In what possible world would anything about this situation be okay?
I swallowed and gasped for air between dry heaves. “I’m fine,” I croaked, my throat raw from stomach acid and hours of screaming during my torture sessions in the chair. I had been here seven… eight days? Maybe longer. And I was already incredibly weak. My body sore, my anxiety so sharp I had been throwing up multiple times per day, which meant I hardly absorbed any of the sparse amounts of food served twice a day. I heaved again and tears leaked from my eyes. My ribs exploded in pain every time my stomach tightened and I leaned over the bowl. Breathing had become a chore simply because of the red hot fire that burned in my ribs with each inhale.
“Are you sure?”
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and braced my hands on the toilet seat to push my way to my feet. Dizzy with nausea, pain, and lack of food, I stumbled to the door and flung it open.
“No I’m not fucking okay, Cat! Nothing is okay!” The shadow of my friend took a step back, shock permeating her dark eyes. Good. At least I got an emotion out of her. I moved toward her and she retreated until her thighs pressed against the bed. “I am getting out of this fucking hellhole and you are coming with me, so snap the fuck out of whatever alternate reality you’ve retreated to and get with the goddamn program.”
El Cuchillo might have weakened my body, but he would never, ever take away my fire, my soul. I refused to become docile and lost like Cat.
“They’ll kill you,” she whispered, her lower lip trembling.
“I don’t care. I’d rather be dead than give up.”
Cat’s eyes shined with moisture and tears overflowed down her malnourished, sharp cheekbones. Finally, she understood. She was returning to me.
“I don’t want to die, but I can’t live here anymore, Miri.” Her hand darted out and clutched my arm. Cat’s grip was stronger than I expected as she squeezed harder. “Don’t leave me here. I’ll do what I can to help.”
My breath hitched and my throat tightened. I tugged her toward me and enveloped my best friend in a bone-crushing hug.
“I’m so glad you’re back, Cat.” She snuffled against my shoulder. I put my mouth to her ear and whispered as low as I could. “I’ve missed you so much. We are going to get out of here. I promise.”
I released her and she sagged onto the bed, drained emotionally from the seemingly small outburst that shoved her so violently, she crashed through her mental fog right back to reality.
“How… how can you promise that? I’ve been here for months, Miri. So long I don’t know what day or even month it is.”
Cat’s voice cracked with despair. But I knew her well enough to detect the tiny bit of hope beneath the anguish. I saw a flash of it in her eyes. I’d been staring at the dull, dingy brown for days. Now her eyes shone with the barest hint of life.
It was time to tell her about Jag. I had refrained until now, unsure if someone was listening in. If I could mask our words somehow, drown them out. My heart leapt in my chest as an idea crossed my mind.
“Listen, I’m going to turn on the shower and then we can—”
The lock jiggled and the bedroom door opened before I could tell Cat any more about my plan. I clung to my best friend. We never knew which one of us they were coming for until we saw who was there. My pulse raced as Raoul stepped into view and his enormous body filled the entire doorframe.
Here for me, then.
“No!” Cat cried. She dug her fingers into my ratty T-shirt.
“Don’t,” I said. Our eyes met and I shook my head. Raoul would hurt her if she tried to stop him. Cat sobbed and loosened her grip. Her hands slid limply to her lap. “I’ll be fine.”
Cat knew I was lying, but what else could I say? She needed to stay strong. I needed her to keep her newfound spark so we could get out of here. As Raoul slung me over his shoulder like a bag of garbage, I glanced back at my friend. She steeled her jaw and nodded and I saw it in her eyes. Cat was back.
Even though I was being led downstairs to be tortured, I smiled. I would be strong. Cat would be strong. We would be okay.
* * *
“Fuck you!” I hissed as El Cuchillo gripped my hair and wrenched my head back at an awkward angle.
“Still so feisty.” He chuckled. “I will break you and your boyfriend will watch. He will see the minute you surrender your will to me.” The sick fuck’s eyes lit up as he lowered his face until our noses nearly touched. “It will be perfect.”
“Whatever,” I snapped like a petulant teenager.
His sadistic grin slipped and his fingers untangled from my hair. I enjoyed my second of victory. Then he backhanded me across the face. The gaudy ass gold ring he wore must have split my cheek open, again, because warm liquid trickled down my neck and onto the collar of my shirt.
“I will break you, puta. Then, when you are dead in the eyes like your roommate upstairs, I will sell you to the highest bidder.” So my suspicions were correct. Fear flooded my body and the nausea I had been fighting back came roaring to the surface. I clenched my lips together to keep from puking on the bastard, which would surely earn me a worse punishment than usual.
“Ahhhh,” he crooned as he slid a finger down my face. “That frightens you, no? I can see it in your eyes. Did you think you would just stay here forever? Why do you think only Raoul has fucked you? Hmmmm?” El Cuchillo continued caressing my face gently, a lover’s touch. Once again, I swallowed against the urge to vomit. “You think it’s because you are too good for that?” His hand went lower until he was groping my breast. “No, it is because none of my men would put their pito in you, a whore that had that filthy Boss’s prick inside you. Only my Raoul wanted to fuck you, and that’s because he likes his women dirty.” He squeezed my breast harder. So hard I clenched my teeth to keep from screaming. “You are tainted, puta.” His hand clamped down forcefully on my breast until my eyes watered, and I couldn’t stop the ragged scream that tore from my throat and echoed throughout the room.