A silenced room, whitewashed and bare, dangles in the back of my mind. I turn up my music to escape the audio that I know will soon accompany the image. My mind goes numb.

I am sweating profusely and my legs burn. Running away isn’t the answer, I know. But my Nikes have carried me for more dusty miles than I can count. One, two, three miles away from home. No, not home, I tell myself: just a place.

Even though my music thumps along wildly with my pounding feet, I can still hear the screams. I stop, panting hard, squeezing my hands over my ears to make it stop. Without warning, I stumble to my knees, falling down on the rough, scraping path. My vision goes, and all I can see are the hideous pictures I’ve been trying so hard to hide.

My wrists feel sore, and my ankles are chafing. I try readjusting myself in my seat but the straps are too tight. My head is still groggy and I can feel a bump forming on my neck from where I was struck. But I can see only whiteness now. At once, I know this room must have been intriguing before it became home to these sorts of transgressions. There are spots on the wall where flecks of deep mahogany wood peek through, and the bleached floor also has the potential for holding more than a drain hole.

I stare down this drain, my heart racing, trying not to think of the one piece of decoration tastefully placed in the corner, the dead rat, or things I know will be coming next. I’ve heard of this place, this hell. I knew they would be coming for me soon. I knew I should have run to protect the others, but it’s too late now. Or maybe not.

They approach and I scream. Yet, I am silent. The horrors of other rooms penetrate mine and my silent agony makes a discordant harmony with theirs, pleading and begging for our lives. I do not beg for mine, and I do not give up anything. My word will never help their quest; I swear on my life.

When they are finished, I still do not cry. I know my brave face must be lashed with the bleeding scars of anger and want, but I also know that I have done my part. They will let me free, and I will run far, far away.

I was wrong; they cannot let me go just yet, they say. One more day of nightmares, and a new chip in my pretty head. Every test I do for them is a test I do for the ones I love. I push myself and my abilities till I beg them to kill me, because I have to protect the ones I love. I have to protect the ones I love. I must protect them.

I gasp, waking up from my nightmare, and brush the dirt off my legs. I take a deep breath, get up off the dirt path, and keep running. Four, five, six miles away. But to protect them, I can never stop.