I failed, so fucking miserably I don’t know what else I’m going to do.
Footsteps echo down the hall, and I stiffen, holding my breath as I wait, wait for whatever is about to walk in. I don’t want to face what today has in store for me. I truly don’t. When the door opens, Mick walks in with Sharleen by his side. She looks at me with pure satisfaction, and oh, the things I want to do to her. Mick strides over and leans down, grinning at me. I want to spit on him, but I’m too afraid to open my mouth. If I do, my screams won’t stop.
Then he’ll really know what it is he did to me.
I won’t let him have that.
“Did you have a nice night?”
I say nothing.
“Ah, the silent treatment. You’re tough, Willow, most girls that are down here either cut themselves to shreds trying to get out or are completely broken by morning. I’m sure with time, you’ll weaken.”
I clench my jaw, wanting to spit a thousand horrible words at him, but I don’t.
“Sharleen, release her. It’s time for breakfast.”
Breakfast, usually a word associated with some delicious morning meal, but I imagine in this place, it’s anything but. Sharleen leans down and very roughly undoes my hands. When they’re freed, Mick jerks me up and wraps his arms around me. I hate him, I hate him with the fire of a thousand suns, yet after the night I had, feeling arms around me brings a sick sense of comfort. That’s when I finally realize how they break these women.
It’s quite a clever process really. They treat them horribly, but then they comfort and stroke them afterwards, repeating this over and over. The women grow to need the comfort, so much so, that they’ll do anything for it and boom, a slave is born. I was sure these women had hard lives, or maybe they were once orphans or children raised in awful homes, but I’m starting to think that’s not the case at all. Some are just women who have been captured and will do anything for a little peace. Even if it means that peace comes from the monsters who create the hell for them to begin with.
Mick strokes my hair, and I shudder. He takes it as weakness, but it’s not, it’s repulsion. “There now, you might just think twice about crossing me again.”
I want to hurt him. God, I want to hurt him.
“Mick, stop babying her, she’ll never fucking learn!” Sharleen snaps, her voice icy. “She’s a fucking slut, treat her like one. Anyone would think you like her, the weakness you’re showing.”
“Get on your fucking knees, Sharleen. Now.”
Mick’s voice comes out icy, and terrifying. Even I shrink into myself a little.
Sharleen’s eyes widen. “Excuse me?”
“Do as I fucking say and if you ever question me again, or call me weak, I’ll fucking gut you. Now get on your fucking knees.”
She drops to her knees without another question, and her head bows. I stare down in shock. Seeing Sharleen like that almost makes me feel sorry for her. Almost. I can’t feel entirely sorry for her because she put herself here. She had a man who would die for her, and she chose his father over him. For that, she has no sympathy from me. Besides, if it came down to it, she’d watch me die a million times over without so much as blinking.
I can never let myself forget that.
“Now, how about a nice shower?” Mick smiles, all chipper again.
I don’t answer.
“Still silent? That’s ok. We’ll change that.”
He pulls me out of the dark room and barks at Sharleen to organize breakfast. He leads me back up the stairs and we pass a few people with women glued to their sides on the way. I try to make eye contact with those girls, but none of them dare to look up. God, the poor things. It’s one of the most horrible things I’ve ever had to experience, seeing this kind of thing go on and knowing there isn’t a single thing I can do to stop it.
“Now,” Mick says when we step into his room once more. “A shower?”
I don’t say anything. I outright refuse. He leads me into the bathroom and turns on the shower, and then he surprises me by walking out. I’m not sure if this is another trick, and so I stand there, staring at the door, not sure if I’m game to step under the water or if I should simply stay here, not moving a muscle.
“Five minutes, Willow,” Mick calls through the open door. “Don’t waste it. I can’t promise I’ll be feeling this nice tomorrow.”
I quickly undress, desperate to remove the smell of rat from my body. I’m sure at one point during the night they sat on me, nestling into my shirt like filthy creatures of hell. One look at my tattered clothes, tells me they chewed on them, and that thought makes me sick to my stomach. I check my skin frantically, thankfully there are no bite marks. I breathe a sigh of relief and get into the shower, scrubbing until I can no longer smell a single scent of rat. Even if my skin burns and my eyes well with unshed tears, I keep scrubbing.