𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐒

3. Squirrel

Hayat's POV:

My body jerked suddenly, snapping me out of the trance I was confined in throughout the ride. I didn't know when we reached the destination and how long I was lost in my thoughts, away from the cruelty of the present but in the misery of the past.

I was too scared to take a look around but did, nonetheless. And that was an horrible mistake of that day.

"Leave me alone. What did I do? W-why have you brought me here?"

My voice rang through my ears, leaving me restless and anxious. As if I could almost, almost feel, hear and see my 16-year self again, all bruised.....and broken.

"Get out. Do we need to escort you like a princess?" I turned my face to my left, realizing that the men were already out and only I was in the car, and they were waiting for me. I didn't want to go but I had no other option at the moment.

If I didn't step out of the car, they'd forcefully grab my arm and pull me out, and as someone not fond of anyone touching me without consent, wanted to ignore that prediction which would definitely come true if I did not obey as they said.

I struggled my way out with tied hands. I was sure I had the rashes on my wrists because of the tightness knotted on them. They just stood there watching me but were all too early to arrest my arms in their cold hands again, the same hands they used to kill and torture innocent people. Thinking that they were placed on my skin, that too with such intensity and harshness was proving my discomfort as I felt burns and shivers all over my body like an electric current.

In the scary darkness of evening, a vast open land unfolded in front of me as I let my eyes observe around, dominated by a solitary bungalow standing in the centre. The bungalow, an old yet imposing architecture sits amidst the landscape, fields stretching into the distance, and a few scattered trees adding eerie silhouettes against the wide darkening sky.

Its weathered exterior and dimly lit windows casted an ominous shadow growing in the darkness, amplifying the feeling of isolation and captivity for anyone brought there against their will. The sense of desolation and threatening aura is so palpable, enhancing the haunting atmosphere of this remote place.

This place hasn't changed much but only got more unnerving.

"Please, I didn't do anything. Let go of my hand!"

If I didn't know better, I would cry and beg them for my freedom just like how I did years back. But when I spent months with them, I was well aware of their brutality and craziness. They wouldn't, even if I was on the edge of death, they'd rather give me one more kick in my gut to make it a little more painful for me and a lot more exciting for them.

The two holding my hands pulled me along with them, while the baggy cloth guy and the one who drove the car followed behind. The anxiety hasn't left me since I stepped in the car, and it is only increasing more now that I'm slowly taking steps ahead and towards the bungalow.

The flashbacks of all the abuse and torture resurfaced, haunting my confidence and hope and engulfing me in a wave of helplessness and hypervigilance. I wanted to escape and seek safety, but no one here could be powerful and brave enough to provide me with that. They are all puppets of money and greed, drowned and dead in the destructive oceans of their desires, floating on the piles of corruption and crimes, cursed by the innocents and oppressed.

As the distance between me and the frightening structure of the rusted bungalow began to diminish slowly, I gazed up, my eyes falling on the only window with the presence of someone. In the dimly lit room, a silhouette stood against the illuminated windowpane, casting a stark contrast between the darkness outside and the warm glow emanating from within. The outline of his frame was obscure, but I could still make out who he was. I knew him, I know he lives here. And I know much more.