That’s all I feel for months.
No love, no sadness, not even worry. It’s just pain.
I’ve been stuck in this dark, dank cellar for almost a year. My diet consists of leftovers ( from my captors dinner parties), old bread and rats. Delicious.
I live here because I ran. I ran far away from my problems, only to run into something more serious. It’s the rats that sustain me here. They are meat and bone, simple as that. I have to share with David, because he lives down here too. He’s only been here for a month, poor kid. He’s just turned 14, so I give him a lot of my food and drink. I may be bigger but I’m fully developed, and he’s just barely a teen. Sometimes, if I’m lucky, I get to come out of the cellar, and I am temporarily elated. That quickly vanishes, when I am brought into the dining room to be partially mauled. Almost all of my body is covered in scars and gaping holes where flesh is supposed to be and I’m used to it. If I don’t cry out I get my session cut short. It’s simple really, because if you bite your lip and pretend that the pain isn’t an actual feeling, it’s slightly less painful. I taught David this trick, right before his turn, and his is already short because he is small and he is new. As time goes by the time for torture gets stretched out, and sometimes they just let you lie on the floor for an hour and then continue out of nowhere.
You see, I live in hell.
My personal hell anyways.
It’s called Malfoy Manor