The White Room

I was only ever allowed in two rooms: the clean white room and the tiny bathroom attached. White walls, white ceiling, white floor, white everything. It was too bright; nothing was keeping the brightness out. I was exposed everywhere. It was as if the white room made me the center of attention. There was nowhere to hide in that room. The bed was just a simple mattress on the floor, no blanket, no pillow. Nothing to hide with. 

The only way to keep track of the days was if the lights went on or off. When the lights turned off it was night and when they came back on it was day. Pretty simple. By day twenty-three I started to have a hard time remembering how long I had been trapped in the white room. Funny considering that I didn't have anything else to occupy my mind except for the occasional visit from him. By day twenty-five I got the brilliant idea of how I would keep track of the days. 

I'd do it with my blood. 

Punching the wall was the hard part. My hands screamed at me, begging me to stop. I kept going though. Over and over again until the blood started flowing. The blood dripped down my hand – the red, it was so different than the white I had become so accustomed to. It never occurred to me how much I missed the color red. Slowly I dabbed at the blood and drew careful tally marks on the wall until there were twenty-five staring back at me. 

I sat slowly down on my "bed" and stared at the wall. All the red, big and bold against that damn white wall. I couldn't help but smile at that wall. I did this, I finally made a change for myself. I have some sort of control in this room. He isn't the one that controls everything now. He can't take this away from me. He can never take my blood away from me. 

I don't know how much time passed before the lights went out for the night. An hour? Three? I never know in this white room. I went to sleep that night with a smile on my face. For the first time in twenty-five days, I'd smiled. 

When I woke the wall with my blood was still there. It wasn't a dream, it really happened. I glanced down at my hands. They were covered in bruises, nothing that I didn't expect. I walked over to my wall, running my hands across it, smiling to myself before I got to work on adding the next mark. Day twenty-six had joined the rest of its family. I wonder what my mom would say if she saw this. Maybe she would be proud that I was taking control in this damn white room, but she’d probably just be sad that it involved hurting myself. She’s looking for me. I know it. No matter how much we fight I know that she would never let me suffer in this goddamn room with this monster coming for one of his little visits every day. 

Just as the thought passed my mind, he came walking into the room. The door clicked shut behind him, shutting away any hope of freedom. I held my hands behind my back, hoping that somehow he wouldn’t notice them or my wall. I studied my bare feet, waiting for this nightmare to end. My pinkie toe still had a little bit of pink nail polish on it, wonder when I’ll get to paint my nails again. I was determined to continue you staring at the floor, I would not look at him. 

“Still playing hard to get baby girl?”, I did everything not to flinch at the sound of his voice. 

I glanced up at him, quickly just to make sure he wasn’t looking at my wall, “Don’t call me that” 

I could hear him set something down on the ground, more than likely my daily ration of food, then he started to walk away. Right before I heard the door click, he spoke to me. Barely audible but just enough that he knew I heard him, “I like the wall love’. I was left alone again in this damn white room, this time with a simple peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The perfect meal for the trapped girl. I wish I could say that I was strong enough to pass up the food, to make some sort of protest on my own saying that he can’t control me. I’m not strong enough to pass it up though, I needed that food. I needed it if I had any chance at fighting for my life at all and honestly, I’m hungry. 

A few more days passed, more marks were added to my wall. He would visit me some days to try and get me to talk but he never mentioned my wall again. Maybe I just thought that he said it? Maybe I'm going crazy? I've been in here for almost thirty days, it's very possible that I have gone completely insane. Yet I have never once cried, not even when he first took me. I didn't cry the first time he touched me. I will get out of here without crying. 

The days began to blur together. Thirty days turned into sixty days, the next thing I knew it was my birthday. Interesting to know I was spending my seventeenth birthday in this hell hole. I wonder if my mom was still looking for me? Do they think I'm dead? Sixty days is a long time. 

The days kept passing until my wall hand turned into a full year of marks. I was starting to lose hope that my mom would ever find me, that anyone would ever know I was trapped in this white room with no escape. Nobody was going to find me.

Every day was the same thing, I added a new mark to my wall and ate my food. Some days that monster would do god-awful things to me, other days he left me alone. 

Day 562 I walked into the small bathroom to take a shower, scrubbing my body hoping to scrub his touch off of me. He was rough today, he seemed so angry, like something besides my existence was bothering him? I finally immerged from the shower, falling right onto my mattress, suddenly exhaustion taking over me. As my eyes started to close, I noticed my wall was gone. 

That's when it finally happened. I let out a scream. Tears were streaming down my face and I finally screamed. I screamed for help and kept screaming until my throat was raw. Even after that, I kept screaming, even when no sound was coming out. 

Surprisingly the day that I finally broke down and cried was the day that someone found me. A little girl came into the room, maybe four years old, and asked me why I was screaming.

*THIS IS THE END OF THE STORY! I WANTED TO LEAVE IT UP TO THE READER WHAT HAPPENS NEXT.*