into the depths of despair.

In my tender three years of existence, I had internalized their toxic words, accepting them as my reality. Their hurtful remarks had become a twisted mantra, a prayer I recited silently each day. The seeds of self-doubt had taken root, choking the spirit within me, suffocating any flicker of hope that dared to ignite.

In the cold, desolate basement, I lay shackled and lifeless, my small body a canvas painted with bruises. But within the depths of my despair, a tiny spark of resilience flickered.

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NOTE: she will be speaking in baby tone if someone converse to her. and I'm sorry for the baby words I really don't know how to do it.

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