SOLD TO THE MYSTERIOUS BILLIONAIRE

Grabbing me by my wrist, one of his hands held my throat with his palm so I couldn't breath, it was so tight my belly almost exploded.

"Ughh.." I mumbled, trying to catch my breath. His eyes red as it traveled all over my body.

I didn’t do anything to deserve this, to be treated this way. I held on for my dear life while my stomach bulged and my intestines dared to run out through my mouth.

He looked at me to give a reaction, to beg him to stop, to plead and cry and pray to him for mercy, I refused,

" I need to be strong! Yes you'll get through this!" I thought to myself as it It dawned on me that if I showed fewer emotions maybe this would be the last time because it seemed to me he got his satisfaction from seeing me break down, from driving me to the very edge until I became unable to hold it longer.

His hands tightened around my throat with more force, squeezing tight. "He wants to kill me, oh no. At least he will be satisfied now!" I said in my head, trying to force the tears away which were already glistening in my eye.

" I could kill you right now" He growled like a hungry lion who was ready to devour its prey. He wiped away the sweat from his face which trickled down and dropped on me.

But I gave off no emotion, I’ve tried him over the years to get to this point where I was now a master of pain and agony so much that even in the face of possible death I could almost smile.

He made me this way and he hated that I no longer gave him even a whimpering satisfaction, it pained him that I could no longer give him release from his unprovoked psychopathic anger.

Over the years, when this abuse started longer than I can remember, it grew gradually like an infant flower, the punishment and beating intensifying as I grew older and I grew stronger.

It made no sense to me at first, why I was such an angry child. I was no angel, I was rebellious and lousy, I talked back, and it didn’t matter what the consequences of my action could be. I didn’t care much about it, in fact sometimes I would call for it, trigger him on purpose whenever I felt he was at peace.

Bartolommeo Bindo deserved no peace and so while he had the power of strength, I had the power of mind. This only intensified the abuse and torture that I got from the man I call my father, one minute you see him, all smiles and playful, almost full of life, sometimes he would buy me a toy or two when I was a child, I would jump with glee and follow him around on those days, and then just like that he would change in a minute, right before my very eyes.

I always thought it was something I did or something mum did, it had to be someone’s fault that daddy all of a sudden got mad about the smallest things, like a snot on my nose, or butter on my skirt, maybe my stainless cup fell off my tiny hands by mistake. It was always something.

In moments like this, he would drag my mum by the hair and haul her about like a rag doll until she collapsed. He would then lift me off the floor as terrified and tear-stricken as I was while still crying my eyes out and lock me in the cupboard because it was more sound tight.

As I grew, I did begin to long for the days when I would catch a glimpse of my father’s smile just because I thought his happy state was the angry, intimidating, narcissistic, controlling, red-eyed demonic demeanor that he gave off and maybe whatever made him smile was his doom.

And so even now as he looked down at me, I was scared and did want to beg, I didn’t want to die. After all, who would look after and defend my mother?

“Beg you little bitch"…. His drunken breath and spit sparse over my face as I looked up at him.

“Gabby please”.. I heard my mother's sobbing voice behind my back and that was all it took for tears to stream down my eyes as I began to claw at his mighty hands on my throat.

He made me struggle, kicking and crying and pleading with my eyes until he was satisfied. He released me with a sounding blow to my stomach as I was flung right into the old wall that gave way a little, my mother ran to me as I blacked out.

“Wake up gabby. Hey….how are you feeling, have you got a headache?Gabby?

Can you hear me?" My eyelids which felt heavy opened to the sound of my mother's voice and concerned face sprawled across me as I began to come to myself.

"That bastard touched you?", I asked my mum while getting up to inspect her purple and swollen eyes, anger washed down my veins like a thunderstorm.

“Please gabby for my sake, don’t make trouble about this. I’ll be fine, you just rest and recover, at this rate, we could lose each other",my mom pleaded.

I tried to stand but fell back to my creaking small bed with my hands held to my head.

"I need medicine mama, I’ve got a headache, am sure you need one too", I complained. I could feel my head spin.

"Your father won’t let me out, I tried"She let out, in a low tone. Her eyes appeared tired as dark circles could be seen around her eyes.

"I’ll go then, you just stay in here and don’t come out until I get back." I said, like a mother to her child.

Walking outside the door, I closed the door behind me and scanned the sitting area that led to the outside door and moved as slowly and soundlessly as I could.

When I got outside the chilling breeze of the night was merciless, and with my torn thin gown that shouted poverty at the top of its flowing lungs, the cool breeze lashed my skin.

I held my arms across my bosom to contain my body heat as I walked across the street that was now deserted and dangerous at this time of the night.

I was confident to be out all by myself, thanks to my father who was well known in my area as a no-nonsense man who killed a man once for whistling at his daughter and to me who was also very intimidating, if any man dared approach me, it would be that he was a stranger in this alley of a street or just plain old stupid.