Categories > Original > Drama1 Reviews
This is the story of a broken girl. DISCLAIMER: There is no Phan for the moment, I aplogise, BUT STAY AND IT WILL BE FOUND! Thank you for reading this stupidly long story- It's only part one D:
He smashed me against the wall, again and again, blood pouring steadily from my nose, my mouth, but I didn't cry out or scream.
He wasn't going to get the satisfaction.
"That's what happens when you try to run away," he murmurs into my ear, his hand grabbing hold of my hair, almost pulling it out of my scalp.
I feel the thin shard of metal brush my wrists, he had cut me there many times, letting me bleed half to death before he healed me.
I close my eyes, waiting for the sharp stab of pain.
But it didn't come.
Instead he prodded my back with the iron cane, pushing me towards the small room with a bed.
I would never call it a bedroom, as he didn't even live in this disgusting place.
To me though it was just a place for torture.
He pushed me on to the bed, the springs crying out, and he handcuffed me down, taking off my clothes, before he snuffed out the candle and forced himself onto me, silent tears pouring over.
This was the hell I lived in.
He cuffed me to my usual spot, at the back of the larger room, the window just above my head to tease me.
"I'm working the night shift, so expect me back later, then you can have your rations,"
He lights an oil lamp so that I have some form of light, then left, the slamming door echoing through the building.
This was the only time I could cry.
I let my head fall to my knees, my loud sobs shaking my shoulders.
Praying for death to come.
I heard the oil lamp spit.
He must have ran out of candles.
But there was fire.
There was oil.
And there were shackles around my wrists.
I reached out, the boiling lamp burning my fingers, and poured the oil over the cuffs.
I set fire to the oil, it only burning in short bursts, but weakening the metal.
I grit my teeth at the scorching shackles scalding my thin wrists, but it wasn't as bad as any pain I'd experienced before.
I pull and pull, crying out at the strain, the pain, and then they finally widened enough to let my tiny hands through.
I stumble to my feet, before picking up the cane and hitting it against the window until the glass smashed right open.
I scramble through the tiny opening, my leg slicing open on stray bits of glass, but I couldn't concentrate on that.
I needed to get out.
I fall into the dark alleyway, limping as fast as I could away from my prison.
I had only the street lights to keep me company, my thin layer of clothes doing hardly anything to protect me from the bitter winter.
My arms were crossed over my chest to help warm me, but had little effect.
I jumped at every small sound, and my bare feet stepped on burnt out cigarette butts and smashed bottles, their labels barely readable.
I finally found a small bench on a quiet street that I could sit on, but I felt so vulnerable, so unprotected.
Manchester wasn't safe at night. I knew that even though I hadn't left that hell hole since I went in there over a year ago.
I was only eighteen when he took me, and all I got for my nineteenth birthday was a black eye and a broken nose.
The night grew more and more freezing, but I had nowhere else to go, so I stood up and kept walking, ice freezing over various cars windshields.
Finally, I collapsed, unable to go further.
I curled up into a ball, sobbing quietly, and after what seemed like an eternity, the sun cast it’s cold rays on me.
The street lights flickered off as the dawn arrived, then panic gripped me as I realised that he would be getting back by now.
Even though I had already gone at least three miles, I still had to keep moving.
So I clambered onto my unsteady feet and kept walking for hours, until I saw more and more people begin to litter the streets.
I had not seen the sun or another human being for a year now, but they meant nothing to me.
I saw someone check their phone, and quickly took the time; 13:30.
I finally reached Manchester city centre, a place he wouldn’t dare take me from, where once upon a time I used to come here with my friends, but that was in another lifetime.
I couldn’t even remember their faces anymore.
I sank to the ground by the Manchester eye, regaining my breath that came out in a thin mist.
I cradled myself closer, in a desperate attempt to keep warm, shuddering with each breath.
“Are you ok?”
A mans voice.
But it wasn’t vicious; it was soft and almost shy.
I looked up to see the man, examining him.
He had gentle brown eyes and straightened brunette hair with a side fringe, and pretty, almost olive coloured skin.
I looked at him warily, my trust for all human kind gone.
He crouched down to face me at eye level.
He looked at my shallow cheeks, my hollow stomach, my empty eyes, and his eyes looked almost woeful, like he had read my memories.
“Do you want to get something to eat?” he murmured, and something about his understanding face made me nod my head.
“Come on, then,” he smiled faintly, holding out his hand.
I took it tentatively, not knowing whether I was just about to get drugged and kidnapped.
He pulled me up easily, then took me to a nearby Starbucks. People stared at us in bewilderment, but I didn’t care.
He showed me to a seat in a quiet part of the café, where the warmth made me shudder slightly.
“What would you like to drink?”
I stared at him, unsure of what to make of him.
He watched me carefully, before he leant forward slightly and spoke in a low tone.
“My name’s Dan Howell, and I’m at university studying law,”
He said it like he understood what had happened.
“Does a hot chocolate and muffin sound good to you?” he asked.
I nodded my head slowly, before he got up and went to order our food.
Why was I doing this?
Why was I helping some random girl who I had just picked up off the street?
But the thing is, as soon as I saw her lifeless eyes, I knew she needed help, and since I was probably the only person who would help her, I might as well have.
As I brought our orders over, her eyes almost lit up.
What she had gone through must have been too bad for any joy to cross her pale face again.
As I set the food in front of her, she seemed to remember what it was for, and started picking at it, watching me cautiously as if I would block her way to the food.
Then she tentatively picked up her drink and took a small sip of it.
She relaxed slightly, but still was wary of me.
I sipped my coffee slowly, waiting for her to finish.
She finally pushed the three quarters finished food towards me, and I took it to the front.
“Do you want anything else?” I asked her.
There was a long pause.
“Yes. I want to get out of my own shit hole of a head,” she whispered.
I sighed and looked down at the table.
“Do you want to stay at my place for a while?” I asked.
I considered taking her to the police or a care home, but something made me want to protect her myself.
She nodded slowly.
I stood up and held my hand out to her, before pulling what was left of her to her feet.
“Viola,” she whispered. “That’s my name, Viola,”
“It’s nice to meet you, Viola,”
She keeps hold of my hand and starts walking towards the exit, and I lead her through the streets for the short walk home in complete silence.
Then I lead her up the stairs to my apartment, and unlocked the door, turning the lights on.
“Do you want to have a shower while I get you some clothes and a place to sleep?” I ask her.
“Yes, please,” she whispered, and I lead her to my bathroom.
“Take as long as you want,”
I close the door behind me, and I hear the water start to run.
I walk to my room and neaten up my bed.
She shouldn’t have to sleep on a crummy sofa.
I picked up my dirty washing as well, and got out a clean shirt and a new pack of pyjama bottoms, before laying them out on the bed.
The hot water felt unbelievably good on my skin, and I could feel my muscles slowly relax.
I picked up a bottle that had fallen into the tub, and read the label; ‘Raspberry kiss’
I felt a shot of what felt like humour pass through me, but I couldn’t smile anymore.
I untangled my hair with my fingers, and scrubbed my body clean, until there was almost no physical aspect of the prisoner Viola.
After what felt like a year, I shut off the shower, and wrapped myself in a fluffy soft towel.
I crept out the bathroom, catching sight of Dan and looking at him.
“You’re going to be sleeping in my room tonight, you don’t need a shitty sofa to sleep on,” he smiles, before leading me to his room, where a shirt and a pair of pyjamas lay.
The room was clean, organised, and just brown.
There were loads of decorations, mainly Indian themed.
He smiled and left me to get dressed.
I wandered into the living room to see what I had to do.
We slam into each other, quite roughly, and I fly over, smashing over onto the floor, before realising what I had done and pressed myself against the wall, cowering, fear suddenly shooting me.
Long moments passed before I realised that he wasn’t going to hit me.
I uncovered my face, and looked up to him, disbelieving.
He knelt down and spoke to me, almost angry, but I knew he wasn’t angry at me.
“I don’t know what kind of hell hole you were in, but you need to know that I am not going to hurt you. I would never hurt you Viola,” he whispers, his eyes boring into mine.
I stared at him.
Was he lying?
I lift my head slightly, our lips connecting, holding each other there for whole moments before breaking off.
Then I end the kiss, and stand up to go to the room.
“Goodnight, Dan,” I whisper, before shutting the door behind me.