Page 9

"Is it good?" He doesn't stop sniggering, his eyes lighting up every time I take a bite. I stop for a second, lowering the spoon into the bowl. This was too easy…this felt too free.

"I added a little salt for you, girl."

My eyes lower to the bowl, face crumbling. No, he wouldn't. That's too much, too sick. My stomach twists, bile slowly mingling with the porridge, forcing its way up my throat. I turn, retching and gagging as vomit burns through my windpipe and out onto the floor.

He doesn't stop laughing. He doesn't say another word to me as he walks outside and I hear him instructing the women to come and collect me.

"Time to get ready to go, girl."

I don't turn to ask where, or why. My body doesn't stop retching, the smell of my own vomit actually masking the smell of him. The women flood around me, just like they did almost a week ago. Their touch is soft, everything I should need but I hate instead. They walk me past him, his eyes never leaving mine, and all I can do is pray that wherever I go next, is better than this hell with him.

Every part of me feels empty.

My body's been scrubbed raw and shaved by the women while the fat man's greedy eyes watch, every inch of me exposed under his gaze. I don't fight; I can't. Rosa's scream and the feel of the box cling to me, refusing to let me breathe even for a moment.

I didn't fight hard enough to save her. I didn't do enough. This is all my fault. All of it.

I cling harder to my knees, the bathroom floor cold beneath me, my body cringing at the sheer fabric they've put me in—the same dress they all wear. One that leaves nothing to the imagination, my nipples showing through as soon as the light hits me. I hate it. I hate everything.

"Time to go." The fat man stands in the doorway, arms folded. I can smell the sweat and cigarettes on him from across the room.

"Please let me go." My voice is a whisper, so thin even I barely hear it. "Please, I promise I won't tell anyone." I keep my eyes locked on him despite the gnawing need to pull away. His gaze flickers to my nipples poking through the fabric. He's disgusting, vile—everything my mother ever warned me about. And here I am, begging him for my life.

His laugh bounces off the tiles of the bathroom, making me feel even smaller, more pathetic than my pleas sound.

"Your begs don't work in here, sunshine. Maybe save them for whoever buys you." His words tumble over a pant, his chest moving quicker with each breath.

"Please," I clear my throat, "please tell me where my sister is. She's all alone. She—" He cuts me off with a scowl, fingers gripping deep into my arm as he drags me through the threshold.

"Shut your fucking mouth, whore, before I change my mind and shove you back in your box."

He pulls me, my feet moving without thinking as I squirm under his grip. "Please, I'll do anything!" I call out through the halls, begging loudly, praying that someone in the house will come, will see me.

Please, anyone. Have a heart. Help me.

But no one does.

The sun peeps through the crack in one of the curtains as I'm pulled through the house, every wall, door, and window all blending into one. The same wallpaper, the exact carpets in each hallway. It's like a never-ending loop, one I'll never be free from.

We finally reach a door, one different to the others, and I know it's time to go. I crane over my shoulder, trying hard to find a way out, to look for someone, but there's no one there. He tugs me into his side harder, his dirty, yellow fingernails digging so hard into my arm it causes me to wince.

"It pains me to give you away, girl." His lips turn into a smile, my eyes wide in horror at his words as he kicks open the door, the light blinding at first. It's morning. I've survived the night. But has Rosa?

"Is she alive?" I whisper, not sure if I want a response or if I just need to hear the words. My eyes scan the bleak stretch of yard, overgrown with wild grass tangled with weeds and the dirt road that disappears into the trees.

He catches me looking, his mouth curling into a sneer. "Scream all you like, whore. No one can hear you all the way out here." I turn to meet his gaze.

"I don't care what you do to me. Please, just tell me if my sister is alive."

"She ain't your sister no more." He hitches up his trousers by the belt, snorting loudly and spitting on the ground. "She belongs to me now; you hear me, girl? She's mine."

She's not yours. She'll never be yours. I promise, Rosa, I'll find you. I won't let him win.

I want to scream, to fight, to tell him she'll never belong to him, but he's already shoving me through the door. I stumble, but he holds me up, keeping me steady as the gravel digs into the soles of my feet. My eyes dart around as I search for an exit, for help, for anything. Each step causes me to groan in pain, my whole body sinking as the van comes into view.

"No, no, no..." I sob. "Please, don't..." But it doesn't matter to him; he just keeps shoving me closer. Every ounce of strength I felt leaves my body, emptiness taking over.

"Thought you didn't care." He scoffs, the doors already open and waiting. He shoves me inside, hard and uncaring. The smell hits me first—the sour, rancid stench of sweat and something salty I never want to name.