Chapter 1 #3
Wandering through the dated hallway, following the woman already out of my sight, I realized the house was much bigger than I thought.
Huge and hard to maintain. I glanced into a dark room, learning it was the living room.
Furniture sat, scarred by old age. Time hadn’t been kind to the antiques in this home, dents had been left smearing the surfaces of varnished wood, just as it would the faces of those lucky enough to grow older.
“She’s not like the others. Not like you said.” I heard the teenager speak as I continued on.
My eyebrows dipped, pulling down in the center of my forehead. My feet froze on the spot where I stood, cemented to the seventh step of the staircase. I’d counted them all, trying to keep my mind occupied.
Was he referring to my skin color? My heritage? Had there been other sisters? Was he disappointed? What did that mean for me if I was meant to be his fucking gift? I had no idea, and I had so many questions that I didn’t want to find out the answers to.
I wanted to run, but I had no idea where I was. Was I far from a town? With my recent luck, probably.
“Well, no, kid. Of course not. This one is real.” His father laughed.
I stared back at the front doors, one wooden, which was open, and one glass, which showed the darkness falling outside.
I was so tempted to run.
The woman’s voice echoed down the stairs, calling me up.
I focused on her sound; I couldn’t listen to anything in the kitchen that came after the father’s reply.
I didn’t want to think what those words meant.
. . but part of me was relieved. Relieved that they didn’t make a habit of purchasing humans.
The warm bath water started to turn cold, but the air drifting in from the open bathroom window was hot and heavy.
Big white bubbles depleted in the clear depths. I splashed water over my body, trembling under the foam, growing colder by the second.
I’d been up here somewhere between a minute and an hour; time had stood still, moving on, and leaving me to dwell in my loss and sadness.
“Hi!” a little voice traveled from the doorway and bounced off the tiles on the wall, where beads of condensation had formed.
She was the distraction I needed. My eyes shifted in her direction, and I painted a smile on my lips for her benefit.
The little girl stood, hands behind her back, a smile on her face—a smile nothing like mine—hers was real. She stepped forward, and I tried to shield my nakedness from her young eyes.
“Do you want to play mermaid? I like to play mermaid at bath times.”
The little girl brought her arms forward, bringing forth two dolls with scaled tails. One, bright like her dress. The other, silver, like the eyes of her brother.
Her hair bounced as she skipped towards me; she dropped to the floor, little arms hanging over the ceramic bath ledge. “My name is Vanessa. But my family calls me Nessie. I guess that’s what you’ll call me, seeing as you’re my sister now.”
The big smile on Vanessa’s little face lit up the room, trying in vain to force the recent dark memories from my head.
“Give her some space, Ness,” her mother—who had already told me her name was Wynter—instructed her young daughter, guiding her slumped body from my side. Her eyes shifted to mine as I watched the little girl leave, defeat claiming her once-happy features.
“Do you need some kind of special shampoo for this hair?” Wynter asked, perching herself back down on the closed seat of the toilet, where she’d been sitting for the last half an hour.
My hand instinctively moved to my afro, fingers dwelling in the blood mattered clumps that ruined my pretty coils.
“Look, sweetie, I know this is hard for you. I don’t need to imagine what you’ve been through; I’ve been there myself.”
I twisted to her, sympathy in my eyes, need in my heart. I felt for her, and I needed to know that it was returned.
“You’ve been through this? Been through what I’m going through?” I asked, eyebrows furrowed.
Wynter’s almost silent feet moved her through the steam filling the room as I topped up the hot water in the bath. She lowered to her haunches, bending to my side. Her gentle stare trailed over the fading bruises on my skin.
Her words lingered in my head while I waited for her to return the conversation.
I’ve been there myself. . .
She was a victim. . . a survivor.
Maybe this family was my saving grace, after all.
“Something similar, a long time back.” She diverted the conversation to the present, steering away from a past she wanted to be forgotten.
“What happened to your dad, witnessing that—it must have a lingering traumatic effect. I don’t want you to think we don’t want to help you, that isn’t true.
Honey, we want your life to be as good as it can be, but we can’t get the police involved.
We can’t have the repercussions of twisting the knife into the heart of such a violent enemy. ”
I nodded, pretending to understand. I didn’t understand, and I didn’t understand why she was purchasing a human life from such people, if, she herself, had been a victim of such a crime. But I had to know. . .
“How did you—why did you purchase me? How did you get involved in that?”
A heavy sigh vacated Wynter’s mouth. “That’s a fair question. Ness, go play in your room. I need to have a chat with Jolie.”
I’d told Wynter my name when she’d told me hers; I’d told her a brief of my heartache, racing my words, voicing what felt like one million per minute. She didn’t comment on my story, but she told me my name was pretty.
Nessie, who had been lingering in the doorway—pretending she’d already left—obeyed her mother, drifting away with a solemn look.
Wynter didn’t watch but she listened for her daughter’s exit, waiting until the echo of her traversing steps had silenced into the distance before she continued, “Kids. . . always lurking somewhere.”
She took a moment, then returned to our previous conversation.
“This isn’t something we’ve done before.
But as I said, I’ve been there. I was taken at a young age, away from my family, away from all I knew.
I was ruined. . . hurt. . . saved. By luck, by chance.
. . by Ville, my darling husband. He paid my purchase fee out of his savings.
I owe him everything. Life had been cruel, but he had been kind. ” A sad smile crossed her lips.
“A few weeks ago, he met a man at a bar and they got talking over drinks. The man explained his unusual line of work—human sales. It made Ville shiver when the man spoke of how girls are broken in, forced to submit, ready to be embedded into their new lives. It was too familiar. He arranged a deal, knowing it was the only way to save someone in that position. To save you.” Her eyes left me for a second, and it made me colder as their warmth shifted direction.
“We don’t want to make enemies. We have a daughter, and she is only seven right now. . . no one is off-limits.”
Wynter’s brown eyes moved to the doorway, to the place where the steam of the room was escaping, where a small Nessie had left to play with the dolls she offered to me.
I finally understood.
And I’d have done the same.
“We could only afford to help one; we put our entire savings into bringing you here, under the guise of a birthday gift for our son, Woodrow. That was why I made that comment downstairs. You never know who is lurking.
“Tomorrow is our son—Woodrow’s—birthday; he’ll be seventeen.
We are celebrating it early. No idea why, but we always do.
” She smiled again, probably thinking over their happy family memories.
“Bringing you here, saved you from a harder life, from men double your age, but our actions weren’t completely selfless.
You being here will save him, too. Woodrow needs someone to bring him into himself. To help him become a man.”
“What does that mean?” I wondered aloud.
“I think he needs a friend; he doesn’t have any.
Someone his age. Someone to experience life with.
Not Nessie; she’s still into her dolls, but it’s time for him to grow up.
. . and that’s not something he can do when she’s his only friend.
He needs someone to talk to; to help him deal with some issues, mild depression and stuff, but don’t concern yourself with that.
In time, you’ll see, he’s not like most boys his age.
” Wynter paused, leaving my thoughts to run wild.
“I guess isolation wasn’t the best way to raise kids.
. . but there’s no step-by-step with parenting, and after my past, I thought seclusion was safer.
” A gentle smile curved her lips. “I’m glad you’re here, where those vile creatures can’t hurt you.
God had something bigger planned for you. ”
I was glad, too. And despite what she said, for the last minute, I felt a sense of safety.
“Please, understand why we can’t help your dad. He’s already gone, but you’re not. We can help you. . . and you know that would be what he’d have wanted. Trust me, as a parent, I know.”
I nodded. . . her words were true. He’d want me safe. He’d want me loved, comforted by the walls of a home and the arms of those who lived inside it, even if they weren’t his own.
“Lie back in the water; let’s wash your hair.” Wynter guided me down, water washing over my body. I blinked my eyes, enabling tears to creep down my face. She whispered something else, but the bathwater bobbing against my ears prevented me from hearing.
But the smile on her face still spoke to me, still brought me peace.
An hour had passed. Enough time to ensure I was clean of the grime from my previous environment.
I followed Nessie into the kitchen; she’d waited with me while I dressed in the clothes Wynter had placed upon my new bed—clothes that belonged to her and hugged my curves too tightly, causing a new feeling of discomfort against the bruises on my body.