Days Filled

Every day was the same. I can’t even remember the last time I had enough time to think about the day. I can’t even remember a time when one of my whole wasn’t painfully filled. Ever since that first time I haven’t had a moment to think.

Every mourning after the “morning shift” ends (Kyle charging millions for a group of middle aged men to come pin me to a couch while I cry out in agony) he takes me… somewhere. I don’t know where exactly. Probably because I’m bound up and blindfolded. It’s a place full of yells and moans and shouts. I’m thrown into someone’s hands and my mind goes wonky. All I know is that I’m in pain. I must’ve stayed there for a while because by the time I can see again, the sky out the small window is dark. I’m always dizzy. That much is sure. Then I see him. He never liked using blindfolds. He liked making sure I saw every horrible thing he did.

Sometimes when I’m taken to the “place” I’ll be offered a drink. Those are the worst times. The drink will end up all over me and I’ll fall asleep dizzy. I’m the sorest on those days.