In spite of his promise that he would be gentle and that he loathed the idea of marking my skin, apparently, he’d changed his mind, proving that his kindness balanced precariously on the edge of his capricious nature.
The memory threatened to send me to my knees but I pushed it away, determined to get away from this place and from him.
There was a reservation in hell for people like Henri Benoit and anyone like him. I hoped he died a thousand different ways when it was his turn to answer for his sins. If that’s even a thing that happened. Like I said, I wasn’t really into religion and I wasn’t entirely sure that God existed but I was willing to hope that if there was a God, there was a devil, too because someone had to make bad people pay.
I started to shake. My fingers struggled with the tiny, pearled buttons but I finally managed to be fully dressed by the time I was shuffled off blindfolded into the awaiting Towncar.
No one spoke to me. I was nothing more than a lump of cargo to them and their job was simple: return the merchandise to the warehouse with no questions asked or answered.
Once in the car, I ripped the blindfold off and threw it on the floor, whirling to peer out the windows but just as before, the black-out windows blotted out where I was going and where I’d been.
I listened to the sound of the tires on the road. I listened for anything that might give away my location but it was silent, devoid of markers like other cars, city life or even planes overhead, which meant, I was somewhere in the country, away from prying eyes and far from anyone who might rescue me.
The trip was long, at least an hour. When the car rolled to a stop, I hastily grabbed the blindfold and returned it to my eyes, only this time, I left it a little loose so I could see from the bottom at least.
I was jerked from the seat and pushed forward, a far cry from the restrained courtesy when I first arrived, and after climbing the stairs, sent almost tumbling into a room. I pulled the blindfold free but not before the door closed and locked behind me.
This was a different room than before. Instead of four beds, there was only one with a small desk and chair. It was simply furnished, nothing spoke of luxury or wealth. If anything, it looked like an upscale prison cell for minimum security prisoners. Or maybe a group home.
The bedding was plain cotton and the bathroom adjoining was nothing like the sumptuous extravaganza from before. A toilet, a small, functional shower, a few folded towels and a set of hotel toiletries were all that could be found in the room. No more fancy perfumes and lotions. No huge Jacuzzi tub with bath bombs or essential oils. A sense of foreboding lodged itself in my gut as the message we no longer held any value was hammered home.
I went to the door and tried to open it. As before, locked. I started to pace the small room. Panic and claustrophobia setting in at once. I tried to calm my breathing but my heart was racing. I banged on the door, yelling, “I want to talk to Olivia!” but when nothing but silence answered me, I gave the door a solid kick, bruising my toe but accomplishing little else.
I sat on the edge on the bed, waiting, because it was all I could do. Silence was my enemy. The quiet only gave my mind permission to replay my time with Henri and I wanted to puke.
I could still smell him on my skin. I could taste him in my mouth. The bruising of his fingers lingered on my flesh.
I could feel the bile rising in my throat as I tried to keep it down. I lost the battle and ran for the toilet, unloading the small bites of food I’d managed to get down last night when Henri was feeling generous. I heaved until nothing remained and I started to dry heave until I thought I might vomit a kidney.
Finished, I wiped at my mouth and flushed before dropping to the cold tile floor. I wanted to shower but I didn’t have the strength to stand just yet. Not enough food, too much exertion and emotional trauma collided to steal the strength from my legs.
I didn’t know how long I sat crumpled on that floor, staring at the wall, seeing nothing. Finally, I unfurled myself from a curled position and crawled to the shower. I stripped and stood beneath the spray, grateful for the simple pleasure of hot water sluicing over my body, washing away the pain but not the memory.
Tears I didn’t want to cry, crowded my sinuses. My chest burned with the need to scream. I stuffed it all down but it kept rising to choke the air from my lungs. I pressed my forehead against the cool ceramic tiles, bracing myself with my hands, water running down my back.
This too shall pass.
I was alive, that’s what mattered — and I intended to stay that way.
They would not destroy me. I wouldn’t give them that power. If my own mother couldn’t kill my spirit, some overprivileged dickwad wouldn’t either. I was stronger than anything they could throw at me. I’d show them that they haven’t won but I could only do that if I wasn’t folding in on myself, wanting to die.
When I felt I could successfully leave the shower without collapsing, I toweled off and redressed in the pajamas I was in before.
With nothing but my thoughts to keep me company, I curled up on the bed and fell fast asleep, thankful my dreams were nothing but a black void of exhaustion.
I woke hours later just in time for Olivia to enter with a tray of food and a sunny smile as if I wasn’t a prisoner in this place.
She set the tray down and came to join me, sitting in the chair opposite the bed. “How are you feeling?” she asked as if that weren’t an absurd question.
I wasn’t in the mood for small talk. “Where’s everybody else?” I demanded to know. “Why aren’t we all in the same room as before?”
Olivia smiled. “You should eat. You’re probably exhausted.”
“Where are Jilly, Dylan, and Tana?” I asked, stubbornly refusing to be deflected. “What’s going on? This doesn’t feel right.”
“You have a suspicious mind,” Olivia said, that stupid smile never slipping, as if she were indulging my silly questions. “Everyone is fine. Resting, same as you. It’s customary for the girls to be alone after their time with the buyers so they might enjoy some peace and quiet. I would imagine you’ve earned it.”
Fuck her for knowing what we’d been through and that we’d probably welcome solitude. I hated to admit that made a certain level of sense. Was I being paranoid? Was the deal truly everything it seemed to be and now that the hard part was over, I was about to get a big, fat check? “What happens now?” I asked, still not trusting Olivia or anything associated with Madame Moirai.
“You will be seen by a physician, given a few days of rest and then, depending on your circumstances, either sent home or elevated.”
“Elevated? What the fuck does that mean?” I asked. “I don’t understand. What are you talking about? I just want to be paid and then I want the fuck out of here.”
“Of course. Please, enjoy some food and I’ll be back in the morning to discuss your options.”
“I want to see the girls,” I persisted, needing to know that they were okay, too. “Especially Tana.”
Olivia’s expression changed for only a second as she asked in confusion, “Why?”
“Because she was having a hard time before the auction and I want to make sure she’s okay.”
“She’s fine,” Olivia assured me but the woman had the warmth of a snake. “Now, is there anything else you require for the night? Books, perhaps?”
“I told you what I wanted. To see the girls.”
“Right. That’s not going to happen,” she answered, rising. “They need their rest, just as you need yours. I’m sorry, Madame Moirai is quite strict in that regard. All protocols must be followed as I’m sure you remember from your contract.”