Page 19

"Follow me," an older man says, dressed all in black. He looks like a guard—he probably is. We follow his step as he marches us through a hallway, the carpet soft on my feet as we pass the extravagant paintings perched on the walls, ones which look decades old, until we reach the top of a stone staircase that leads down to a basement.

It's dark, and I can smell the damp before I ever step close to it. I don't want to go down there. I take a step back, stumbling into the guard behind me, his hands meeting my hips to steady me. "Careful, girl." His voice is rough. My heart is hammering in my chest, so loud I can hear it in my ears. I do not want to go down those stairs.

But what choice do I have? The guard begins pushing me closer to the first step, the other girls already halfway down. The stone is cold against my feet and makes me miss the carpet from the hall. I step down.

One. Two. Three.

I close my eyes and try to count, to steady my breathing as I finally reach the last step. It won't be as bad as you think, it'll be okay. I fight against my lids, forcing my eyes to open, and I realise that every lie I've just told myself won't be enough to settle the fear building inside my chest. Four cells. Four cot beds. Four buckets.

I'm going to be sick.

Sick moves to my mouth before I can force it down, I turn fast—clutching at my throat as the vomit forces its way out, splashing against the stone.

I'm going to die in here. They're never going to let me go. I'll never see my sister again.

I let the cold stone beneath my hands ground me, the taste of sour bile in my mouth as I spit on the ground. The guard towers above me, his eyes burning into my back.

"You're fucking disgusting." His foot connects with my leg, hard and sharp. I wince at the feel of his boot whilst the other stalks across the room. I hear the sound of water shattering against metal, the smell of citrus bleach.

I don't move. My palms lay flat against the stone, eyes on my own vomit. I try to breathe, but my lungs feel empty.

The guard tosses the bucket beside me, the water splashing, a cloth hanging over the edge.

"You can clean that shit up." His voice is disgusted. My hands shake as I take the cloth in my hand, slowly rubbing against the floor, the smell strong under my nose.

You're fucking disgusting. His words chime in my head, over and over until I want to scream that I know I'm disgusting. I'm selfish, and that every part of this is my own fault. That I'm a terrible sister for not fighting, for giving up. Shame runs through me, cold and unforgiving, as I scrub away at my vomit. I know. I already know.

"Bring in the others." I don't register their words, I don't even notice when they walk past me, one by one. The cell gates open and close with a bang, but I don't look up. I just scrub away at my own bile until there's nothing left to clean.

Their steps move closer to me, and I know it's my turn. I sit up on my knees, wiping my nose with the back of my hand and toss the cloth into the bucket. Their hands connect with my arm first, digging in deeper than they need to. I'm not fighting them, they don't need to hurt—but they do. Because they enjoy it.

They push me along, shoving me into the empty cell. My eyes widen as I see the dirty mattress, brown stains filling my chest with fear. The silver springs stick out in places.

I turn fast as they slam the door. I move swiftly forward—hands gripping the bars, the metal cold in my hands.

"Don't do this."

I sound pathetic. I feel pathetic. I am pathetic.

"I love it when they beg, don't you, Percy?" One laughs, digging his elbow into the other's ribs as he jokes, his filthy eyes fanning down my body, devouring the sight of me.

I follow their gaze. My breasts exposed, my skin on display. I'd forgotten about the dress, about the way my body shone through the fabric when under light. I pull my arms quickly around my chest, hoping to cover myself from their gaze.

"Heard from Ace this one's a bit mouthy," Percy jests as he walks closer, the smell of stale cigars and whiskey strong. "Wanna put that mouth to work, girl?"

I stumble back on my feet, eyes wide until the cot bed hits the back of my knees. I let myself drop, shuffling into the corner, pulling my knees to my chest.

The gate is locked. Whilst the gate is locked, I'm safe. They can't touch me.

But they don't need to. Their eyes do enough. Every inch of me feels tainted by their filthy looks, and I know whatever they're thinking is worse.

Closing my eyes, I try so hard to think of a memory, of a moment where the world felt safe. Please, mind, take me from here. Let me have the smallest moment where I can pretend. I shift uncomfortably, the springs digging in, but I try to ignore them.

Think. Please. Give me this moment. Give me anything to take me away from here.

Nothing comes. My mind completely betrays me, forcing me to remain in this hell long enough to hear their voices one more time as they talk about another woman, another captive. Another fucking soul they take pride in shattering.

"She screamed so loud I had to fuck her mouth to get her to keep quiet."