Celine's POV
The door to the basement slammed; my dad's, no, Mr Sebastian Klein's footsteps echoed on the floors. The footsteps that had become my nightmare.
My breath hitched. My chest rose and fell too fast, like a frantic animal trapped inside a cage of bones.
A cold shiver ran down my spine as his voice cut through the silence, sharp and controlling, like the feel of terror.
His footsteps grew louder and closer, and my heartbeat increased.
"Celine!" His hiss carried venom, seeping into every corner of my being. "Are you hiding from me again? How many times do I have to remind you that this is my house? You can't hide anywhere."
I pressed my body more deeply into the pile of dirt and broken crates I had crawled into.
The damp earth clung to my skin and filled my nostrils, its gritty taste coating my tongue. I pressed my lips together, whispering barely audible words, a prayer stitched together from desperation.
"Lord, please not today, I've had enough of these unpleasant nights," I muttered under my breath.
Every night was the same. His voice was the terror that wrapped itself around my throat. His footsteps, the hiss of my name, the certainty that nowhere in this house belonged to me.
He made sure his presence caused me anxiety, fear and pain. This house, the place that was meant to shelter me, had become a cage.
Just two nights ago, I overheard a conversation Mr Klein, my foster father, was having over the phone.
It was a heated conversation with probably one of the gamblers he owed. A conversation that replayed itself over and over in my mind, even now.
He had been pacing in the next room, his voice low but heated.
I could barely hear bits and pieces of their conversation as I was already drifting in and out of consciousness from exhaustion.
He had walked in that night, as usual, dragged me to his torture room close to the basement, stripped me naked, tied me to the bed, and hit me till he drew blood.
"I wouldn't stop until you screamed my name, or I draw blood from this body of yours," he had said, his face contorting into a wicked grin.
He sniffed his nose as if trying to take in any residual he must have taken in the Casino where he was obviously coming from.
I had screamed that night, although not his name, until I lost the energy. And when he finally drew blood, his face twisted into a wicked smirk as he disgustingly licked his lips.
My blood usually turned the daughter fucker on. He thrusted his tiny, disgusting cock inside me until I was almost out of breath.
Back to the heated conversation. "You don't understand, I don't have anything left to give you," he snapped.
His tone was cracked with desperation, like a man who had been cornered. "I'm broke. Completely broke."
I had forced my eyes open, though exhaustion pulled at me.
My body had already collapsed under the weight of his rage earlier that night, bruises burning along my arms, legs and core, my mind a haze of pain and numbness.
But I tried to stay awake; something about this conversation seemed off.
Mr Klein was terror himself. It was rare to hear him sound afraid.
"I hope they come for your head," I muttered under my breath.
After all I have taken from this man, I think he deserves to be hanged on a spike.
"I'll think of a better collateral for you," he stuttered. For the first time, I heard him falter, his confidence crumbling at the edges.
I was left on the floor of the torture room; he must have thought I had passed out, just like I always did every night after he had taken me in this horrible manner.
"I think…I have a girl you may like…."
That was the last words I heard from him before I passed out.
"Celine!" he called out again, his voice laced with anger, calling me out of my thoughts. "If I get you tonight, you would wish that you never existed."
I whimpered, but covered my mouth with my palms. Even the most minor shift of my body felt like betrayal, as though the dirt would scatter and expose me.
I had learned that I could survive if I were silent enough.
If he couldn't see me, sometimes, he gave up, too drunk or too tired to keep hunting, and I could call that night my lucky night.
But I knew better than to trust luck.
His voice shifted, low and coaxing, a false sweetness that crawled under my skin, very disgusting. "You can't hide from me forever, little bird. You know I'll find you."
I shut my eyes. I imagined I was elsewhere, maybe anywhere but here.
The damp basement became a field. The dirt under my body became grass, soft and warm. The dripping water turned to the sound of rain, gentle, and it felt like everything was calm for a moment.
My heartbeat calmed down, and in my mind, I was free. My legs could carry me as far as I wanted. No one called my name in hatred. No one hunted me.
But then the creak on the wooden floor shattered that vision. He was closer now. Too close.
I dug my nails into my palms until I felt the sting, grounding myself. Pain was the only anchor I trusted.
"You know that the more you run or hide, the more excited I become. Do yourself a favor and come out from your hiding place, or you won't like how this night turns out for you," he roared.
In my silent situation, I couldn't help but wonder who the collateral girl would be. Of course, he would want to give me as collateral for his debts easily.
And if he were to hand me over to the other man, it would be from one monster to another.
But I had a glimmer of hope that the faceless man over the phone would deal less fiercely than Mr Klein.
"Lord," I whispered again, barely audible. My lips trembled against the words. "If you're listening, take me out of here. One way or another."
The footsteps stopped. The silence was sudden and suffocating.
I didn't dare breathe.