WORTHLESS

KIARA'S POV

As the car sped down the road, my heart pounded in my chest. I couldn't help but wonder where my uncle was taking me. The tension in the air was enough to drive me crazy, and I could sense his anger simmering just beneath the surface.

"Where are you taking me to?" I mustered the courage to ask again, my voice trembling.

"You will find out when we get there," he replied curtly, his voice filled with irritation which was a norm with him.

I sat in silence, afraid to speak any further. My mind drifted back to the past, reflecting on the strange changes I had noticed in my uncle's behavior. His friends rarely visited anymore, and he seemed to spend more time outside the house, leaving me alone for longer periods. While the newfound freedom was somewhat liberating, it also filled me with a deep sense of unease and foreboding, wondering what my uncle had in store for me.

Years of abuse and trauma had left me emotionally numb, incapable of feeling much beyond the pain and fear that had become my constant companions. Anything outside of what I had grown accustomed to was terrifying, even the slightest change in routine. Lately, Uncle Sam had been absent more frequently, and I hadn't seen him for several days. With no phone or entertainment, I felt isolated and trapped within the confines of his house.

Uncle Sam had forbidden me from entering his bedroom or using the television unless he was present. Whenever he went out, he made sure to lock his room, leaving me alone and hungry, with nothing to distract me from my thoughts. I found solace in the corner of my room, once my grandfather's, as I huddled there, desperate for any semblance of comfort.

The memory of my uncle forcibly moving me into my grandfather's room resurfaced in my mind. After the first time he violated me, he had decided that I would no longer spend my nights in the cold, dark storeroom. He led me to my grandfather's room, proclaiming it would be mine from that day forward.

 I was taken aback by the sudden change, but deep down, I felt a flicker of gratitude for no longer having to sleep on the cold floor. Yet, even amid this small reprieve, I couldn't shake the feeling of dread that permeated the room, as if my grandfather's ghost would come to claim me for desecrating his sacred space.

"You don't like it," Uncle Sam said, his bloodshot eyes piercing into mine.

I hesitated for a moment before whispering, "No, I'm just worried since it belonged to Grandpa."

He looked at me, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Stop with the pretense. I know you hate him," he sneered.

Fear gripped me, and I vehemently shook my head. "No, I don't," I stammered.

A cruel smile played on his lips as he chuckled darkly. "Oh, but you do. And I know you hate me too. But don't worry, I don't hold your hatred against us. It's justified, after all. And I bear no grudges," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Tears welled up in my eyes as a deep sense of despair washed over me. I felt utterly powerless, trapped in a cycle of abuse and manipulation. 

I shrank back and remained mute. My uncle's temper was scary, one minute he was happy and the next he was crazy.

"I will renovate the room and make it more girly for you."

"Okay, sir," I replied, biting my lower lips, when he touched my cheeks I felt cold shivers run down my spine. I wished he would just disappear. 

***************

My uncle had indeed transformed my grandfather's room, just as he had promised. The old furniture was replaced, the bed sheets changed, and even the wallpaper had been given a fresh coat. It wasn't a glamorous transformation, but at least it no longer carried the lingering scent of my grandfather's presence. Reluctantly, I moved into the room as my uncle commanded me to. It felt strange, yet strangely comforting, to finally have a bed of my own. However, that first night, sleep eluded me. Every creak of the floorboards and whisper of the wind outside made me believe that my grandfather's ghost was lurking, waiting to strangle me if I dared to close my eyes.

As the nights went by, I slowly started to find some semblance of peace in my new room. The fear began to recede, and I allowed myself to relax, even if only slightly. But just as I was starting to feel a glimmer of hope, my uncle paid me an unwelcome visit. I felt his icy hands on my face, jolting me awake in an instant.

"It's me, Uncle Sam. Don't scream," he whispered, his voice sounding strange, devoid of any warmth or familiarity. Before I could react, I watched as my uncle climbed the bed space beside me.

I froze when he touched me, and I pleaded with him, begging him to spare me.

"Uncle Sam, please don't," I pleaded, my voice trembling.

He ignored my pleas, his hands moving up my nightgown. I pushed him away with all my strength, desperate to fight back. But my resistance only seemed to fuel his anger. In a fit of rage, he slapped me across the cheek, causing me to bite down on my tongue, blood filling my mouth. I begged and cried, but he paid no attention to my pain or my pleas. He violated me once again, just as he had done before. Each night became a recurring nightmare, a cycle of pain and despair that I couldn't escape.

Eventually, I stopped caring, my spirit broken by the endless torment. My uncle had convinced me that he was doing me a favor, that no one else would want me. He had stripped away my self-worth, leaving me feeling utterly worthless and trapped.

"We're here," my uncle's voice snapped me back to reality, tearing me away from the haunting memories that plagued my mind.

"Where are we?" I asked, my heart pounding in my chest. The unease that had been building within me for the past month settled heavily in the pit of my stomach, and a sense of impending doom washed over me.

"You'll find out soon enough," he replied, opening the car door and motioning for me to get out. I wanted to refuse, to plead with him to take me back home, despite the pain and darkness that awaited me there. But the thought of the unknown, the uncertainty that lay ahead, filled me with a different kind of dread.

"Move faster, or I'll be forced to drag you," he shouted impatiently, urging me to keep up with his brisk pace. As we approached our destination, I noticed a sea of people moving in all directions. Anxiety coursed through my veins, and a fleeting thought crossed my mind. Maybe, just maybe, if I screamed, if I called out for help, someone would come to my rescue. But deep down, I had lost faith in humanity, resigned to the belief that my cries would fall on deaf ears.

We entered a grand hall filled with a group of men and a few women, all adorned in expensive attire. They exuded an air of wealth and power, a stark contrast to my own vulnerability. Before I could take in my surroundings further, my uncle ushered me into a room packed with other girls, all dressed like me. The atmosphere was heavy with silence, and no one dared to make eye contact or engage in conversation. We were instructed to wait until summoned, and a tall, imposing man with a rotund figure delivered the command.

I observed the tension radiating from the other girls in the room, fear that mirrored my own. The uncertainty gnawed at me, as I tried to push away the dark thoughts that clouded my mind. But a chilling realization began to take hold. Could it be that my uncle's intentions were even more sinister than I had feared?

As we were led out of the room and onto a platform, the tension reached its peak. I desperately hoped that my suspicions were wrong, that my uncle would step forward and declare it all a sick joke. But when our eyes met for a fleeting moment, I saw the sneer on his face, extinguishing any flicker of hope that remained within me. He raised his glass, taking a sip of his drink as if to toast to my impending fate.

The man who had brought us onto the platform began to attach numbered tags to our clothes. Confusion washed over me as I realized what the numbers signified. Before I could fully grasp the horrifying truth, a voice pierced through the heavy silence.

"Our bidding starts now. Number one, step forward," the voice announced, sending a shiver down my spine. The girl with the brunette hair, her eyes filled with tears, moved hesitantly to the front. She, like the rest of us, appeared malnourished and fragile.

"All the ladies here seem to be in poor condition. They're not worth much. I'll offer $50 for that one," a man from the elite group declared, his voice dripping with disdain.