Shadows In Durango

*****Sofia's POV*****

I stare over at the clothes Ashton had left for me on the bathroom counter, bile rising up in my throat as I try to swallow down the wave of disgust.

The red underwear looks cheap, flimsy and see through nothing like anything I'd ever choose for myself. It feels like another layer of control, another way for him to make me feel trapped down here under his rules. He'd actually gone to a store and picked these out for me, like he had every right to decide what I should wear all the way down to my underwear... completely vile!

I force myself to look away, taking a deep breath as I peel off the filthy clothes I had been wearing, what I could only guess how many hours for.

Every movement feels like an effort, my body aching with exhaustion and fear. My hands shake as I reach for the shower handle, twisting it until the water begins to rush out in a harsh, steady stream.

I was thankful for the water to be somewhat warm at least, since I had expected the bare minimum of ice cold pelts to beat down against my raw skin.

I better just get this shower over with as quickly as I can before he comes back... I'm not giving him the satisfaction of seeing me naked!

There wasn't a lock on the bathroom door either, another tactical move on his part to stop me from hiding away from him.

He was sick.

He was most definitely deemed a psychopath in my eyes at this rate, having thought of each and every small detail to help trap me down here for as long as his sick mind wanted to.

I seethe through my teeth as the water stings against my skin as I step under it, but I don't care. I need to wash it all away - Ashton's touch, the fear, the dirt of this place clinging to me like it's soaking into my very bones.

But as soon as the water cascades over my scalp, I feel a sharp throb of pain, the ache radiating through my head like a dull, pounding drum as I yelp at the pain.

I reach up to my hair and freeze, my fingers coming away sticky and dark. My heart lurches in my chest as I tilt my head downward, watching in horror as the water begins to swirl red at my feet, blood mixing with the water as it spirals down the drain.

I gasp, my legs suddenly weak beneath me. How much blood have I lost? How bad are my wounds?

I should probably see a doctor for this!

It's the first real sign of what Ashton has done to me, the physical proof of the violence he had inflicted so far and the reality of it knocks the air from my lungs.

Forcing myself to push through the nausea, I gingerly scrub at my scalp, trying to cleanse the dried blood and grime without triggering more pain. I wince with every stroke, feeling the raw patches where my head must have been hit time and time again.

The water around me is running clearer now, but I still feel dirty, no matter how many times I scrub. I could stand here all day, and I don't think I'd ever feel clean again...

Knowing that I didn't have long, when the water finally runs clear, I shut it off and step out of the shower, my body shivering from the exhaustion and shock.

The cold air hits me, and I shiver again, but I can't bring myself to care. I grab the stained towel hanging on the back of the door and wrap it around me, feeling its roughness against my raw skin.

I catch my reflection in the tiny wall mounted mirror, the glass fogged from the steam, and for a second, I don't recognise the person staring back at me. My face is pale, my eyes hollow, and there's a dark bruise forming along my cheek where Ashton must have caught me earlier with the slap.

I turn away quickly, refusing to let myself break down again. I've already wasted too much of my time crying.

There's a pink toothbrush laid out on the sink, and I grab it with shaky hands, spreading a glob of toothpaste on the bristles before shoving it into my mouth.

The minty taste is sharp and overwhelming, a strange contrast to the staleness that's been lingering in the air down here.

I scrub harder than I need to, almost desperate to erase the past few hours from my memory. My gums sting, but I keep going, brushing until the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth.

I spit out into the sink, watching the pink-tinged foam swirl down the drain like the blood from my scalp earlier. The sight makes my stomach churn, but I don't stop. I brush again, harder, until the bristles are rough against my swollen gums, until the pain numbs the rest of me.

Only when the taste of blood overwhelms the mint do I stop, letting the toothbrush clatter down into the sink without care.

I wipe my mouth and turn back towards the clothes that still waited for me on the counter. The underwear sits there in mockery, nasty and cheap, and I have to force myself to pick it up.

It's scratchy against my skin, making me feel more exposed than if I'd stayed naked. Every inch of me recoils as I slip it on, the fabric grating against my bruised body like sandpaper.

The nightdress Ashton left for me is black and silky, the kind of thing I'd never wear on my own. It clings to me as I pull it over my head, the cold fabric sliding down my body, a stark contrast to the cheap lace beneath it.

It's meant to look elegant, I suppose, but all it does is make me feel like I've been dressed for someone else's pleasure - which I most definitely was.

I look at myself in the mirror again, my skin pale beneath the dark silk, and I instantly feel sick. This isn't me. This isn't who I am. I'm not some broken doll to be dressed up and played with.

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But right now, I have no choice but to just play along.

I sink down on to the floor, pulling my knees to my chest, and close my eyes, trying to block out the reality of what was happening to me.

He's going to come back down...

He's going to try and take more from me this time...

So what will I do?!

The fear is still there, gnawing at the edges of my mind, whispering that I'm trapped, that there's nothing I can do. That Ashton will come back down here, push me onto that bed, and take whatever he wants from me. The thought alone makes my stomach knot and my heart race faster in terror.

But no. I won't just let that happen. I won't give him the satisfaction.

I have to fight back.

The thought is like a flicker of light in the overwhelming darkness. It starts small, but the more I focus on it, the stronger it grows.

Fight.

Not just for me, but for everything that was taken from me since my mother died. From him, from my father, from my brothers. They've ruined me thus far, and I won't let him take another piece of my soul!

I push myself up off the floor, my legs weak, my body sore, but I force myself to stand. The nightdress clings to me uncomfortably, but I ignore it. I can't focus on how I look or feel right now.

I just need to survive.

My eyes scan the room again, searching for anything that I could use to defend myself. If he comes back down here and tries something, I need to be ready.

My heart hammers in my chest as I walk over to the dresser against the wall, yanking open the drawers one by one to make a start.

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Most of them are empty, but I hear something rattle in the last one before I find a metal hairpin towards the back, sharp enough to draw blood if pressed in hard enough. It's not much, but it's something...

I clutch it in my hand, feeling the cold metal against my skin.

I move to the bed next, crouching down to check underneath. It's mostly dusty, but I spot a metal bar on one of the broken bed slats hanging down ever so slightly.

With some effort, I manage to pry it loose. It's about a foot long, not exactly a weapon, but solid enough to give me some kind of advantage if things escalate.

A grim determination settles over me as I grip the bar in one hand, the hairpin in the other. I have no illusions about how dangerous Ashton is, or how much stronger he is than me, but I can't just sit here and wait for him to come down and strip away what little I have left.

I have to be ready.

My mind races, playing out scenarios, each more terrifying than the last. If he comes at me, I'll aim for his eyes, his throat - somewhere vulnerable. If he tries to overpower me, I'll scratch, kick, bite - anything to make sure he knows I won't go down without a fight.

The fear is still there, but it feels different now - sharper, more focused. It's not paralyzing me like it was before.

Now, it's fueling me.

I don't know if I'll ever survive this, but if I'm going down, I'm going down fighting him.

He doesn't deserve to win.

I hide the weapons under the pillow, easy for me to get to but keeping them covered, before I pace the basement, my body tense, waiting for the sound of his footsteps, for the jingle of his keys. Every second feels like an eternity, the silence only amplifying the pounding of my heart.

But I won't be the same girl who crumbled under his questions, under his threats. Not anymore.

He's coming back, and when he does, I'll have to fight.