chapter 5

The night after her father first forced her to be with strangers, Ariana lay on her bed, trembling. Her body felt heavy, every limb stiff with exhaustion, and her stomach churned from hunger and dread. She could still feel the lingering shame, the cold unfamiliar hands, the whispered commands that stripped her of her dignity.

“You think you’re smart?” her father had slurred earlier, the alcohol thick in his voice. “This is how it has to be. You will earn your keep.”

Ariana pressed her face into her pillow, wishing she could disappear, wishing that the walls around her would swallow her whole. Sleep had become a stranger, replaced by nightmares of what had happened, of what would come next.

The days that followed merged into one long, dark routine. Her father would stagger in after drinking and pull her out again, forcing her into humiliating situations she had no choice over. Even when he wasn’t drunk, he found new ways to punish her.

Her mother remained silent, a cold observer, while her sister Evelyn would smirk, enjoying the power she held over Ariana. And then there was her brother, who always seemed to exist in another world. He would sit quietly in the corner, books spread out in front of him, headphones in, pretending not to notice the tension in the room. He didn’t defend her, nor did he take sides—he simply kept to himself, neutral and distant, as if the world around him had nothing to do with him. Ariana sometimes wished he would speak up, even once, but he never did.

One night, her father’s drinking led to another trip. His anger and alcohol mixed into a cruel storm:

“You’re useless! You’ll do as I say, or you’ll regret it!”

Ariana’s stomach twisted with fear, but she had learned over the past week how to survive: small movements, quiet words, careful breathing. She told herself to become invisible, to let the moments pass like water over stone.

“Maybe if you do as I say… if you obey, you’ll finally be useful,” he slurred, waving a hand toward the car.

She left without a word. Her brother was at the table, head down, scribbling notes in a textbook, oblivious—or purposefully avoiding—her terror. Ariana wondered if he even understood what was happening. Did he care? Would he ever? She pushed the thoughts aside; survival was more important than anger.

At school, she hid the bruises beneath long sleeves and learned to smile on cue. Daniel no longer asked how she felt. Lena, once her friend, kept her distance. Ariana’s only comfort came from small, secret acts: scribbling in her journal during lunch, noting every detail of her fear, her pain, and her resolve to survive.

“I can’t let him take me completely,” Ariana whispered one night, clutching the notebook to her chest. “They can take my body… but not my soul.”

Even as the routine continued, each night blending into the next, Ariana began to anticipate the trips, brace herself, and endure. She learned the smallest ways to survive: careful observation, quiet compliance, and moments of self-talk that reminded her she was more than the abuse.

Her brother remained distant, a shadow in the corner of her life. He didn’t comfort her, didn’t intervene, but he wasn’t cruel either. Neutrality, she realized, was still better than betrayal. And in a strange, painful way, it allowed her to cling to the hope that she was not entirely alone in spirit—she still had herself.

That spark, fragile yet persistent, was the only light she had in the darkness. And though the nights continued to be filled with fear and humiliation, Ariana held onto one thought with desperate intensity:

“I will survive this. I will find my light, no matter what it takes.”

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