Chapter 30 Cecilia #2
“Two options. You become cat food.” He pointed to the impatient lion that paced the back wall of the basement.
My head was spinning, I felt like I was on the verge of losing consciousness, but he tugged on the long end of the belt to get my attention and my eyes flickered open again, my pulse beating heavily in my ears.
I was uncomfortable in every possible sense of the word and couldn’t fight the sob that broke out of me.
Being drugged was officially my least favorite thing in the entire world, only just above being stuck in a dog cage for God knows how long.
Scarface petted my head as the Bulldog laughed at my defeat.
“Or you go put on show.” He said, pointing up the stairs. “Become other man's problem, yeah?” He asked me, as if the second option was a blessing, though, for a brief moment, I considered it might be.
Especially since being eaten alive definitely didn’t sound like a good time or something I could talk or fight my way out of in my current condition.
My brain was shutting down from whatever they gave me, and my body had long given up.
If it weren’t for Scarface holding me by the head, I would have probably fallen on my back.
I could feel the blood trickling against the open gash that had torn my back open and silently thanked the drug for keeping me from feeling the pain as much.
The ground looks so comfy right now.
I was starting to slobber, I couldn’t make out words anymore and I wasn’t sure if that was because they weren’t speaking English or maybe it was that I wasn’t. I nodded my head up and down and hoped they understood what I meant.
Suddenly, their hands were all over me, undressing the little bit of dignity that separated me from them as they ripped my underwear off me.
“Stop!” I screamed but the Bulldog held my wrists in his one giant hand as they both worked to force me naked. I had made it thirty years without getting raped, and today was not going to be the day.
I kicked out against Scarface, getting him right in the balls, but he didn’t even flinch from the pain.
He slapped me across the face so hard I could see the spirit of a Tweedy bird making laps around my head like an old-school cartoon.
I was so high, it was like swimming through an ocean of thick tar.
I was fucked.
The tears flowed freely down my face and the sob that broke through my throat almost cracked the smallest hint of sympathy from my captors’ faces. But they’d been through this too many times, they’d grown cold and unfeeling when it came to their tasks.
Scarface pointed to the lion again, reminding me, “Cat food?” And I shook my head fiercely.
They grabbed me by the arm and walked me to an area of the basement I hadn’t seen before.
A shower head came out of the wall, and a drain was on the ground, but aside from that, you’d have no idea that it was supposed to be a bathroom of sorts.
The water was cold, shocking my broken skin as it made contact with the lash wound, and I cried out in pain from what the drug couldn’t numb, but they didn’t ease up. Bulldog held me by the hands as Scarface began to scrub my body with far too much force.
The abrasive loofah scraped over my skin, and I screamed and thrashed in agony while he went on and on with no mercy. He scrubbed every inch of my body with it until I was raw and aching, despite the horrendous drug that was fighting for dominance to numb every part of my being.
They cleaned my hair with just as much aggression, and my soul grieved while I remembered Mateo washing me with so much care and gentleness, as if I had been a porcelain doll in his collection.
The two brutes pulled in opposite directions as they brushed it wet, combing with force to tear through the tangles of hair that had matted while I’d been in their possession.
The towel was cheap and rough against my tender skin, scratching me as they rubbed it over my body, drying me and leaving me exposed. My fear of what they’d do to me quickly faded as soon as the realization hit me.
I was merchandise, and they were treating me as such.
Once I was no longer wet, they began to redress me in clean, lacy black lingerie that was almost identical to the one that they put me in when they first brought me down here.
The thought that they just had a storage room with the same lingerie in multiple sizes for all the women that would come in and out made me sick.
My revulsion mixed with the drug that was starting to eat away at my malnourished body and there was nothing I could do to stop myself from throwing up.
Nothing but bile came out, there was nothing inside me anymore.
Once the bulldog let go of me, my legs gave out, dizziness swept through me and sweat coated my body from getting sick.
Scarface picked me up like a child and made his way up the stairs with me in tow.
The new room spun, and my vision struggled to catch up until it was too late, and I was already being secured to a chair that was welded to the ground.
They cut through the zip ties and before I could even get a chance to rub my wrists in relief, they handcuffed them to the back of the chair behind me.
Rayos. This was really happening.
My eyelids were heavy, and my breathing was labored as the drug began to win the fight.
Ifelt a kick to the chair that jolted me awake, drool spilling out of my mouth as I struggled for coherency.
I recognized “Putting Holes in Happiness” by Marilyn Manson playing in a distant room loud enough for me to hear the heavy sounds of the electric guitar.
How long was I out?
I looked around the dimly lit room and it was now filled with countless other girls like me.
No, not like me.
These girls were much younger.
They looked broken, just shells holding air in the place of their empty little souls as they wasted away internally. My heart pulled inside its cage, but there was nothing I could do for these girls.
There was nothing I could do for myself.
My head was beginning to throb from the drug, its effects dulling as it began to fade away from my system. Right when I was about to thank some supreme being for letting clarity come back to me, it was as if the Bulldog noticed too, and he marched toward me with a determined look on his face.
“If you no fight so much, we wouldn’t be problem.” He said in broken English through clenched teeth before shoving another needle into my arm again ignoring my weak protests. I sobbed in defeat as he pushed the toxic substance into my body despite my pleas.
I would have been good.
I would have done anything to not feel like that. My thoughts were coming in slow and my head tripled in weight as I let it loosely hang down.
I’m a cloud, just a little cloud.
Maybe I could float away.