"The Trap"

Splashing water roughly on her face, Jahzara looked into the mirror. Her eyes travelled over the bloodshot eyes, the mismatched cheeks, one scratched beyond recognition and the other flaming red from the many blows, and the cut lip. All covered with little droplets of water. All a testament to the acute horribleness of the recent past, to her terrible ordeal. 

Shivering uncontrollably at the memory, she staggered out of the dirty, unkempt bathroom, her foot slipping slightly at the threshold. She unsteadily grabbed at the nearest thing – her coat, now covered in blood and dirt, it’s originally blue colour no longer discernible. Putting it back on its peg, she collapsed on the floor, her eyes already wet. Brushing away the tears impatiently, she pulled her knees towards her. Putting her head on them, she gasped as the fresh cut on her cheek came in contact with her knee. Crying bitterly, she sat up, staring into space.


Since how long had she been like this? Trapped, weak, alone…a victim to that sick man’s sickness. Away from the only life she had ever known, ever thought possible…away from her parents and her friends, away from herself. How long had it been to that fateful day, when she’d unknowingly walked into his trap, when he’d innocently asked her for directions. The next thing she’d known was this place, this dirty, horrible, monstrous place – a constant reminder of her many screams and his as many laughs…echoing with the sounds of her pain, and his pleasure. 

She looked up at the ceiling, recalling the day again. It was etched in her brain, imprinted as clearly and sharply as a photograph. The pale, sunlit day with an occasional breeze flowing across the green lawns, a small gathering of those most important to her, assembled to celebrate her success…She even remembered the jewellery she’d debated over before finalizing on the one she’d been wearing. And that beautiful white dress, adorned with little sequins – now reduced to a dirty, tattered ghost of a garment that was hardly enough to protect her from the cold…or him. She remembered with a sad smile Rile’s suggestion for an ice-cream from the parlour around the corner, and she’d been the one bestowed with the task of getting it. She remembered stepping under the shade of the tree, as she stopped to give him the directions he’d so politely asked her for…

And since, she’d been here - barely eating, barely surviving as he came back every day. Hours of pain, followed by anguish and a wait filled with so much dread. She’d given up any and every hope, lost all count of hours, days, weeks, or was it months? Apart from the photographic one from that day, her memory was a blur…a succession of pain-filled days following the same routine, hour after hour…virtually indistinguishable from each other barring the ever-mounting number of cuts, wounds and scars on her. 

She closed her eyes, willing for sleep to momentarily ease her pain and relieve her of her musings. Her last thought before drifting off, whether she’d ever have any memory other than these…