Hummingbird
Copyright© 2026 by Krista*
Chapter 13
NOTE: This is a VERY dark chapter. We will learn something about Anne and her past that is traumatic and honestly, is so horrific that it would be a wonder that she hadn’t killed herself. Several triggers here. You can either read what is posted, or skip to the next chapter. Some might ask WHY this is being included, but I believe it is needed for character development. And yes, things like this DO actually happen to people, Especially young girls. - Krista
There were a few ways that Anne could get into her apartment above the law office. In the back area was a set of stairs that went up to the second floor where there was a small hallway. It connected to a second and third set of stairs that went down to the front and back of the building, next to the main doors for the office. All doors were keyed alike for ease of entry.
Mickey stood at the front door and faced Anne. Taking both of her hands in his, he looked into her eyes. “God, I don’t know how to say this. Please let me finish without interruption, please?” She nodded and he took a deep breath to continue.
“Anne, I love you. I say this for no other reason than to let you know how I feel and it’s the truth. Every second I spend with you is like a dream that is so close to perfection, I find myself wondering if I’m awake. The way you have opened your own heart to me is unlike anything I have ever experienced before. And you know most of my history.”
“Come upstairs,” Anne sighed. “There are things you need to know before you can decide if I’m really worthy of your love. STOP!” she held up a hand to silence him. “Just come up and hear what I have to tell you. Please.”
In the small living room, she sat him in an armchair. Standing in front of him, Anne closed her eyes a moment. “Mickey, I might as well let you know that I have fallen in love with you as well. A man to love me in spite of my past has been a lifelong dream of mine. But for that love to be real, there can’t be secrets. Pleas stay silent until I say otherwise.”
Mickey nodded, wondering what was so traumatic that Anne would say these things.
“In a moment, I want you to say two things to me. First, say ‘mouth open’ and wait a few seconds and then say ‘mouth close’ to me. Please don’t freak out and I will explain. Go ahead.”
“Um, okay. Mouth open.”
The reaction was instantaneous. Anne dropped to her knees, hands clasped behind her back and closed her eyes. She tilted her head back and her mouth was opened as wide possible.
Mickey was shocked and a little confused. “Mouth close.”
A moment later, Anne closed her mouth and her eyes opened. There were tears in her eyes. “I was given my name, Anne, when I was seven. Before that I was just called ‘mouth’ because I was kept as a sex toy.” Mickey came up in his chair and pulled her into his lap to hold and comfort her. “I have absolutely no idea where I came from or if I have any living relatives. All I remember is that I was a piece of property for a small gang of animals that were bikers. The had about ten men with random girls that came and went. I was sort of the constant. Maybe one of the biker girls was my mother. I don’t know. There was one guy with a pickup truck that had a camper shell on it and usually I was kept in the back. Occasionally they would remember to feed me and let me wash myself. You don’t want to know what I had to do for a bathroom break.” Savoring the feeling of his arms around her, she continued. “I was conditioned. They trained me. The ‘open’ command had me go into the ready posture so they could use me. All I was to them was a receptacle. There were times I would service all of them and by the time I had taken care of them, they returned for another round. I didn’t care because I didn’t know anything else. The bastards even had me addicted to heroine. I was addicted to drugs all my very short life. I was just there to service them and the key words of open and close were like switches in my brain. I was powerless to fight it because it was so ingrained in me as an involuntary reaction. I was programmed. Like that story about that scientist named Pavlov and the bell he rang for his dog.”
“Oh my god!” he sobbed. “Where are they now?” He was afraid that they might somehow show up and make life a misery for Anne.
“Dead. Every last one of them.”
“What happened?”
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