CHAPTER 14
My new phone vibrates on the nightstand with yet another text from my sister. It’s been more than three weeks since I lost my phone at the airport, and a couple of days ago, I finally got a new one. Just in time for my monthly call with my sister. But I couldn’t bear the idea of talking to her and pretending everything was okay. So I texted her instead, thinking it would be easier to fake it like that. But she didn’t get the hint—or didn’t accept it—and has been calling me several times a day since my text, and I’ve been ignoring each of her calls. Today, she has finally given up and started texting me instead. Incessantly.
Call me, Rebecca. I’m serious! It’s been days!
I scoff as I read her latest text. It might have been days since I texted her, but it’s been over a month since I heard anything from her.
Clenching my jaw, I type out a reply and hit send.
Sorry, busy with work.
A new text pops up, making my insides twist.
What? You’re too busy doing the dishes?
She may think she’s better than our mother—more caring and gentle—but really, she’s just as pushy. The only difference is that she’s not quite as cruel. So I’m not going to take her calls. It’s better like this, anyway. I’m not good at lying, and if she finds out something is going on, she might prod—call the embassy or authorities. Gabor would surely find out and think I had talked, and then little Sofie’s life would be at risk.
Fuck. I slam the phone down on the table and clutch the teddy bear in my shaking hands as I curl up on the bed.
Why can’t she take the hint and leave me alone? Then it would be so much easier to forget about the danger I’m causing her family—easier to forget all the things I’ve lost. It might not be a lot, but it’s a hell of a lot more than I have now. Freedom and possibilities. Choices and hopes. Anything is better than this narrow shell of violence and humiliation that has me in a vise.
I’m so stuck that I want to stay in bed, closed off from the world and not see or talk to anyone. Denial is a blissful thing when your world is pitch black.
It takes a while before I’m ready to face the text from my sister again. I have to pace back and forth to contain all the emotions that threaten to unravel me as I type out a big, fat lie. I wish this wasn’t my day off. Then I’d have work to distract me.
I type the last words and hit send, and as if on cue, the front door opens.
Startling, I drop the phone. It clatters to the floor with a loud sound, but I’m too focused on the commotion in the hall to glance down and see if it broke.
Two seconds later, Janos and the scrawny man appear. I’m frozen in place, my hands still folded like they’re holding the phone.
“Start packing,” Janos says.
My eyes flicker to the moving boxes at his side. “Why?”
“Gabor wants you somewhere better.”
I gulp. There’s no telling what Gabor’s idea of a better place looks like. A dungeon, a dank basement, or chained to his bed? “And what’s that?”
“A new apartment. Bigger and better.”
I look Janos over, not convinced this move is as harmless as he makes it sound, but I shove down the worries as I notice his casual clothing. Whatever hell awaits me isn’t imminent. My hands relax as I take in his blue jeans and gray T-shirt. He’s not here to prepare me for Gabor. He’d wear a suit for that.
The other man is dressed in his usual uniform, though. The dark suit hangs loosely on his thin frame, and his shoulders are slouched, his mouth set in a perpetual sneer—a far cry from the graceful strength of the man beside him. He’s a poor excuse of a man, really. A lowly guard in an inferior position. Janos is always the one in control when Gabor is not around. I doubt this man could even touch a hair on my head without Janos’s permission.
Does he even hold any real power over me? If I were to provoke him, could he do anything about it?
The sight of Janos’s casual clothes must have made me rash because I find myself shooting the thin man a condescending glare. Rage comes alive in his eyes, but he remains passive as ever, and I can’t help the mocking smile that pulls at my lips.
Suddenly feeling overly courageous, I fold my arms over my chest and direct my glare at Janos. “I’m not moving.”
I barely get the words out before the sight of his hard features snuffs out my bravery. I try my best to hold on to it, but his tall, wide stance is pure danger, his blunt gaze the same, and I end up hugging myself awkwardly as he stares me down.
“You have two hours.” He places the boxes against the wall, then turns the crimson armchair to face the room instead of the bed and takes a seat. A king on a throne in the middle of it all.
“Do I have to move?” I ask with downcast eyes, suddenly all too aware of what’s happening. Once more, I have no say. They are forcing me from my home, and I don’t have the slightest idea where they’re taking me. “Will you at least tell me where I’m going?”
“Get to it,” Janos says without casting me another glance as he takes out his phone.
Needing to get away from the two men, I grab a box, go through the hallway, and into the small kitchen to start there. I might not have many things I’m attached to, but I want to bring my own stuff, and I guess I’ll need kitchenware and plates. At least, I hope I will.
A large shadow appears above me, and I look up to find Janos blocking the door with his broad frame. I feel like a tiny mouse, sitting here on the floor, looking up at this enormous man.
His eyes narrow slightly, and I realize my breathing is coming in heavy drags. Is it my kneeling he reacts to? It’s not on purpose. I was like this when he came in. But it doesn’t change the fact that I’m in this very humble position beneath him.
“The kitchen is fully equipped.” His features are impassive, but the intensity in his eyes shines bright. “The rest of the apartment too. Just pack your clothes and anything else you don’t want to get rid of.”
Then he’s gone, leaving me with a terrible urge to crawl after him and sit by his feet.
Shaking my head, I force my focus back to the packing.
I go through all the cupboards and end up taking only two mugs that I like. I consider packing everything just to spite Janos, but I don’t have the energy nor the need to go against him like that.
Next, I proceed to the bathroom to gather my toiletries, then on to the main room, where I pack my clothes, books, and a few other items I want to keep.
An hour and a half later, I’m done, standing in the middle of the room, casting a hesitant glance at Janos.
He’s still in the red chair with his phone, but I think he’s been watching me more than the screen. I’ve felt it while I was packing in here, that prickling sensation at the back of my neck. But I never caught him looking.
“What about furniture?” I ask, wringing my fingers before me.
“The place is furnished.”
My eyes fall to the crimson chair he’s sitting in, and I’m gripped by a strange wistfulness.
“Can I bring that one?” I bite my lip, pointing at the chair, which I’ve never felt attached to but now suddenly can’t bear to be without.
Janos nods and gets up.
It only takes the men two trips to bring the boxes down the stairs. I barely get to look the apartment over a final time before Janos ushers me out the door, bringing the red chair with him.
I follow them as they carry the chair down the steep, winding stairs. Janos doesn’t heave a single labored breath; whereas the other man is out of breath as we reach the ground. I can’t help sending a taunting look his way as Janos presses a hand to my back and nudges me into the front of a van. I feel stupidly safe with Janos here. But it’s no better than being in the company of a lion. I’m safe from any other predator, but once the lion gets hungry, I’m done.
Janos takes the driver’s seat, and the other man squeezes in beside me on the double passenger seat. Fifteen minutes later, we arrive in a courtyard at a four-story building. It looks like most other buildings in the city center with its arched windows and bars on the ground level, only it’s more well-kept than most. There are no cracks in the fa?ade or peeling paint. Everything is in pristine order, just like Gabor seems to like it. A shudder runs down my spine at the thought of the man who has forced me from my home. But I shouldn’t complain. This looks better than anything I could have hoped for. Unless he has rented a cell in the basement, that is.
The two men each take a box and lead the way, and I’m relieved when we go up the stairs to the second floor. Janos shoos me into a nice, modern apartment with carpets on the floors and pictures on the walls.
I explore further while the two men bring up the rest of my stuff. The place is a huge upgrade from my worn-down studio, and if I got my bearings right on the drive here, it’s even closer to the city center.
It has a long, narrow hall, a spacious bedroom, a large living room, and a small yet well-equipped kitchen. And, of course, a bathroom. An involuntary smile spreads over my face when I see the large corner tub. I’ve always loved water—both watching and being in it. I could spend hours in the old, narrow tub of my childhood home when my mother didn’t ruin the peace by telling me to find something better to do.
My smile is bright and wide when Janos appears in the hall, and I’m quick to wipe it off when I meet his gaze. I shouldn’t be happy about any of this.
“Where do you want this?” he asks, stopping in the hall with the crimson armchair in his hands.
Stepping across the hall to the bedroom, I point at the corner on the right side of the bed.
“Here?” He sets the chair down in front of the dresser that I’m pointing at.
I confirm with a nod and avert my gaze as I feel him studying me. He surely knows what I’m doing. The chair would fit better in the empty corner across the room, but I want it on the right side of the bed like it was before. I’m terribly ashamed, but I need it like this—I need him in the same place as before.
To my relief, he doesn’t comment. He just sets the chair where I want it before leading me to the living room, where he pulls out a chair at the dining table. “Sit.” It’s not an offer, and I slip onto the seat and watch the small stack of documents in front of me.
Contractit says at the top.
Pressing a hand to the tabletop, Janos leans over me and turns the first two pages. His scent wafts past my nose, and I inhale a long breath to catch more of it. I want to slide my hands around his neck and pull him closer, so I can breathe the fresh notes of his aftershave mixing with his own masculine scent. But I still have enough self-respect to restrain myself.
“Sign here.” He points at the empty line at the bottom.
“I can’t sign something I haven’t read.”
“You may read the whole thing if you like, but you’re gonna sign it either way.” He doesn’t grant me the pretense of having a say in any of this. He just needs my signature, and it doesn’t matter how he gets it. But I read the contract anyway.
It’s all very standard. There doesn’t seem to be any fraud hidden between the lines. But then again, I might not be able to detect it if there was. The apartment is bought and paid for, so I won’t be liable for a steep rent if Gabor decides he doesn’t want to splurge his plaything anymore—or whatever motivates him. On paper, I’m the owner.
But it still feels fishy, and when I scribble my signature on the line, I feel like I’m signing my own death warrant.
There are two more lines that I need to sign, and when I’m done, my stomach is twisted in knots.
“Why doesn’t he sign it himself?” I ask as Janos takes the documents.
“No connection on paper. Makes it easier for me to handle any glitch that might arise.”
“As in, if the police gets involved?”
Janos shrugs, offering no further explanation. Then he digs a hand into his pocket and retrieves a large butt plug that makes a metallic clank as he sets it on the table. “At least one hour a day. I’ll know if you don’t use it.” With that, he leaves, taking his passive buddy with him.
I remain staring at the instrument of humiliation long after they’re gone.
Now I’m supposed to do the degradation myself?
***
After the two men have left, I set out to explore the apartment.
The place is furnished and decorated, ready to live in. The cupboards are stocked with pans, plates, cutlery, and even food—everything a kitchen needs—and in the bathroom I find toiletries, soap, and a bottle of the rose-scented shampoo I use.
The king-size bed is made with the same pristine white sheets I’ve slept in for the past few weeks. Sliding my hand over them, I shudder at the silky feeling. It’s supposed to feel good, but like everything else here, they represent my bar-less captivity.
I curl up in my crimson chair and dig my nose into the wing, inhaling deeply. A hint of Janos’s scent lingers in the upholstery, and the roiling in my stomach simmers down to a rippling unease.
When I lift my gaze to take in the room, the queasy feeling returns. Pink and creamy colors dominate the space. It’s girly and saccharine—like the oversized bouquet and the postcards.
Pink curtains with frills frame the arched window, a pink bedspread covers the foot of the bed, and leopard print throw pillows sit against the headboard. Even the latter are pink. Hideous.
Darting up from the chair, I grab the ugly pillows and cram them into a closet. This is my place—I’ve just signed the damn papers to prove it—and I’m not going to have any goddamn pink leopard print in my apartment.
I go to the living room, which is not much better. There’s no leopard print, but the curtains have the same hideous frills, meaningless pictures on the walls, and too much pink. Even the couch is a dusty rose. It would have been pretty if it weren’t for the baby pink carpet covering half the floor, saturating the room with girly sweetness. Combined with the curtains, it’s outright vulgar. I shudder as I step onto the carpet and sink my feet into the fuzzy threads. In any other setting, I would have closed my eyes and reveled in the softness, but here, it’s only deceptive and false.
I start unpacking the few boxes I have brought. I find a bright place for my orchid on a side table in the living room, the teddy with the glittery green eyes gets a new place on the bedside table along with my night lamp, and my clothes go into one of the closets. To make room for my books, I remove the knick-knacks from the shelves in the living room, which get to join the leopard cushions in the closet. Then I sink onto the couch and let my gaze glide over what is supposed to be my new home.
Everything is new and modern. Big and flashy. Even the flat screen on the wall is double the size of the one I had before. Picking up the remote, I hover my thumb over the power button. I’ve never had such a large TV. It’s supposed to be a luxury, but there’s nothing luxurious about any of this, so I rip open the nearest drawer and throw the remote in.
The television and everything else here are the price for my freedom, and I can’t bring myself to enjoy it.
***
During the first week, I treat the place like it’s my own, taking what little control I can. The first thing I change is cutting off the frills on the curtains. Then I rearrange everything in the kitchen cupboards and I move the dresser in the bedroom to the opposite corner to make more room for my armchair.
The changes are small, barely perceptive, but they’re enough to make me accept the place—maybe even become comfortable here. It also helps that neither Janos nor Gabor show up. Their absence helps me take ownership of the place and fill it with something I like before they sully it.
Every morning when I open my eyes, I glance hopefully at the chair, and every time I find it empty, disappointment stirs in my gut. Then I hurry out of bed so I won’t dwell on the feeling, but when I see the butt plug on the bathroom counter, my stomach sinks anew.
Despite being alone, my mornings aren’t much different in the new apartment. They still start with the same humiliation; only now, I’m the one doing it. I don’t dare to test whether Janos is right about being able to detect it if I don’t obey.
Janos has been “nice” enough to leave me a bottle of lube, but even with a generous dollop, I can barely get the plug in the first few times. I try different positions—standing, lying, crouching—and get so frustrated I want to scream. The degradation is no less devastating without someone here to witness it, and it takes several painful mornings before I’m able to shut down my self-inflicted shame and get the plug in place within a few minutes.
With the metal thing lodged inside me, I trot around the apartment for an hour, not knowing what to do with myself. The toy is as invasive on my mind as my body. If I try to lie still, my mind goes into overdrive, and whenever I move, the plug moves within me, setting fire to nerves and reducing me to a hot and needy mess. The battle against my mocking brain turns into a battle against my own lust. A battle that I always lose. So I end up back in bed, my fingers working furiously between my legs until I scream through orgasm after orgasm. Thus, I manage to blot out all thoughts for a short while.
When the hour is up and I leave the bed to take out the plug, the self-deprecating thoughts rush back with a vengeance, and I have to spend another hour in the company of my taunting thoughts until I regain some control over myself.
Once I finally find some peace, I allow myself the comfort of the bathtub. I buy bath salts, oils, and bubbles and spend several hours a day soaking in the water. I might not be able to enjoy the TV, but I can’t deny myself this luxury. It’s easy to relax with the warm water lapping against my body. My fingers and toes look like raisins when I come out, and I have to laugh out loud when I look at my wrinkled skin. For once, the marks on my body are a result of something positive that I can control, as opposed to the heavy bags under my eyes, rope burns, and weight loss.
I still get food delivered to my door in the afternoons, and when I find the personal items from Janos, I have a hard time containing the smile pulling at my lips. But one look at the overly sweet card is all it takes to replace it with a more appropriate reaction.
As the days go by, I grow calmer in my new surroundings, yet more anxious. Calm because I falsely learn that it’s a safe place; anxious because I know it’s only a matter of time before the safety shatters. Gabor has probably left the country for some time and brought Janos with him—he is the Minister of Foreign Affairs, after all. Before long, he’ll be back to sate his sick needs.