But as I peered out the window, I realized with a sinking heart, even if I managed to open the window, the drop to the ground would either break my legs or kill me.
I went through the room, frantically looking for something that might help me escape from this prison but it was empty of anything useful.
I found drawers of sex toys and assorted lube that made me shudder and a closet full of chains, whips, and belts that scared me more than before.
Would Henri beat me? It was within his “right” to do so, according to him. As long as I was returned alive, anything was fair game.
I scurried to the bathroom to check if there was anything I could use as a weapon. Again, disappointed. Unless I wanted to throw small designer bottles of shampoo and body wash at him, I wasn’t going to find anything useful.
I bit back a cry of frustration. I would have to finish this hellish game. I eyed the shower as if it were the enemy. It was big enough for at least four people. Showers, in my experience, weren’t a social event. Two large rainfall showerheads were placed at each end with smaller showerheads lining the wall. It was, like everything else in this place, ridiculously beautiful but all I saw was the pure indulgence of someone who had too much money and not enough soul.
I stepped into the shower and closed my eyes as I walked under the spray. Steam rose from the hot water as I made the temperature almost unbearable. I welcomed the pain. Rationally, I knew that no matter how hot the water, I would never wash away what’d happened to me.
I viciously scrubbed at my vagina, desperate to get his DNA off of me. Once my skin was reddened and raw, I sat on the tiled ledge and let the water stream down my body. I let the tears flow in the privacy of the shower so the water would wash away my pain.
How did someone recover from an experience like this? Goddamn it, I’d been so fucking naive to think I could sell a piece of myself and walk away with lingering distaste as the only lasting effect.
I thought of Dylan, Jilly, and Tana — my unlikely partners in this game. I worried about Tana most. I wiped at my nose. Was she okay? Would she survive this ordeal? I had no idea how traumatic it would be. If I was struggling, Tana was probably crumpling in on herself.
Dylan seemed badass but who knew what kind of soft spots a hard exterior hides. I didn’t believe in God but I needed to cling to something that gave me some kind of hope. I felt empty inside but that wasn’t entirely true either because how could an empty space hurt so much?
My hatred for Henri spiraled outward. He was part of the problem but he wasn’t the epicenter. Madame Moirai was the one supplying the product. Henri was just like the rest of the disgusting men rich enough to buy people. Removing him from the equation was small and ineffective.
But what was I thinking? I didn’t know shit about Madame Moirai’s operation and that was purposeful. Questions weren’t answered and we were prevented from knowing anything more than what was necessary to finish the deal. Everyone associated with the auction was bound to Madame Moirai just as we were. When people became so powerful that ordinary rules and laws didn’t apply to them, it was possible to do anything.
I didn’t feel safe.
I shivered in spite of the steam swirling around me. What were the ramifications of killing a girl in these circles? Powerful men weren’t about to disappear over a poor girl no one cared about in the first place.
Each of us came from backgrounds that made it possible to manipulate us into taking deals that no sane person ever would.
Desperation was the necessary ingredient to Madame Moirai’s toxic soup and damn, that bitch had known exactly who to target for her dinner party.
So, what was I supposed to do now? I guess I had to play the game a little longer. Leaving this place alive and running away from this experience was most important.
I couldn’t do that if I was goading Henri. I had no safety net. As much as I loathed him, I would have to find a way to play nice.
He was simply a weak, deviant man with a God complex. If I played to his ego, I might be able to walk away without too many scars.
I just had to find a way to bite my tongue and smile when I wanted to snarl. I had to play the part of the thankful, naive girl who felt fortunate to have a “kind” buyer. Maybe if I was smart enough, I could trick him into sharing information that I might find useful.
I didn’t know what I wanted to do with that information but I would feel more secure if I had something — anything — of value to hold onto as leverage.
Hell, maybe it was all wishful thinking and the idea of leverage was an illusion of false hope but it was all I had to cling to. Without it, I’d start screaming and breaking things, which would sure as fuck end badly for me.
Resolved, I turned off the water and wrapped myself in a large, fluffy, pristine white towel that smelled of lavender and expensive things.
I bypassed all of the lotions and perfumes at my disposal. I didn’t want any scent to be associated with this experience. The last thing I needed was my nose to remind me of the horrors of this room when I was at the mall or something.
Assuming I escaped this experience alive.
A robe hung on a cloth hanger. The blood-red silk seemed appropriate. My soul was bleeding. I ripped the robe free and wrapped it around me in defiance. Fuck him, I would get through this and thrive in spite of it.
But stupid tears clung to my eyes because the pain inside was like a knife twisting around in my guts. Exactly how would I get through this? How would I thrive when I had a cancerous trauma fucking up an already dysfunctional psyche? I didn’t have answers, only determination, which summed up my entire damn life.
Madame Moirai had sniffed out my desperation but she hadn’t recognized the flip of that coin. If I could turn that to my advantage somehow, I would.
You didn’t grow up with Carla West as your mother without learning a few coping mechanisms — unhealthy as they were.
A fire burned inside my belly that Madame Moirai had inadvertently fed. Maybe it wasn’t enough to simply survive this night. I’d never been particularly needled by the need for justice in my life but this felt different.
It felt bigger.
We four weren’t the first girls to be auctioned off. How many girls had she ruined with her little game? How many souls had she eaten in her pursuit of greed?
The only way to find answers was to insert myself fully into the role I was picked to play.
As much as my stomach turned, I would welcome Henri’s touch when he returned. As much as I wanted to stab him in the heart, I would play the part of the contrite and docile slave girl because his monstrous ego was as bloated as his wallet.
I stared into the mirror, seeing someone different. In shitty situations, people could either rise or fall. Carla had chosen to fall. Her weakness dragged her down to wallow in the muck of her own making. I swore I’d be different. I mistakenly thought taking Madame Moirai’s deal was smarter than anything Carla had done but it wasn’t.
Sucking a dick was sucking a dick. It didn’t matter if you were doing it to get some guy to pay for dinner or your future.
Girls had been selling themselves for ages.
Carla had sold her dignity a long time ago and any sense of integrity she might’ve had was stomped into a puddle of mush way before I came along.
So, I’d sold myself for a bigger payday but here I was, feeling like a bitter whore who’d been cheated her payday and regretting the choice to take the job.
I should’ve paid better attention to the red flags, much less the fine print.