Well, this is my first story. I'm sorry if the first part is a little gruesome. If you don't want to read it that's okay. I tried not to make it too explicit but you can skip to chapter 1 if you want! I decided to do this on a whim. Feedback is always appreciated!

"This is what I get for trusting you!" I choked out a scream as I struggled to grasp onto her shivering arms. "There was no other way," she whispered as she squirmed away from my clutch. Somewhere in the background, coins were clinking and handed from one to another. She promised she would never do this. That she could overcome her addiction. That we would be happy again. I struggled to free myself from my captor's grip but eventually surrendered. I became limp in the arms of this stranger who chuckled and slung me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing, which I almost did. I was already half-starved from never having enough to eat. My mother turned away from me, her body shaking from withdrawal. I was shackled up to some cold chains on a damp floor. "Why?" I asked myself as I became a ragdoll and my mind shut down. Staring at nothing, my eyes glazed over. I kept asking myself that question of why. A sizzling sound came from somewhere far off but I didn't realise what it was until the searing hot metal made contact with my skin. I scream out in excruciating agony and tears streamed down my face. Half from the pain, half from agony that the woman I loved, that I had trusted, betrayed me.

Everyone betrays you in the end. He did unspeakable things to me. Torturing me everyday until I was always on the brink of death. Everyone is evil. There is no good in the world. My constant companion became the crusted blood that dried on my body, the shackles on my ankles and the bitter iron covering my hands. "You're worthless. You shouldn't have been born," he would snarl in my ear. He spitted things that rattled around in my head. It went on so long that I began to believe in them. How long will this go on for? I became a hardened face, realising that my owner took pleasure in hearing me cry and scream from the pain. They get pleasure from a reaction. I eventually stopped using my vocal chords, never screaming but always crying and silently bawling from the agony. No one loves you. Your own mother didn't love you. One day, there was shouting and I heard the owner cuss as someone banged on a door somewhere far away. It was the so-called "good" coming to destroy evil. I smirked in my mind. My owner pulled out a gun and frowned as he shot me a couple of times, miffed at the prospect of losing his plaything. Blood staining my hands and stomach. Eyes wide open as I stared at the dark, damp ceiling. I was never loved. A tear rolled down the side of my face and dropped to the ground. My home of many years. A damp cellar somewhere that only God knows.