25 EMMA
I wake in my cell feeling unusually drowsy and confused. A sharp ache in my side has me groaning as I try to turn on my side. I carefully press a hand to the place to discover a thick bandage.
The cut, I remember. Lavinia accidentally cut me when she grabbed the knife from her buyer. She tried to cut herself—to take her own life—and when I tried to stop her, her arm flew out and the blade slashed at my stomach.
The next thing I notice are the covers. It’s no longer the usual tattered blankets but a thick, fluffy comforter with soft sheets, and there’s a pillow under my head. Peeling my eyes open, I stare at the pristine white fabric covering the comforter. It looks completely off in the barren cell. Mockingly so.
A sudden pang I haven’t felt in a long while rises to the surface as I remember the soft sheets of hotel rooms or my own bed at home. Thick, comfy mattresses, the scent of rose shampoo in my hair, and the sun filtering through windows to warm my skin. Small things I once took for granted but haven’t felt for months.
The taste of fresh croissants in the morning, the sound of soft music, and my cozy pink pajamas.
Taste, sound, and color.
A hot shower, the lock on the bathroom door, and soft towels to wrap around my body.
Warmth, safety, and privacy.
Tears spring to my eyes as I turn my back to the room, groaning as the movement stretches my wound. Closing my eyes, I try to recall all those things: how a croissant would flake in my mouth, the notes of my favorite song, and the fluffy feeling of flannel against my skin.
But the sensations are too far gone. All I can imagine is the idea of them. Like seeing something on the television but not ever being able to get close to it.
A TV. Being entertained and having mental stimulation.
Suddenly, the ache in my stomach isn’t the worst. It’s the hollow ache in my chest. It keeps growing and growing as I lie there, overcome by a sudden flood of memories. I think of all the things I had—the things I’ve lost—and where I am now. In a barren gray cell with a wound in my stomach. And soft white sheets as a poor consolation.
Bitterness tightens my throat, and I shove the comforter aside. The pillow too. I can’t stand them. They make the desolation of the place even starker. They’re a cruel reminder of what I once had and how little I now have. I don’t even have the hope Lavinia’s voice brought me anymore—or her friendship. She’s gone now. Or will be soon.
The door opening makes me turn my head and groan again as the movement radiates down my side and into the wound.
“What’s the matter? Has the wound opened up?” Dax rushes to my side, gently turns me to my back, and checks the wound. The relief is palpable in his voice as he says, “No bleeding. That’s a good sign.” He places a hand on my forehead. “How are you feeling? Are you in pain?”
Bitterness churns in my stomach, and I want to pull away from Dax—the man who keeps me trapped in this gray nothingness. The man who keeps me captive in this dark world where you get stabbed by your only friend because desperation is the only thing this place fosters. But I don’t have it in me to pull away. I feel hollow and empty. Meaningless. So I just shrug, staring off at the far wall.
“What’s the matter, my sweet sub?” He pulls the comforter back over me and lifts my head to push the pillow back in place. “Talk to me.”
“Everything,” I say, still staring into the distance.
“Is there anything I can get you? A cup of hot tea? Another pillow? Something to eat?” He brushes his knuckles over my cheek in a comforting stroke. “Something besides porridge and beef stew.”
I close my eyes and swallow against the sour bitterness rising in my throat. A cup of tea or a pillow. It’s all I’ll ever get from him. I keep my eyes closed as my whole world starts to whir. Gray walls, screams of agony, women being violated. Me standing by, just watching. Me silent in a muzzle, on my knees—a person I don’t know. The gut-wrenching fear as I looked down and saw blood spilling from my stomach. I can’t take it anymore—this place, this man. Me. Who I am down here. So I part my lips and say the only words that make sense right now—the only hope I have left. “Get me out of here. Please sell me.” It’s the only way I’ll ever leave this stagnant nothingness.
I finally look again, and the shocked, almost hurt expression on Dax’s face almost makes me want to take the words back. But then his expression turns to stone. “Is that what you want?”
I stare at the man who has become my whole world, and the word ‘no’ hovers right at my lips. But then my eyes flit away, across the barren cell, which has become my whole world too. A cold shudder rolls through me, tightening my muscles and tugging at the wound in my stomach. A whimper rolls past my lips, and I add a “yes” at the end. Because it’s the only answer that makes sense. The only answer that should make sense. So I close my eyes again, knowing seeing him will only make me waver. “You need to sell me. Please. Just do it. Get it over with.” Get me out of here.
I don’t see his response, but I feel the icy chill in the silence. It drags on for what feels like a full minute until he finally answers. “Okay.”