"Mom, what is a Prince Charming?" I asked my mother as she read me bedtime stories.
"Prince Charming is the prince of a woman's dreams. The one who rescues the damsel in distress," she replied, sitting beside me.
"So, is Father your Prince Charming?" I asked, my eyes glowing with innocence. I looked at her, smiling, more interested in her words than the story.
"In a sense, yes," she replied, thinking for a moment. "Your father did rescue me from a predicament."
"What's a purdicamont?" I asked, confused by the big word.
"Just think of it like a bad situation," she said, starting to get off the bed.
"Now goodnight, honey," she whispered, kissing me on my forehead.
As she walked out, I called to her. "When will I get to meet my Prince Charming?"
"Hopefully soon," she replied back, quickly shutting the door.
Hearing the reply and seeing the door slam shut, I turned to my side. I grabbed an extra pillow and pressed it over my head to muffle the screaming that would start soon.
"Where's the mead?!"
"You finished it yesterday, don't you remember?"
"Then you should've gone and refilled the barrel!"
SLAP
"With what money?! The amount you have earned in the last few weeks wouldn't even be enough to buy bread!"
"What did you say?!"
"What? It's not like I'm lying!"
"At least the money I earn isn't from being some who—"
Next Morning...
"Sweetie, wake up," my mother said, shaking me gently.
"Five more yites (minutes)," I mumbled, burying my face in the pillow.
"No, sweetie, it's time for school. Don't you love to go to school?" she said, shaking me harder.
"Yeah, I'm u... p," I yawned, stretching my arms.
I looked at my mother. "You messed up your makeup again."
I pointed to her black eye. To the slap marks, punch bruises, and choking welts covering her face and neck.
I got ready for school. As I was about to leave, Mother stopped me, just like she always did.
"Do well in school, dear. You want to fulfill my dreams, right?"
"Yes, Mother, I know," I replied, tired of the routine.
The only thing that ever changed was the phrasing. I don't even know when it shifted from "our" dreams to "my" dreams.
Since I was only nine, I didn't realize how much a single word could reveal about a person.
I left for school. Surprisingly, I did well.
Until one time, I didn't.
Our village only had a single school, forcing children of all economic classes to attend the same classes.
One afternoon, while lying on the library floor, I was reading "Elizabeth and the 11 Dragons." It was a story where Elizabeth gets captured by eleven dragons, and a Prince Charming comes to rescue her.
"It is the perfect story," I said aloud.
"Really? You consider this a perfect story?" asked Miline, the daughter of a famous business owner in the village.
"Yes," I answered, looking up at her.
"Well, you are right," she said excitedly. "I love how Elizabeth gets saved by the Prince."
She lay down beside me.
After that, Miline and I became good friends.
Too good to be true friends.
I started spending more and more time with her. I started falling behind in my studies.
Some months later, I failed a class. The school called my mother.
I expected her to scold me. Maybe even beat me.
But she didn't. She just took me out of school, brought me home, and locked me in my room.
For the whole day. No food. No water.
No matter how much I screamed, cried, or apologized, she didn't open it.
At night, when my father arrived home, he opened the door.
His face was full of shock. He looked down at me and hugged me.
I hugged him back, sobbing, my vision blurring with tears.
"I am sorry, Dad! I won't do it anymore! I will not fail in school anymore, just let me out!" I begged.
"What did you say?" my father asked. He slowly lowered his arms. He looked at me.
"I am sooooorry..." I bawled.
"She didn't do it because of me..." my father whispered.
I looked up.
I saw a weird, wide smile stretching across his face.
"She did it because of you," he said.
Before I could understand what he meant, he slapped me.
SMACK
The force threw me back several feet.
I touched my cheek, stunned. I looked at my father.
And then I saw it.
Behind him, dangling in the air, were my mother's feet.
From that day on, the abuse my mother used to endure shifted to me.
Over the next seven years, Father—if I can even call him that—forced me to work. I cleaned the house, cooked dinner, and did every task my mother used to do.
On top of that, he abused me in ways even a whore shouldn't have to endure.
The only mercy was that he didn't try to force himself on me. The most he did was force me to stand almost naked in front of his clients to earn money.
The "normal" abuse was slapping, punching, choking, kicking.
I tried reaching out to people. People my age. People older. People younger.
No one came to help me. Not even my "good friend."
When I reached the age of 17, he called me to model once again.
Only this time, my hands were to be tied behind my back.
I didn't know the reason until it was too late. They tied me so I couldn't fight them off.
I struggled. I fought. But I was overpowered in minutes.
"Nooooooooooooo! Stop it, please!" I begged them.
"Father! Father, I will be a good girl! I will fix everything, just save meeeee!"
The only answer I got came from one of the men.
"Scream as much as you want. No one will come. Especially not your dad. By this time, he must have already left the village."
I froze. I recognized that voice.
"Is that you... Mr. Refanhive?" I asked.
"Oh, wow. Didn't expect you to remember me from all those years ago," the man answered.
He pulled the mask off his face.
It was him. Miline's father.
"Why do you want to do this? I am like your daughter!" I screamed.
"You are like my daughter. That's why I am doing it," he smirked, reaching for my legs.
No matter how much I screamed, begged, and cried, they didn't stop.
While Mr. Refanhive tried to get on top of me, the other men pinned my arms and covered my mouth.
THUMP... THUMP...
Loud noises from outside. Footsteps.
Just as the first horror was about to begin...
CRASH
The door flew open.