Silence For the Dead

by Simone St. James

Part of me knew I should be afraid. But when, at sixteen years old, you’ve been held down on the dirty linoleum by a man twice your size, the blade of a kitchen knife put in your mouth as he tells you to be quiet or he’ll cut out your tongue, something inside you shifts. It wasn’t courage—far from it.

You can’t pretend that sort of thing—that would be mad.” I said nothing, but I thought I saw Jack smile.

This house was a vampire, feeding on the pain, the insecurity, the despair of these men.

“If it will make you smile like that, I’ll hide in the loo and write a novel.”

“I’d brave all the fires of hell,” he said, “to see you naked.”

Omg

It seemed I would always be fighting with men, always wondering when they’d pin me down to get their way. Only Jack touched me with gentleness. And why would Jack ever love someone as worthless as I was?