We’re fed soup and crackers, a meager meal but something she claims won’t fatten us up. Apparently even sex traffickers are fatphobic and body shame the women. Never mind that they can’t get pussy unless they quite literally steal it.
I’ve just finished eating when it sounds like Francesca screeches from below, the enraged sound echoing throughout the house. I freeze, slowly setting my soup bowl on the nightstand when footsteps pound on the wood, though, it doesn’t sound like she has her heels on. Her angry stride travels up the stairs and down the hall, my heart beating faster with each step toward me.
My door slams open, and she storms into my room, the doorknob deepening the crater in the wall from the force.
I flinch and jump up from my bed, heart racing as she stomps towards me and sticks her face in mine.
“You were doing so well,” she spits.
My mouth parts and I shake my head, speechless as confusion and adrenaline war in my brain.
“Wha—”
“Don’t play stupid,” she hisses before backhanding me, fire lancing across my cheek and a gasp slipping free.
Instinctively, I grab my cheek, shock rendering me utterly paralyzed.
I look at her just as she shoves a shoe in my face. Or what used to be one. It’s the same ones she was wearing earlier—the same ones she made me kiss and lick—bl
ack stilettos with gold heels. Except now, the gold spike is cracked off at the base, barely hanging on, and deep scratches mar every inch of it.
“You did this,” she accuses. “You did this to all my fucking shoes!”
I shake my head again, eyes wide and protests falling from my lips. “I didn’t, I swear, Francesca. I didn—”
Another sharp slap to the same cheek cuts off my truth. Her chest heaves with anger. Heat radiates from her in waves, solar flares of fury lashing at me as she seethes.
Tears rush to my eyes, and I shake from the effort to keep them from falling. I don’t want to show an ounce of weakness. She’ll take the tears for guilt. My vision blurs and colorful words gather on my tongue. It takes several swallows to force them back down my throat.
“I saw the look in your eyes earlier, diamond. Don’t pretend like you weren’t planning my death. You’re a spoiled little brat and doing this—” she shoves the shoe in my face— “will do you no favors.”
“Fran—”
“Shut up!” she screeches, completely losing her mind. She grabs my hair and yanks me down onto the ground, fire racing across my scalp. I cry out; the sound quickly muffled when she shoves my face into the wooden floor and starts yanking down my leggings.
My eyes blow wide, and panic begins to override my senses.
“Wait, wait, Francesca, I didn’t do it!”
She’s not listening, though.
“This will be the last time you disrespect me. Do you understand me?!” she shouts, finally getting the material down past my ass.
I twist, attempting to roll out of her hold, but her nails are clawing into my hip and forcing me back down. Still, I can’t stop fighting, not when she’s trying to spread my legs.
“Stop!” I yell, vision blackening with panic and a slew of tears.
“Get in here,” she snaps to someone, but I don’t see who. I only feel their weight pressing down on me, and my body truly begins to fight then.
“Wait, wait, please, please, I didn’t do it! I didn’t do it,” I sob, desperate to get away but unable to. The weight is pressing down on my head, preventing me from seeing or moving, but I can feel everything.
Oh god, I can feel everything. The broken heel of her shoe is being shoved inside me, and I scream as it tears me apart.
“Please, please, please,” I cry. I cry and cry and cry, but she’s past listening.
Her hands disappear, along with the weight of the person on top of me being shoved off.
Francesca is yanking my head back, forcing me to stare at her contorted face, nearly spitting with ire. She’s on her knees, eyes wild as she hisses, “Don’t you ever destroy my things again, or you will suffer much worse than this. I swear to fucking God, I will make you wish you were dead. Am I understood?”