Chapter 74 #2
Cara whispers. “I do not know, but they have gone further north. That is where some of the girls go. They belong to them now.”
Them? Who? The information overload is going to trigger a panic attack at this point. “Will they be alright?”
“If they do not fight they will survive. It’s what we do. It’s what you will do. Life is not bad. We stay here. We have our own rooms. We service El Jefe when he wants.”
Service? Like you would a car or a machine. It suggests that these women are at his mercy. “How often is that?”
“Everyday.”
“Everyday! There are 11 of you! How is that possible?”
“We are on shifts. The newer women take the evenings. The older women who have been here the longest do the morning shift and midday shifts.”
I cannot believe she is talking about fucking that animal like it’s a shift at a hospital or some shit.
“Eleven of you take shifts?”
“Yes. Four women at a time.”
“Together?”
“Yes. We wait for him together and then he performs.” She says it so matter-of-factly. “But for the first few days he will see you alone, so you understand the rules.”
“The rules?”
“Yes. The rules of what is expected of you.”
“What is expected?”
She shivers, whispering. I strain to hear her.
“Just accept the pain, try to think of something else. He likes to punish.” She pulls up her sleeve, and I see a myriad of old scars.
Bite marks, and what look like cigarette burns.
He’s an animal. “I have some cream you can apply to numb you. We make it here, but you must do it quickly after I bathe you, before he comes. El Jefe would not be happy to know you have stopped the pain. He likes to hear you scream and beg.” Cara swallows; her eyes look somber and sad.
My stomach churns with disgust. “So you must cry and beg. The more you show fear, the faster it is over. You can also pretend to faint. Some girls do that.”
Oh my god. “How many of you are pregnant?” I ask, needing to hear something else.
“Right now there are six of us pregnant.”
Six. There’s no telling how many children that animal has fathered. He’s selling his own children.
“Please lay down. I will shave you.”
“Shave me?” I lift a brow as Cara nods slowly.
Her head is shaved. I quiz her. “Why does he care if I have hair?”
She shrugs. “El Jefe doesn’t like hair. All of us were shaved when we first got here. He is afraid of lice. We can’t have any hair on our bodies.”
“So why aren’t you shaving my head too?”
“Because he hasn’t bred you yet. He would like you to appear younger.
He doesn’t like us when we start to show.
I’m the only one with a shaved head since he no longer sleeps with me.
He will once the baby is born and sent away.
” She looks sad as she rubs her stomach, and I can’t imagine what she must be going through.
To have her child grow inside her, only to have it taken away from her, unable to see him or her grow up.
“Please. You are running out of time.”
I hold out my hand. “I can shave myself.”
She sighs. “I must do it. If I don’t he will be displeased.”
Tears pool in her eyes, and she hates every fucking thing about this.
“Fine, but I’m not going to strip naked so they can see.
” Fuck him and his sick twisted bullshit.
I stick my middle finger up toward the camera.
Yeah, it might earn me a beating, but I don’t care right now, so angry and pissed, aching with rage at the evil he’s enacted on so many.
Cara sucks in a breath and glances at me with a combination of fear and pride.
I stomp to bed and strip the sheet off the bed and cloak it around my body.
Tying it like a cape, I undress, keeping most of my body covered.
Once I’m naked, Cara smooths a cream over my vagina and between my legs.
The humiliation burns at me. I’ll die before I let him rape me, but I don’t care because of my resistance.
She doesn’t deserve it. The healed bite marks and scars on her arms reveal a life of horror.
Absently, I touch the scar on my neck that Stone gave me.
That scar wasn’t my choice either, but I know that Stone’s intent wasn’t to hurt me.
It wasn’t vicious. It was sexual, freeing almost to let myself enjoy his pain.
He pushed my limits, and I liked it, craved it.
This. El Jefe, or whoever the hell he is, makes me sick.
Once Cara is done shaving my vagina, she continues to my legs, and then to my underarms. I don’t really need it, but I let her do what she needs to do to remove any of my ‘offensive’ hair.
Cara takes the now cold cloth and lifts the sheet, running it over my body.
It smells like oranges. Like his breath.
Suddenly, the smell of citrus makes my stomach curdle.
She makes constant trips to the sink, rinsing and cleaning my arms and legs.
When she slides it between my legs, I jump, pushing her away.
“No. I’m not doing that.”
She trembles, her fear for me. “Don’t worry. I will tell him I refused.”
She nods and hands me a plastic bottle filled with liquid. “You can douche to clean yourself out.” I stare at the bottle in utter disgust. He has the nerve to worry about my cleanliness? “In case you still have fluid left over from your man. You have a man, no?”
I stare at her once more. Do I have a man? I have a man I’m fucking, but as far as claiming him as mine. I can’t answer Cara. I don’t know.
“Most likely El Jefe will use protection since he is not sure you are pregnant from another man.”
The last time Stone and I had sex was two days ago, three now, depending on what time it is.
He came inside me, but my birth control should have protected me.
But this El Jefe asshole doesn’t allow birth control.
If I’m here more than a few days and El Jefe rapes me, I could easily get pregnant.
A baby. And the father would be...I can’t finish the thought.
Once more, I resolve myself to die before he or anyone else can assault me.
I shuffle to the toilet, sit on the seat, and squeeze the water into the toilet bowl, covering myself with the sheet.
I’m not douching. It’s another small act of rebellion, but he won’t know since he can’t see what I’m doing with the sheet shielding my body.
Standing, I walk over to Cara and hand it back to her.
“Now your hair.” She lifts a bottle of shampoo.
Sighing, I follow her to the sink. I would love a shower, but this room only has a sink and toilet. I lean over the sink and let the warm water run through my hair. Soon, a medicinal smell reaches my nose.
“What is that?”
“It is lice shampoo. It is the only shampoo he allows us.”
I grumble under my breath. And here is El Jefe, wearing expensive cologne and sporting perfect, shiny hair. If I ever get out of here, I’m going to come back for these women. Cara’s fingers feel amazing on my scalp, and I could almost pretend I’m at the salon enjoying a bit of pampering.
After a third wash, she finally lets me stand, and my back and neck are on fire. She picks up a wide-tooth comb and draws the comb through my wet strands.
She helps me dry it, and then she leads me back to the basket and pulls out a white floor-length nightdress with tiny pink bows. I can’t help but scoff at the very childlike garment. Along with pedophilia and trichophobia, he must have a fetish for innocence.
It’s tricky, but I manage to get the nightdress on without removing the sheet. Cara rubs my arms and legs with the same citrus-smelling lotion.
“What’s with him and orange smelling things?”
“I don’t know.” Cara shrugs and packs up her things as if to leave, and suddenly I don’t want her to go.
“Wait,” I whisper. “Where are you going?”
“To my room. You will wait here for him.”
She looks at me, and there are so many words I want to tell her. I want to tell her I’m sorry. I want to tell her to fight back, but then I look at her tummy. She’s trapped. Just like I’m trapped. Walking to her, I hug her, and she freezes, surprised. “Thank you. Thank you for being kind to me.”
She pats my back, and when I pull away, there are tears in her eyes. “If you do what he says, you will survive. Just think of something happy while he hurts you.”
“What do you think of?”
“My family. My family before I came here.”
I want to ask her more, more about them, but the door opens with a thud and an armed guard walks in, a wicked-looking gun strapped to his chest. He doesn’t look at Cara or me, but stands off to the side, staring straight ahead.
Next in walks El Jefe. He is dressed in a thick robe with a fur-lined collar, complete with slippers, as if this is some Victorian wedding night.
Cara looks down and away from him.
He steps to her and pats her head like a dog. That must be his dismissal, because she scurries out, throwing me one last look over her shoulder. The guard leaves as well, closing the door.
He walks toward me, and I stand perfectly still, glaring at him. He unties my makeshift cape and tosses it on the floor.
“Lay down Stone’s woman.”