5. Chloe
CHAPTER 5
Chloe
I open my red-rimmed eyes when the overhead light is turned on in the five-foot-by-five-foot room I’ve called my prison cell since I was brought here. It doesn’t even contain a bed. There’s just a narrow, threadbare mattress on the floor.
I’ve survived another night, but rather than rejoice, I want to cry. I’ve had enough of this living hell.
My entire body aches beyond anything I’ve ever experienced before. I never knew there could be so much pain and torture in the world. I don’t know how long I’ve been here. It seems like numerous lifetimes, but it’s probably only been a few months. I stopped counting mornings after thirty days when any hope of getting out of this place had faded.
One day, soon if I’m lucky, death will claim me, and I’ll find peace from all this suffering. Until then, I will have to endure the relentless torture and abuse at the hands of the man who owns me. Eight hundred thousand dollars bought my life and his right to do with it as he and his friends please.
“Buenos días, my little tourist. Did you sleep well?” the man greets me. I don’t know his name. I call him master.
He’s not asking the question with any genuine interest. He doesn’t care. He’s only interested in making sure I’m ready to perform for him. I don’t give him an answer. I don’t have the energy or the desire.
“Get up,” he orders as he kicks me with his pointed leather shoes.
He’s always smartly dressed in a designer suit, tie, and shirt. I hate the way he looks. His accent is thick with Spanish influences, and his complexion suggests he’s from South America.
My entire body aches as I get to my feet. The world spins, my head pounds, and I feel like I’m about to vomit. I want to curl back up in a ball, but that won’t be allowed. It’s time for me to perform.
“In the shower,” he orders, and like a programmed robot, I obey, walking to the corner of the room and standing under the small showerhead located in the ceiling there.
I have no clothes to remove. I’ve had nothing to wear since I arrived here. The freezing cold water washes away the dried blood, semen, and other bodily fluids from last night, but I don’t have any shampoo or soap. There’s nothing of any luxury.
At first, I would argue with my master. I’d refuse to obey him, so he beat me and raped me. I quickly learned it’s easier to do what he wants. When I’m obedient, he gives me the drugs I need to send my mind off into a dreamworld while he and his friends have their fun and abuse my body.
The shower finishes. I don’t know whether the water is turned off or runs out. I’m barely awake. I’m in a daze, going through the motions.
“Move.” My arm is jerked forward, and my feet have to run to catch up. “I’ve got special guests coming to see you. It’s going to be a long night. We’re all going to have so much fun.” He laughs. I’m sure the irony in his words should register with me, but it doesn’t.
“Yes, master,” I finally manage to respond. It’s robotic.
Everything feels surreal as if I’m not in my body but watching what is happening from above. Maybe I’m already half dead. All I can do is hope the rest of me catches up soon.
I follow him out of my cell and down the now familiar, long corridor. The walls are stone and cold to the touch. I’m imprisoned in an underground world, hidden away. He unlocks the wooden door in front of us and leads me upstairs.
I wince as we enter the brightly lit, white-walled room. Its decor is opulent, and a complete contrast to where I spend most of my time. It speaks of the man’s wealth. I wonder how many other women he’s purchased for eight hundred thousand dollars and tortured to death. I don’t believe for an instant I’m the first, and I’m sure I won’t be the last.
“Do what you can with her,” he orders the woman who is responsible for making me look presentable each day.
She’s an older lady who looks like she carries the weight of the world in the lines that crisscross her withered face. She guides me into the restroom off the large opulent, lounge, and using the collection of toiletries and makeup available, she tries to make me look presentable.
My bruises are covered up, even though many of the men seem to prefer it when I look like a punching bag. It entices them to add even more. My hair is pulled back in a ponytail to make it easier for my abusers to hold my head in place as they force their cocks into my mouth. I want nothing more than to cut off my long blonde tresses so they’ll find it harder to control me, but even if I did, I’m sure they’ll find another way to restrain me.
The woman and I don’t talk. We never communicate in any way. I allow her to do with me as she wishes while my master watches. I don’t know if he wants to make sure I don’t run away or if he enjoys seeing the results of his abuse from the previous night.
I shut my eyes and enter a dreamworld again. It’s the best place to be.
I think about the past. I recall one beautiful day when Serena and I were children. We were so innocent and happy, playing catch and eagerly tossing a ball back and forth between us.
I’ve not seen my best friend since the night I witnessed her being raped by Mr. Armstrong. I’ll never forget the look in her eyes as she switched off to what was happening.
Did she know then that we would be sold into sexual slavery?
Did she expect to die? Is she already dead?
What happened to her?
I have so many questions in my head. There are countless possibilities that run through my mind, daily. Maybe she was purchased by a kind man who’s treating her like a princess. Maybe Diego found her, and they’re getting on with their lives. Maybe I’ve been forgotten…
No, surely that would never happen?
I have to believe that if Serena was safe, she’d move heaven and earth to find me.
My parents pop into my head.
Do they know what’s happened to me? Have they been told? I suppress those thoughts. I can’t bear to think about the loving family I’ve lost, maybe forever.
I’m so tired.
I just want to sleep.
“She’s done.” The woman’s voice breaks into my thoughts, and I watch her leave the room.
“Good.” The man walks up to me, licking his lips as his gaze takes in my body. “My beautiful little tourist. You’ll please my special guests tonight. They’ll enjoy using every part of your body and coming inside your mouth, pussy, and ass until they’re spent,” he says with a smirk. “I think it’s time we took the edge off for you. You’re starting to shake, and we don’t want them having to fuck a useless druggy in withdrawal, now do we? Best to keep you compliant and happy.”
My body is trembling, and the sick part is that I’m excited about what he’s about to give me. I learned on my first day here that he makes his money selling drugs—the illegal stuff and the best. Licking my lips, I watch as he pulls the needle from his pocket. The numbness is the only way I can get through this.
“Se?or, hombres aquí.” We’re interrupted by the woman. I learned enough Spanish in school to know she’s telling him that the men are here.
Something about the way her hands are shaking worries me. Are these men really that bad?
“My guests? They’re early.” My master lets out a snarl of frustration as he injects me with the heroin I so desperately need.
I feel the needle as it enters my arm. It’s a pain I crave now. The only pain I will ever crave again. I pray he gives me too much and lets me drift away into oblivion.
Once he’s injected me with the heroin, he grabs me viciously by the left arm, his fingers digging into the already tender flesh, and I let out a cry of anguish. I’ve lost so much weight. I’m little more than skin and bones.
He drags me back into the white room where two men are standing. Their faces look blurred to me, and I try to focus, but my head is spinning.
Please, God, grant me the bliss of nirvana.
Everything fades around me. I could be anywhere now. I won’t feel them beating me. I won’t feel them sticking their cocks wherever they want. I won’t taste their cum or my blood.
Suddenly, a moment of clarity hits and my survival instinct kicks in. There’s a small part of me that still wants to escape. A very small part. I allow the venom in my veins to fight the drugs that are dragging me under, and as lucidity returns, it brings the face of one of the men into sharper focus.
I recognize him.
My brain fights with itself, trying to comprehend what it’s seeing, but the heroin is winning now. His face is probably just a mirage—another false hope.
There’s no way it can be him.
There’s no way that Diego Rodriquez is standing in front of me.
And there’s no way that the shadowy figure next to him is pointing a gun at the head of the man who bought me.