The prompt

"They thought I'd forget. I remembered everything"

The smell that ate at my nose, painfully ripping through my face, drawing a sob to my lips. The sick sense of fear drawing through my body, gasping for me to move but left in stillness as I curled against the plastic seay. It was the one of the few seemed to feel stable in my life, joined by my throat screaming raw, begging for me to stop, but I couldn't it was the only thing I could truely feel, through the physical and emotion numb I had been forced to hold
I recounted my story, the pale man in the chair mumbles something I can't catch. He speaks in a voice, I can't even begin to understand. Although, his tone sounded like music trying to dub itself over my pounded ears. His calm dark brown eyes tried to smile at me. I decided I liked his face, not in a pretty way. He must of been pretty a long time ago, now age sunk into his cheeks drawing dark lines to his pale skin. I tried to focus on his face, the coarse lips that wobbled revealing yellowed teeth, as he spoke the poetic words. My vision bounced in sight, blurring in and out. He says something clearly this time.

"She's not doing well... maybe we should..." I hear him say, I don't know what it means but the words were anxious and worry, he was leaning to a metal pipe, I think. It looks too much like the metal pipes the men held. The angry ones, the ones screaming as they grab mother. I moan slightly, not liking the comparison I made. I pull myself back slamming my weak shoulder to the metal chair, flaring a fury of pain down my arm and chest. I can almost re-feel the rough hands take my shirt by again. The red hands that leave marks over my shirt, the red hands that smelt metallic and drove needles to my head. The hands they use to beat against my skull. They wanted me to forget, I wanted to forget.

I compress my eyes shut. Trying to pull myself from the chair, wrapping my arms around myself trying to cradle myself, trying to reenact Mothers touch, Mother's warmth. The ground is soft, or it tries to be. It was unlike the ground at home, the one that hurt my nose and skin and hurt my cuts. I missed that ground. I missed Mother. I sob, it hurts, I feel tears rolling down shaking my head, the cloth around my skin the nice people put on was rubbing off.

The man shouts.
"Sweetie! Please no your hurting yourself!" He shouts, that anger was unlike the men, but I didn't like it. I didn't like being here. I groan and scrap my chin up looking blurry eyes to a clear doorway. My hearts pounding, I find a smile taking my lips. Get out. Get out. There were no bonds taken to my hands and feet. I was free here, I pull myself up. Pain erupts to my body, screaming for me to leg go, begging but I do not want to. I pull my fist in, digging nails. My breathing slows quickly pulling against my chest. I whimper rolling my shoulders backwards. Get up, get up, get up and get out. Something grabs me.

The feeling boils through my skin spreading through my body, a warmth a soft warmth. This feeling gets closer as someone wraps arms around my skin softly whispering to me, soft trying to calm me. I want to fight, I want to scream. I try to struggle and throw him off, this only causes a slight bounce. He doesn't move. i can feel his scent move close to me. I close my eyes. He's going to hurt me. I do not want to see the red liquid any more. I do not want to see the pain anymore. No more. No more.

"Oh sweetie. It's fine, your not at home anymore. Your in a safe place." He says again, I whimper, why is he saying those words. I want to lean into his touch, the smell it was unlike home. Home smelt of dust and metal, home smelt like blood, it smelt of death. This place, this man smelt of something I did not know and I wanted more of it. Like a fusion of flowers from the happy place. Like sweeten chemicals of that white house. I grunted trying to pull away. But for the first time I felt safe.