***Part One***
Word Count: 857

She heard the sound of the doors opening and cringed, backing into the corner of her 'room.' It was little more than a cell. There were even restraints on the bed. She hadn't had to be restrained for a long time, but when she first got here she'd struggled a lot. And been punished and restrained a lot. Eventually, she stopped struggling and the restraints got used less and less.

The struggle was long beaten out of her now. Lately, though, no matter what they did to her she didn't scar, didn't even keep any marks. It both frustrated and aroused her captors. What scars she had gotten before were gone, too. Even the tattoo they'd given her when she first got there was gone. She was, outwardly at least, a whole person again.

Inwardly, she doubted she'd ever be that way again.

She was hoping for a night's reprieve. Of course, if she got passed over that meant someone else was taking her place. Someone who couldn't take the punishment, the abuse, the debasement as well as she could. She'd learned to ignore it, to turn her thoughts to something other than where she was, who she had become, and what they did or had her do.

She'd been a little girl once. The apple of her dad's eye. Blonde and cute and chasing butterflies, blowing bubbles, and riding bicycles through the Texas streets. She had vague memories of that girl, and called upon them often. They kept her sane most of the time.

Numb.

Some would call her unfeeling, cold, uncaring. She was none of those things. She had a world of warmth in her. Of caring to give. She could feel more than her captors would ever know, because she stopped showing them what they wanted to see shortly after she'd gotten there.

At first she'd marked the days off on the wall. She's stopped that when one day had turned into ninety. No one was coming for her. Maybe it was because she was adopted, her dad didn't love her as much as her brother. That had sent her to bed with silent sobs more than once during her time here. Only in the beginning. She wasn't even sure she'd recognize him anymore. It seemed like it had been that long. For all she knew it hadn't been as long as it seemed.

She let out a breath she didn't even know she was holding as the man in the mask with the keys passed her room by. He smelled of leather, sex, and other body odors - none of which were pleasant.

Her body healed the pain, the soreness, and stiffness of the things they had her do. It did not, however, heal the humiliation. The fact that people took pleasure in her degradation and faux submissiveness.

She still had evidence in her hair from her last session. Cum, dried and flaking, started to smell after a while. She hadn't been allowed to rinse herself off, hadn't been allowed even to brush her hair. That certainly would have gotten some of it out.

She should be thankful, she supposed, that it was just her mouth and breasts that were manipulated and fucked. She wasn't sure why to this point she'd been spared penetration to other parts of her body. She thanked God every day that was the case. She took that as proof He was truly out there, even if on her best day her faith wavered as to why God would allow this end to befall her.

She wasn't even sure she knew what her real name was anymore. She'd been called so many during her stay here. None belonged to her, at least she didn't think so, but they got jumbled in her head so she couldn't be sure. Every once in a while they'd assign her one for the night that seemed familiar, but for all she knew it was one she'd had before. She never paid attention.

The girl taken away was relatively new. Considering she had no idea how much time had actually elapsed since she'd gotten here, new was relative. Her sobs could be heard down the hall and out the door. There was a new scent here now, too. Fear. And it didn't belong to the man with the mask. The sounds quieted only when the door slammed into place, blocking out any sound like a fortress.

There were other girls there with her. It was like a dormitory, or a prison cell depending on how you looked at it. No one talked very often, and when they did, it was never above a hush. Always afraid someone would hear them. Punish them. The threat was always there, alive in the air no matter if they were alone.

She didn't like talking, wasn't even sure she remembered how. Certainly none of her tasks included talking. To talk to them would be to put personalities and friendship with the faces of the other girls and women that were paraded past her room. No, she was better off thinking of them as nobodys, nothings.

Just like her.

Info. on icons used for background:
The non-illustrated icon is courtesy of lay-of-luthien @ LJ. She's got some nice work, and did this and 4 others very quickly! The illustrated icon is courtesy of: julietbunny who gave me this in addition to some other great goodies for the Heroes_Holidays Spring Hiatus project.

Story ©Susan Falk/APCKRFAN/PhantomRoses.com