He was genuinely curious, as if I were a zoo animal on exhibit. I swallowed, answering, “Because I might be poor but I’m not stupid. People have been underestimating me my entire life. I’m a survivor because I’ve had to be.”
“Yes, your drunken mother,” he surmised, chuckling at my open shock. He released my breasts to roll to his back with a sigh. “First rule of business, my darling, always know what you’re purchasing ahead of time.”
My skin crawled. Had Madame Moirai put together a dossier of each of her girls? Like a fucking menu for rich perverts? Here’s a girl with a shitty mother and a chip on her shoulder but a great set of tits and the round bubble butt of a 12-year-old boy. Bidding starts at fifty thousand! “What else do you know about me?” I asked, barely able to keep the tremble of contempt from my voice.
“I know that you have a nice, tight pussy,” he said, rolling me on top of him. “And I know that I find you delectable. Isn’t that enough?”
No. “Put yourself in my position.”
He found that humorous. “I cannot.”
“Try.”
A flash of annoyance crossed his expression. “And why would I do that?”
“Have you ever heard of a thing called empathy?”
“Useless in my experience,” he answered, his hands anchoring on my hips. “Enough of this talk. I want to feel you all around me.”
That was my warning. Either I could submit or he could rape me again, possibly hurting me in the process.
Survival was a double-edged sword. Sometimes you fought so hard to live that you overlooked the reality that living with the consequences could end up being unbearable.
But at this moment, I chose survival. I clung to the determination that he would not break me, no matter what I had to endure.
He knew the moment the gate swung shut on my resistance and the fingers digging into my hips gentled. “Yes, little bird, let me show you how loving I can be,” he crooned to me. “I will give you such pleasure that you forget all your complaints. I can make this a dream between you and I.”
You’re my fucking nightmare, you overindulged piece of European trash. I graced him with a smile that bordered on cocky as I said, “We’ll see…” and he chuckled with approval, assuming he’d won.
But he’d never win. He could have my body but he’d never have my soul or my mind. The Buddhists believed that the body was just a temporary housing for the soul, a vessel for the ongoing journey to enlightenment. I didn’t know if I believed in the concept but I was willing to cling to the idea that I was not only the sum of my parts, that I was more than a girl whose body was being violated for someone else’s pleasure.
I was more than a collection of cells clumped together. More than the price tag Madame Moirai had placed on my head.
And so much more than Carla West had ever believed I was.
The thing was, being able to disassociate myself from the act being done to me, was my saving grace — the thing that kept me sane — but I knew that someday that bill would come due.
Someday I’d have to deal with the trauma happening to me but I had to live to see that day first.
My gut told me that girls didn’t escape Madame Moirai. That some girls never returned home. I refused to be one of those lost girls. I could only pray that each of us returned to the mansion in one piece.
After what felt like an eternity, Henri finished and I was permitted to clean myself in the bathroom. When I returned, food had magically appeared and he looked like a king ready to be hand-fed grapes by my hand. It would take Herculean strength not to choke him with a breadstick.
I wrapped the robe around me as he patted the bed beside him. “Come, little bird, we must eat. You need your strength.” I was starving. I gratefully shoved a few pieces of hard cheese in my mouth until he admonished, “Slowly, we mustn’t eat like an animal or we shall be treated like one, yes?” I swallowed my bite and nodded, wary at what that would mean. My next bite I was careful to eat more conservatively, gaining his approval. “I’ve decided to answer one question to sate your curious little mind. I grant you permission to ask whatever you like but be mindful of your question for I will only answer one.”
This game was nauseating. One question. He doled out information like a miserly old toad and he enjoyed watching me dangle. The first question that burned in my head was one he likely wouldn’t answer, in spite of his promise. I had to ask him something that would seem innocent enough. He was more likely to divulge information that tickled his ego. I placed a grape in my mouth and chewed with great thought before asking, “What is your real name?”
He paused, considering my request. I reminded him playfully, “You promised me one answer. It would mean a lot to me to know who I gave my virginity to.”
His gaze hardened. “You gave me nothing, child. I took what I paid for,” he corrected me. I nodded, chastised. He chose to forgive me, leaning back with his hands behind his head, his long, lean body stretched out on the bed. I could tell he didn’t want to share that information but he must’ve anticipated that I would ask something of substance, which he found alluring. If anyone was playing a dangerous game, it was Henri.
Unless he knew he had nothing to truly lose because Madame Moirai would ensure my silence — one way or another.
“If you don’t want to tell me…”
“Henri Benoit,” he finally shared. “Have you heard of my family?” The arrogance in his tone gave me great pleasure when I shook my head with a blank stare. My ignorance dampened his swagger as he said, “Perhaps it isn’t your fault. Americans are notoriously poorly educated. My family descends from French nobility.”
Was I supposed to be impressed? A pervert was a pervert no matter how you dressed it up to be something it wasn’t. My gran used to say you could put a dress on a pig but it didn’t make it a princess. “How lucky you must be,” I murmured, hoping that was the right response to keep him talking. “I thought you might be French by your accent but I wasn’t sure.”
“Indeed. Business brings me to the states quite often but my home is far from here.”
“So this isn’t your house?” I dared to ask.
“No more questions,” he said, rising to go to the dreaded closet of horrors. I swallowed, waiting to find what fresh hell he was going to inflict on me. The curve of his lips worried me as he said, “Take off your robe and come to me, little bird.”
I knew whatever was going to happen next would probably live with me for an eternity.
I would endure, I told myself, fighting off frightened tears. I would endure.
And then I would find a way to make that motherfucker pay.
Somehow. Someway.
12
Henri didn’t say goodbye and I was glad. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could stomach his presence and I knew I was still alive only by his grace, which could be rescinded at his whim with his capricious nature.
As the sun rose, a modest, plain pajama set was delivered to the room with the instructions to dress and be ready for transport in fifteen minutes. I never felt such a wave of gratitude to be leaving this room in my life. I never wanted to see burgundy brocade curtains ever again.
I rose gingerly, every inch of my body reacting in pain as I took my time to dress, wincing as fresh aches and dull agony reminded me how much pleasure Henri had taken in abusing me in his final act.