Chapter 41 #2
My full belly should be comforting, but I keep replaying what went down with Booker. I never would have imagined him being a customer of a place like this. I don’t know him beyond his first name, but I never thought I’d cross paths with someone in my personal life who could do something so awful.
This is like fishing in a barrel. You are let into a room with a helpless, unarmed, beaten girl. Then you bend and break her to please yourself at whatever cost to her. Selfish. Disgusting. Greedy. It’s a disturbing God complex and truly shameful behavior.
I imagine the girl next to me and I are not the only ones here. A place like this is big enough to hold a dozen of us easily. Part of me wonders how long this has gone on or how long some of the girls have been here. Another part of me really doesn’t want to know.
A knock at the door startles me from my thoughts. I wish I weren’t, but I’m terrified of who it might be and what they’ll do.
A head pokes in. Feeling both annoyed and scared, I plaster my best bored face on as I lock eyes with Diesel.
“Enjoying your stay here?” he asks, sounding smug.
I stare at him. Silence is better than giving in to his games.
He lets out a short laugh. “Doesn’t matter much if you are or aren’t. You’re making me some good money. From the looks of it, I’ll get to continue making that money for a long time.”
My jaw tenses and my brows furrow. He knows something. I want to yell at him. Want to scream and demand he tell me what he’s talking about. But I know that’s exactly what he wants. He wants a reaction.
So, I sit. Knowing what he knows won’t help me get out of here. I tell myself it doesn’t matter. I tell myself I don’t need to know.
Thankfully, he can’t seem to shut up.
“Called your Ol’ Man and nicely asked that he stop moving product across the border.
He didn’t seem too interested, even though he knew I’d release you if he did.
My contacts can’t confirm that he is still smuggling product, but they also have no proof that he isn’t.
So, you get to stay here until we have some kind of confirmation. ”
He pulls what I can only assume is a joint from his pocket, rests it between his lips, and lights it.
“Some customers like the new ones. Request them, actually. I guess they like the fight that’s still left in em’. Makes it more fun.” He exhales a cloud of smoke into the room.
Holding the joint out, he asks, “Want a hit?”
“No thanks.”
“Suit yourself.”
He takes a few more drags, holding them in for a bit before releasing a thick exhale.
“You act like you’re better than you are, you know that?
Whore dancing for money. Fucking a little bitch biker who thinks he’s doing something great for the world by selling smuggled drugs.
He’s no better than the rest of us, don’t you see that?
Moving product for profit. It’s all the same.
” Diesel moves closer to me. I stay still despite my fear.
“You know, I heard talk that you don’t run. You don’t fight them.” He tilts his head quizzically to the side. “Is it because you like it? Nothing to run from when you crave what they do to you.”
It’s fucking disgusting to think anyone would enjoy this. Any part of this. Being locked in a room like a caged animal. Fed when someone else sees fit. Beaten when you don’t comply and raped when you do.
This isn’t living, and this certainly isn’t enjoyment. It’s survival at best. At times, even that becomes difficult. It would be so much easier just to give up. Not only physically, but mentally.
But that is the last thing I have. It’s the last thing that is mine. My mind. My thoughts. It’s the one thing they can’t touch unless I let them.
Diesel must grow tired of my silence because he grabs my hair in a painful grip and rips my head back. He pulls upward, forcing me to stand as the searing pain radiates into my skull.
“It’s rude not to speak when spoken to. You think you’re too good to talk to me? Huh? That’s fine. We can fix that.”
He punches me in the gut. Immediately, I curl into myself.
His fist slams into the back of my skull, and I fall to my knees with stars dancing in my vision.
I try to support myself with my hands, but he grabs them and ties them with what sounds and feels like a zip tie behind my back.
He rips my head back again, and I’m forced to look up at him while he unzips his zipper.
He shoves himself inside my slack jaw, forcefully pumping in and out.
In a daze, I try not to fall over. Thankfully, the bed is behind me.
I manage to push my bound hands against the frame for support.
Swaying on my knees, my body feels like jello, and my head is fuzzy.
He taps my gag reflex over and over, but I manage to ignore it.
My head is so hazy I hardly notice time pass before he grunts as he pulls himself from my mouth. Warm, wet spurts hit my face. I close my eyes and try not to lose my dinner. I silently pray I can get to the shower once he leaves.
“Open your eyes,” he commands.
I obey and settle my stare on him, standing only a foot from me. His dick is still out and in his hand.
“You are nothing.” He says before spitting at me.
It lands on my shoulder. “You’re no better than any of the whores who have come through here and who will come after you’re gone.
You’re disposable. Notice how you’re still here?
It’s because no one cares enough to get you. No one wants you. Remember that.”
When he finishes speaking, he begins urinating on me. My face. My hair. My clothes. Everywhere. I keep my eyes and mouth closed while holding my breath and hoping to God he doesn’t have a full bladder.
I turn my face down and to the side. Trying desperately to get away from what he’s doing to me, but I’m trapped on the floor between him and the bed. I worry that if I tried to move, he would beat me further.
The sound of his zipper is loud in the silence. He doesn’t look back as he slips out of the room. The door slams shut behind him, and the key is inserted to turn the lock.
He left me bound.
I’m still on my knees with my hands drawn behind my back. The smell of urine is thick and all around me. I can feel the liquid cooling on my body and in my hair. I want to move. I want to scrub my skin until it bleeds.
Leaning back against the edge of the mattress, my body shakes so hard my teeth chatter. He wants me to believe I’m nothing. He wants me to believe Gavin isn’t coming.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I focus on steadying my breath. With a half turn on my knees, I wipe my eyes and mouth on the bed’s comforter. It’s a poor substitute for a rag, but options are a luxury I don’t have right now.
Facing the bathroom, I lean forward and steady one leg at a time until I’m standing.
Using the soles of my feet, I work the loose cotton pant legs down my calves until I can stand on the cuff and step out of them.
A quick kick sends the pants to the side as I dart toward the shower.
There is no way my shirt is coming off, but that’s a problem for later.
Working the joystick-style faucet with my foot, I turn the water as hot as I can stand it.
In this hell on earth, this shower offers my humanity back piece by piece every time it’s taken from me.
It doesn’t make me whole again, but the heat helps me feel like I’m disinfecting the outside even when the inside feels like nothing but filth.
Steam begins to fill the small space, clouding the edges of the room.
Leaning my head against the cool tile, I allow the spray to hit my chest, soaking through the fabric of my shirt.
The weight of the wet cloth feels restrictive, but the scalding water is a welcome distraction from the ache in my bound wrists.
Closing my eyes, I try to drown the memory of Diesel’s words with the steady hum of water rushing over my head. Cleansing my soul is beyond the water’s reach, but right now, feeling clean is the only shield I have.