The weak light from the window made the kitchen knife glimmer. She held onto it tightly, cursing her hand as it began to sweat. Sweaty palms, oh boy did she have them. Damn it! But it wasn’t just her hands. Her hair was drenched in sweat. Her night gown, the only thing that covered her naked body, clung to her skin because of her sweat. It was torn in many places and blood has dried in spots. Her busted lip ailed at the saltiness of her sweat, but the pain didn’t register to her. Adrenaline was pumping. She passed by the mirror and almost jumped at the sight of her reflection. It was the first time she saw herself after a long time. Busted lip. Blood. Patches of hair missing on her scalp. She was so thin her cheekbones protruded. Tears started to stream down her face. She can’t break down now, though she knew that this was all too much.

She has lost count of the days she’d been locked up in this house. Last night, Uncle Bob was his usual sadistic self—he didn’t care if she bled to death, he humped her like he has for what felt like an eternity. He pulled her hair so hard, but she ran out of tears to cry. She had an urge to scream like in the first few weeks, but she knew better now. No one has or will ever hear her. She remembered the first time her uncle went into her room, he punched her so hard she writhed in pain on the floor. She looked at Uncle Bob in the hopes that he would take pity on her, apparently he was even more aroused. What she saw in her eyes were anything but human. She’s been his slave ever since.

Every night, he left her battered body on the bed. Sometimes she cries. Often times, she was angry with the world, with God. Sometimes she sleeps in the shower with the water running over her all throughout the night. But most of the time she wishes she never moved here. The university where she got accepted was just a ride away from where her uncle lived, but maybe if her parents were alive, she’d have been advised better. Too late for that now. Too late for tears. Too late for regrets. She was a victim… unless, she chose to be a survivor.

Tonight, she decided that she was not taking anymore of this; she’d rather die fighting than endure this private hell she was in. It didn’t take her too long to notice Uncle Bob’s pattern and habits. She knew he kept the main doors’ keys in his bedroom. She knew the time he left and the time he returned. She waited on him to enter. It was easier than she thought. She waited behind the door and when he entered she, with every morsel of strength left in her, smashed the crystal vase on his head. She slowly checked for a pulse and when there was a faint sign, she ran to the kitchen to get a knife. When she got back to the room he was nowhere to be seen. The blood trail led her to trust that he went to his room. Shit. That’s where he kept the keys! Trying to produce as little sound as she could, she slowly walked towards his bedroom door which was oddly open. There was more blood on the floor now, indicating he slowed down at that point. He mustn’t be far. The marble floor felt cold as ice. Her heavy breathing rung through her ears, deafening. She waited for any sound that might suggest movement. There was none. She slowly crept in with her heart racing. The blood on the floor was now smudged, as if he dragged himself. In front of her, Uncle Bob lay motionless, the white carpet drinking his blood. She couldn’t be too careful, not after everything that has happened. This devil must be killed. With the fury and rage she had allowed to simmer inside of her, she ran towards Uncle Bob and stabbed him more times than she could count. Blood splattered everywhere. When exhaustion took her, she gave one final stab and left the knife sticking up.

The set of keys was on the bedside table when she grabbed it. She was about to run downstairs when she halted and took one last look at Uncle Bob’s lacerated body. She shifted her eyes to the knife, paused and then continued on her way to freedom, thanking it, the knife—the only thing that gave her the deliverance she thought was never going to be hers.