CHAPTER 14
LANA, SEVENTEEN YEARS OLD
I’ve been in this place for weeks. So long that I’ve even got used to the foul smell in the room... Or is it from them?
I can’t take the torture anymore. They barely feed me, and I’m not given any water. They say it’s unnecessary.
I wish I were dead. I wish I were at home, getting beaten by my father, not this. At least, at home, I have my mum and sister.
The men keep taking turns. Sometimes they all use me at the same time; sometimes the others watch while one handles me.
Yesterday, they took me to an auction. Other girls and I stood in line while they bid on us.
I don’t know how much they paid for me. They said a lot of numbers, and I was barely conscious because of the drugs I’d been given.
Someone called my name, then shoved me through a dark hall.
I’m not sure if we went up in a lift, but getting there felt like forever.
I was left alone in a room, dressed in a bikini or something like it. The clothes revealed almost everything.
And then, he walked in.
Roger, the man who bought me, spent the whole afternoon in the hotel, flattering me, making me feel good—or so I was supposed to say. I learned the hard way, after he beat me for not answering when he began to use me.
“Do you like this, slut?” he asked as he tried his best to steal sounds from my mouth. “It’s what you’ll have for the rest of your life.”
I hope that life is short.
As soon as we get to his house, I’ll go to the kitchen and stab myself in the heart. If possible, I will kill him in the process.
But now I’m still condemned to these four walls, locked up with a group of bastards who don’t let me go.
Will he know that they’re using me like this? That I’m sick, and now he’s too? Does he mind? Does he know I’m a waste of money? I guess he does. After all, he didn’t have any trouble sharing me with his friends and other bidders once he’d had enough of me.
Today is one of the worst days. I’ve had no rest. They said that, since they’ll do the deal tomorrow, they will enjoy my body for the last time.
I never imagined there were so many ways to rape someone.
So many ways to humiliate and torture, although before this, I didn’t even know what sex was.
I don’t know what I did to them to make them retaliate against me like this.
The other girls only get raped once a day by one of them.
I get them all, many times throughout the day.
I can’t even feel my private parts anymore. I’m numb.
Why me?
What did I do?
Is it because my father didn’t pay? Is it because he doesn’t love me?
The last guy comes on my face, rubs the fluids all over, and shoves his fingers deep down my throat before slapping me. Someone else pulls my hair and kicks me in the stomach. I fall into the corner of the room. He and his friends walk out, laughing at his stunt.
They’ll be back later. They’re not done with me yet.
I hug my legs and wipe my face with the torn sheets beside me.
And I cry.
I cry softly, muffling the sound with my hand, biting my lower lip. If I scream or sob, they’ll come in to hit me and do it all again.
My body aches. Everything stings—my hands, my mouth, parts that I didn’t want to hurt, parts that I didn’t know could hurt. They have defiled everything.
The sound of a gunshot startles me. If they come for me, I’ll gladly accept death.
In the darkness, a tiny spider crawls down its web. It’s small but intimidating, nonetheless. And it’s all the company I have.
“Hello, friend,” I whisper.
The spider stays on my knee. I put my hand to the side, and it walks up to my palm. I smirk.
“I hope you didn’t see any of that. It wasn’t pretty.”
She doesn’t answer me, of course.
Any other time, it would disgust me to have a spider on my hand or anywhere near me.
Though I’ve been through so much shit these past few weeks that this is nothing.
I am sad and alone. If a spider is my only and last enjoyable companion, I won’t spoil it out of fear.
After all, the worst thing she could do is bite me, and that pain doesn’t compare to what those men have done to me.
It’s funny how everything can change over time. A few weeks ago, I wouldn’t have hesitated to kill her; now she’s all I have.
Perhaps this is the universe telling me that I’m in the same situation as her.
The difference is that I have monsters torturing me for hours, every day and night.
If I had killed this spider, it would’ve been instant.
I wouldn’t have made her suffer, unlike my brothers, who even put salt on snails and watch them squirm in pain.
“You should go back up or hide.”
I reach down to the floor so she can go away, but she doesn’t leave. My tears keep falling.
The gunshots are coming closer, the screams too.
I hope I die soon.
I bring the spider to my knee once more. It walks slowly.
Someone opens the door. A man in a black balaclava points a gun and a torch at me.
If he’s going to kill me, he should do it once and for all.
I focus on the spider, which keeps walking on my knee and hand, and when it finally leaves, it goes to hide in a dark corner. The man is still at the door.
I throw my head back and close my eyes.
Is he going to kill me? Does he expect me to stand up? Does he want to use me just like them?
My eyelids droop on their own. The drugs must be kicking in. They’re the worst. They make me more receptive and sensitive. I keep hoping one of these days I’ll overdose, but they take too much care of their merchandise to ruin a sale that way.
The man’s footsteps approach. He smells clean and fresh. I expect him to hit me, pull my hair, or push me to the floor and use me...
But for the first time in weeks, nothing happens.
When I blink, I face blue eyes as dark as the night sky. Tender eyes, with dark circles underneath. His black hair is slicked back, all of it but one lock, which is curled on his forehead.
There is no aggression in his face. Nor is there a hungry look or a triumphant, mocking smile, as in the others.
It must be a facade. Trust no one.
“You’re Lana?” he asks with an Italian accent.
Why does he know my name? Who is he? Was he at the auction yesterday? Is he upset because he didn’t get to buy me? It’s not my fault!
My mouth doesn’t respond the way I want it to, so I simply nod.
His gaze softens, and he sighs as if he’s... relieved.
He moves even closer to me. He smells of mint; it makes me aware of my breath—of how dirty I am.
Oh, God. I’m disgusting from head to toe.
I can’t complain when he holds me in his arms. Nor when my legs collide with the door.
Outside the room, there are black, blurry blobs standing there, with other colourful blobs next to them.
Are they going to steal us all? Are they the ones in charge of looking for us?
A girl cries, asking for her baby.
I know who she is. I helped her give birth a few days ago. Seconds after the first cry, someone snatched him from my arms and killed him in front of us.
I should have fought for them; I wanted to, but it all happened too fast.
I snuggle against the man’s chest and close my eyes.
He’s warm.
My teeth chatter. My head hurts, my body aches...
I’m tired.
I want this to end. Please.
“Bring me a blanket.”
His voice soothes me. It’s soft, even though it sounds deep... It’s gentle.
No one screams.
There is crying, but not the desperate cries I’ve been hearing for the last few weeks.
And I want to vomit.
“I’ll take you home,” he whispers, settling the fabric over my body. “You’ll be fine, sweetheart. I promise.”
I can’t nod or answer. I can’t tell him I’d rather die than go back to my father’s house. I can’t ask him to take me to a better place.
He caresses my cheek. The wind hits my body.
Are we leaving? Where are we going?
An unpleasant tingle runs through my limbs, as if a thousand ants were walking on my skin.
“...Ragnetta?”
What was that?
Silence.
Am I dead already?