Chapter 79: Chapter 79

Chapter 79 I really missed it

My beautiful, broken guitar was no longer broken. The wood smelled fresh and new and it sounded wonderful. There was a little bit of scarring along the backside. It's a ridged line that will forever serve as a reminder of its rough past.

I hoped Dagger would be proud, and I wished to show it to him today. I had to sing tonight, and I was hoping I could use my guitar for the first time. I had been practicing the guitar again, and it feels good to have the feel of the strings under my fingers once more.

I really missed it.

I found Dagger in his office and I smiled as I approached him. I hid the guitar behind my back, and when he looked up, surprise crossed his face.

"Lily, what do you need?" He asks.

"Oh, nothing. I'm here because....I wanted to show you something." I reply.

His eyes widen when I reveal the mended guitar, and I set it down on the desk in front of him so he can examine it.

"I-I fixed my guitar."

"It's absolutely beautiful! The craftsmanship on this instrument is fantastic." He says, amazed as he runs his hands along the body of the guitar. "It looks almost like brand new!"

Dagger seemed to be excited and I smiled at his enthusiasm for instruments and music. He strummed my guitar a bit and seemed to be happy with the way it sounded.

"You did an amazing job on this task." He says as he turns the guitar over to examine the back.

"Oh, that's the part that couldn't be fixed. There's a little bit of a scar from where the guitar was mended back together to fix the hole." I tell him.

He nods in understanding and sets the guitar back on the desk. He looks up, his eyes twinkling and he smirks. "Now, here's the learning part. I want you to tell me what you have learned through this experience of repairing a damaged good."

"It was a challenge, I'll give it that. It taught me not to give up...." My voice trails off, unsure of where I'm going with this.

"Mhm. And?"

"Uhh..."

"This right here," Dagger says, tapping the guitar in front of him,"Was broken, seemingly beyond repair, correct?"

"Yes."

"But yet, it was restored. It's now a beautiful instrument that can produce equally as beautiful music. However, it is still imperfect. A scar remains, reminding all of its broken past. How can that be applied to your life?" He questions me, a serious look growing in his eyes.

"To me....?"

"To you."

I think for a moment.

Only then, do I finally understand.

"The guitar is like me. It is like me because it was damaged, broken, seemingly to the point past saving." I whisper.

He nods. "You are like that guitar you repaired. You see, all damaged things can be restored not to perfection, because perfection is impossible in this world full of flaws. Damaged things can be restored to healing, relief, and beauty."

I look down, my hands clenched tightly in my lap. I feel ashamed of myself as he tells me these words. These words are truth, but why can't I believe them?

"I know you think of yourself as permanently broken. But you're not, Lily. You're not, and just like your guitar, you can be repaired. You can find healing. Your own guilt is what is keeping you from healing. You torture yourself with your own emotions, believing you deserve this pain, but you don't. You simply don't."

I try my best to hold back the tears and I bite my lip. "Y-you don't understand-"

"You're right. I don't. I don't understand or know exactly what you've been through. But that doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because I-I know how you think, and I know the truth. My wife, she was....she was just like you and I can't let another one slip through my fingers, not when I can help it." He says, his voice cracking.

I look up into his eyes and I see pain. My heart clenches. "Wife?" I question.

He nods. "My wife. She grew up in an abusive household and when she finally became an adult, she was relieved. She found a boyfriend, wanting to start a life she missed out on. The boyfriend was abusive, and she slipped back into her self loathing ways."

"Y-you don't have to tell me." I say, fearing the worst.

"No, it's alright, I want to tell you. My wife was beaten until she believed she was worthless, until she was broken. Then I met her at the bar she worked at, and....and we clicked. I quickly found out about her abusive past and when she finally got out of her abusive relationship, I noticed the deep mental scars that she carried from a life time of abuse."

He looks down at his hands, unable to hold my gaze any longer. "She believed she was worthless and broken. She was like you....she believed she could never be restored. She slipped into depression, for days she didn't speak to me. I watched her fade away. I tried to get her help but nothing worked. It was a rainy, dark day when I found her dead in our room."

"Oh god." I whisper. He must be so traumatized, I can't even imagine.

But he doesn't stop. "She had found my gun and shot herself. I held her in my arms, her blood was everywhere. By the time the ambulance arrived, it was too late, she was gone." He says numbly. His eyes were watery.

"I'm so sorry, that's horrible. I-I don't know what to say...."

"You don't need to say anything. I'm just....I can't let anyone else meet her same end. I just couldn't bare it. Please listen to me when I tell you that anyone can be repaired. Scars will still remain, but healing can begin and shame can be eradicated." He says, sounding absolutely desperate.

Silence passes between us and I nod, agreeing with Dagger. "Okay. Okay, I believe you. I believe you now, and I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry about your wife."

"Thank you for your condolences, I appreciate them. But don't just listen to my words, but put them in action by taking them to heart."

"I will. Trust me, I will. And thank you, I know pouring your heart out isn't easy no matter what circumstances."

Maybe Dagger is right. His words cut deep and have caused me to think. As I walk out of his office with my guitar in hand, I glance down at it. Maybe he is right.

Maybe I'm not a broken mess like I think I am.

* * *

The hot water heater kept failing to work at my new home, and I waited patiently for fifteen minutes for the water of the sink to finally get slightly warm.

The heaters were also defective, but luckily, I have a nice bed and several blankets to keep me warm. With the extra money going towards necessities like blankets and warmer clothes, life has gotten easier and I'm more than thankful for that.

The temperatures have been an average of twelve degrees Fahrenheit, so I'm thankful that I'm not outside in the frosty, bitter winter's air.

I hug my jacket tighter around my body as I finish up cleaning my plate from dinner. Most nights, I hear several gunshots going off and it always worries me. What if that was Colton?

I don't know why I'm always so concerned about that man, it's not like I have any feelings for him, right? I haven't had feelings for a guy since my ex, and I remember those feelings as warm, and giving me a joyful mood.

But now? Now I don't even know what love is. My time being used as a sex slave distorted the way I once viewed love. I don't know if my feelings are legit or if they're not anymore.

Sex trafficking messed with my psychologically, having people tell me they loved me as they beat me.

I remember several incidences throughout my time as a sex slave in the trafficking world.

"I'm only doing this because I love you." My rapists would tell me as I cried naked, beaten and alone in the cold corners of the room.

"I'm only doing this to you because I love you." My traffickers would tell me as they burned me with a hot iron and beat me with chains.

"You mean a lot to me, that's why I'm going to reward you tonight with my love." One man had told me before he brutally beat me and raped me.

Love. Love. Love. What is love? I've lost the meaning of love long ago. Is it a feeling? Or is it just a mere word used to lure the vulnerable in and use them?

The scary thing is that I don't even know anymore.

I don't even know anymore.

I let out a sigh and I flip off the kitchen lights. I find a blanket and I wrap it around myself, tying it in the front like some sort of a cape. The lights in the ceiling are old and dim, and the sun has nearly sunken completely, making my world become darker.

I was sitting curled up on the couch watching the tiny, black box TV that looked to be around fifty years old. I had just managed to fix the antennas on the top the right direction so that I had better quality TV when someone started banging on my door loudly.

I fell off the couch with a startled yelp. Who would be at my door right now? I think to myself.

I grab the broom in the corner of the room and hesitantly creep towards the door. Peeking through the peephole, I see a man dressed in a black jacket as well as dark colored jeans.

I open the door open seeing who it is.

Right when the door opens, he barges in. His hood is drawn over his head and his face shows no emotion whatsoever.

"You can't just come in uninvited-"

"Where the fuck is the necklace?" He asks, suddenly turning around. I gasp when I see that his face is twisted in anger.

"Necklace? W-what are you talking about?"

He stalks towards me like a predator and grips the collar of my shirt and shakes me. "My necklace! The only good part of me, it's gone, you fucking took it!"

His breath is hot in my face and his anger is enough to cause me to spiral into petrifying fear.

"C-Colton," I whine, grasping his fists, "Let me g-go, you're scaring me."

"No! I knew I couldn't trust you! I'm so fucking stupid, I should've known not to let anyone in, I-I..." He screams in my face, seething with rage as his fingers dig into my skin harder.

I feel myself shaking as terrifying flashbacks courses through my mind, and my eyes water.

His eyes bore into mine and his breathing is hard as he searches my eyes. "You're h-hurting me." I choke weakly, begging him with my watery eyes to let go of me.

He widens his eyes in shock and he releases me. I scurry back into the wall, trying to shrink against it, trying to make myself smaller. He's just like them. He's just like them. My lip starts to quiver and I try to hide from his gaze. All men are the same. All men are the same.

When he sees the mental state that I'm in, he starts to approach me cautiously and runs a hand through his hair in frustration. "Fuck, I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"N-no, don't touch me! Get away from me!" I screech, cowering in fear. Don't hit me. Please don't hit me.

"Please Lily, I didn't mean to do it, I-I lost myself in my anger." He pleads with desperate eyes and he looks like he hates himself to the core.

"Just go, please." I beg through my hands as I curl up against the wall. I hate sounding so weak, so pathetic, but I can't help myself. Not when I saw a trace of them in his cold eyes.

He hesitates, standing there for a moment, looking down at me with sad, calculating eyes.

"Please C-Colton." I beg through tears. I'm shaking and I don't want him to be here when I have a panic attack.

His Adam's Apple bobs in his throat and he looks at the ground, clearly ashamed of what he has done. Silently, he turns and leaves the room, gently shutting the door behind him.

The moment the door clicks shut, I cry. My tears wet my cheeks and neck and I wipe them away with the blanket. Breathing becomes difficult and it feels like my throat has closed up and the walls are caving in.

Colton triggered my panic attack.