“In the midway of this our mortal life, I found me in a gloomy wood, astray"

The house was filled with music. The radiant String Quartet in A minor by Brahms was playing as if life has chosen it as the soundtrack for what was happening in that house. From distance, one would have imagined that whoever lived there had an affinity for classics but as you passed the entrance and walked up the stairs to the first floor; as you passed the corridor and turned to the right, you could see a door cracked open and through that opening, you could see the horrors of reality.

“Please! Let me go!”

Iwan was a 12 years old boy, a child that has been raised in a rich family with his younger sister. He wanted what every child his age was craving for: attachment.

“Please! I swear I’ll be good!” The boy cried louder, his face red as tears dripped down his cheeks.

“I’m afraid that’s not enough, Iwan. You have been a very bad boy and almost cost me a client. How can you expect me to praise you and protect you when you bite my hand?”

The man spoke into a tone that might have fooled some people. He sounded like he truly cared for the boy but taking a glimpse over his shoulder, at Iwan’s figure, that thought vanished.

Iwan was chained to a radiator that was turned on. The room had nothing in it and the only window was shut down and blocked with wood.

“Be a good boy and fulfill your punishment. We’ll see how you can make it up later.” The man chuckled darkly and left the room, locking it behind.

Iwan was left by himself, chained like a dog with nothing to eat and nothing to drink. He was dressed in the same clothes he has been brought in and they were getting worn out. The boy cried silently until he felt the radiator getting so hot that it burned the tip of his fingers. He looked around and realized the room was his incubator and he might as well suffocate if it were to get too hot.

Outside, another girl was screaming, biting and screeching, doing her best to get out of the man’s grasp.

“Be nice Lauren! This friend of mine only wants to play a game with you!” The same man said with a dazzling smile.

Zoe was standing aside, watching with terror as her young friend was more or less being dragged upstairs. She was frozen, completely absent-minded and with no desire to help or intrude into whatever was going to happen.

The man turned to Zoe and his eyes glistened under the artificial light.

“It’s alright, Zoe. I’ll be your partner tonight. Wait for me here.”

Those words struck deeply into the girl and she jolted out of reflex. That man was not the devil; not even a demon could be as vile as that human being. He was rotten to the core and he was staining them and their innocence.

Lauren’s screams were muffled by the music. Zoe followed the man into the hall and stopped in the door frame. Her eyes focused on the stereo and her attention was fully drawn by the music. Everything seemed to fade into the distance as if it was all a dream. There was only her in an empty space with music flowing around. It was magical and the spell broke once heavy steps came down the stairs.

The man smiled and eyes narrowed mischievously as he made his way to the girl. Zoe’s sight broadened and she saw him; she saw exactly what he was: a monster. Her whole body started to tremble as she moved back into the room. The man closed the door and a loud scream left Zoe’s mouth.

The same scream of panic was heard in the morning. Thirty years old Zoe opened her eyes and felt the urge to throw up. The brunette hurried out of bed and into the bathroom where she spilled the content of her stomach into the toilet.

Once that was done and she could breathe again, she leaned against the sink and started to cry.

“I can’t find happiness in anything and anyone. I feel my heart beating and I wonder why I am alive.”

It was no surprise that Zoe was in the need of a counselor. She was so damaged that she felt she should rely on someone else, someone who wouldn’t get personally involved: a therapist.

Doctor Elena Saunders has been there through her mood swings and she was allowed to prescribe painkillers and sleeping pills which Zoe wanted more than anything.

“You don’t need to go through this alone. You told me before there were two more children that went through the same traumatic events. Do you see them or talk to them often?” Doctor Saunders asked softly, knowing how Zoe could get very agitated.

“We all came from different families with different social statuses but we were alike in one thing: we were craving for attention. A hug, a kiss on the forehead, even a soft look would have been enough.” started the woman, glancing at the therapist from the corner of her eye, “I had two older brothers. My mother never bought me anything ever. Even my clothes were boyish and worn out. They’d go down from my older brother to the middle brother and eventually, to me. Iwan was a brat. He ran away from home and got into what was to become hell for us. Lauren came a week after me. We all willingly entered that house...”

She sighed and looked down at hands.

“One night he told us to go upstairs and enter through particular doors. Men were waiting inside each of them. Lauren cried so loud that I could hear her clearly, Iwan tried to bear it like a man and me...I couldn’t even move. That man, he told me I’m pretty, he told me that my eyes were sparkling, he said I was such a good girl,” Zoe’s eyes were filling up with tears as she remembered. She could literally see him in front of her; see only up to his neck because the light was right behind his head. “He kissed my lips, he kissed my neck, down my chest and-”she stopped, the memory growing vivid in her mind.

Doctor Saunders watched with a frown. There was so much pain behind those brown eyes, terrible and unforgettable.

“How did you escape?” she asked meekly.

“He liked me for some reason. While I kept him busy, Iwan sneaked up to his room and grabbed the keys to his car. We tried before to send letters through the postman but they’d always come back. Once I heard the door opening, I closed my eyes and the next sight I witnessed was a man lying on the floor with blood dripping from his head. Iwan struck him with a can. We ran like never before. We were children but we had seen how a car was driven. Iwan tried...he lost control and he hit another. We entered the hospital and that was it...”

“Did they catch him?”

“No.” She said coldly while her eyes darkened. “They never caught him and never will. He is a beloved citizen, with a perfect family and a perfect record.”

“Is that why you don’t trust the police?” The therapist asked warily.

“I trust a schizophrenic more than I trust an official.” She admitted with a look of utter disgust for the men that should have protected them. “Every time they get involved, a peaceful protest becomes a tragedy. Just because people of all colours use the BlackLivesMatter hashtag does not mean black people do not still drive their cars with the fear that they could be pulled over by a 'good officer', it doesn't mean they can peacefully wait in line at Starbucks and not have someone call the cops on them just for being 'suspicious' or even have the same basic human being rights. Racism is still very much alive and not even children are passed. Believe me, doctor, children can be very mean. I had seen it happening and it's getting more and more frequent.”

It was clear for Doctor Saunders that Zoe had had very bad experiences with the American society and after her childhood trauma, her life became a constant struggle to accept the unfairness of the world.

“People enjoy commonness, although very few recognize it. When a minority rises and demands their rights, society fights back using the authoritarian power. Protesting online is the only way that modern people have in their favour...it did not exist when you were a child but it does now. Our views are expanding, life of all kinds matters and people fight back oppression."

“And yet nothing changes. Or if it does, it's just so small. At the level of the individual, when it comes to accepting diversity, the change is insignificant.” Zoe answered in the same bitter tone. It almost sounded like she gave up fighting and was now just resenting the rules of the social norm.

“What about the others? Start with the professor.” Doctor Saunders returned to the problem at hand subtly.

“Iwan cannot sleep without the help of medication. He is allowed to use the calming capacities of marijuana even if he is a professor of classic art. Lauren and I owe him a lot. Every time we’d get the feeling that people upstairs were overboard, he’d volunteer to take our place.” Zoe said, remembering one particularly bad day.

Iwan’s clothes were torn apart, his black hair was missing in certain spots on his head and he had many bruises on his arms and legs. Unconsciously, her eyes moved on his back where she knew he had a humongous scar.

“Shut up and move aside, boy!” The man screamed, pushing the boy aside harshly.

He was young and wounded but the boy got on his feet right away and moved between the man and the little girl.

“I’m not going to warn you again, Iwan! Move aside or you will take her place upstairs!”

Zoe felt a shiver go down her spine when the adult smirked at young Iwan with an evil glint in his eyes. She moved closer to the window and placed her hands on it so she could see as much as possible.

“No! Leave her alone. I will go in her place.” The boy was brave but he regretted those words as soon as they got out of his mouth.

The adult chuckled and agreed, leaving the two alone. The boy turned to the girl and hugged her tightly.

“I’m sorry, Iwan. They’re going to-“ She whimpered, not having enough energy to finish her sentence.

“Shh. It’s alright. I promised I will keep you and Lory safe. It’s fine as long as you two don’t get upstairs.” He mumbled softly, rubbing her hair gently as she continued to cry in his arms.

“Tell me more about the abuser. It is important to talk about him, even if I know it brings back terrible memories. But please, make an effort.” Doctor Saunder said, crossing one leg over the other. Zoe was reluctant but she gave in when the therapist added, “Do it for young Zoe. She needs to know it is safe to admit to all the pain she went through. She needs to know that we live in a world where she can find a safe place.”

“Can we, though? All these hashtags are not to empower victims. They exist in order to give this illusion that victims can confront their abusers. But do you know what happens then? Nothing. Children get terrified because pedophiles are still free, wives still suffer in silence and a majority of other women and men are still looking over their shoulder when they walk on the street. All that fuss over the MeToo movement did not help the community; it only endangered the abusers that exist in the headlight. Life is a constant struggle for women, doctor. It will never stop being so with an online petition, a movement that happens only in big cities in well-developed countries and definitely not when there is still nepotism in every domain. We are still living in a world dominated by men.”

As Zoe drew a deep breath in and leaned back, Doctor Saunders’ mask fell. She looked to be more involved now that she knew what Zoe’s stand was in this problematic society.

“Do you feel so angry and irritated because they never caught your abuser?”

Zoe raised an eyebrow and mimicked the doctor’s position.

“I never told you how Lauren moved on, did I? Well, she didn’t. She couldn’t trust this filthy society anymore so she decided to remain in an asylum. If you visit her you see a perfectly capable woman, one that could have graduated high school and then go to university, get a job, marry, have children and live an overly happy life.”

“Then why doesn’t she?”

“It’s not that she cannot get out of here but that she doesn’t want to. She is afraid. He is still out there and that idea gives her severe panic attacks.”

Doctor Saunders sighed and placed her notebook and pen on the short table that separated the therapist’ armchair from the patient’s couch.

“Alright then, I think we can stop here for today but let me give you a quote that had helped me before and I’m sure will give you something to ponder on until our next meeting. The man who is alone, who stands on his own feet, who is stripped bare, who asks for nothing and wants nothing, who has reached the apex of disinterestedness not through blind renunciation but through excess of clear vision, turns to the world which stretches out before him as a burned prairie, as a devastated city —a world in which no churches, asylums, refuges, ideals, are left—and says: “Though you promise me nothing I am still with you, I am still an atom of your energies, my work is part of your work; I am your companion and your mirror as you march on your merciless way. Giovanni Papini, An Ending Man. Read it when you have the time.”