My body has transformed over the years. But the sadness that has kept a hold of me all this time is still there, ever present. I’ve become accustomed to ignoring it. Where I focus rather on the numbness than the emotion. As we head into the end of another year where my life is nothing more than a reminder of being taken, used, trained, I wonder if it’s time to stop fighting for my freedom.
It’s almost Christmas, and I think back to my sixteenth birthday. I was born on the twenty-third of December, and Ma always told me it’s because I was special. It was the most magical time of the year, which is why I have never forgotten the moment I noticed Tye in a different light.
“Tye.”I smile when I open the door.
We’ve decorated the house with balloons, ribbons, and an enormous banner that says, ‘Happy Birthday’. My best friend is here, but the dreams I’ve been having changed the way I look at him now. Since I’ve known him, he’s focused on working out, but more now that he’s already turned seventeen. The girls notice him, stare his way when we walk past, but the thing is, he’s never had a girlfriend.
“Happy birthday, wee bird,” he teases with a smile that makes my heart thrum faster than I thought it could. I wonder if he can hear it because it’s deafening to me. He’s nicknamed me ‘wee bird’ because my name literally means‘little bird’and that’s always what Tye has called me. Nobody else could use that name.
Ma reckons we’ll get married someday, but I have a feeling she’s got those heart eyes. She wants me to be happy, to have something she never did. As much as I love her, I feel as if I’m not good enough for Tye. He has a good heart, he’s strong, handsome, and he would make any lass happy. But I’m pretty sure he sees me as a friend. Nothing more.
I haven’t told him how I feel. It’s something my diary has kept secret since I wrote about it months ago. He’s never even kissed me. And it’s the only thing I can think about every time I’m near him.
“I’m not wee anymore, Tye,” I tell him, a giggle escaping my lips and he offers me the grin I love.
Aye, I’ve loved him for a long time, but now, it’s not only as a friend, he’s so much more. He’s my rock. He knows me better than anyone else, better than I know myself. And I still don’t know why he wants to be friends with me.
I’ve never been part of the popular crowd. My focus was on school. I wanted to go to University and make Ma proud. And with my grades, I’m pretty sure I’ll get there on a bursary. The financial aid will help because I know Ma doesn’t have the money to pay for my living expenses, or the course I want to do. And taking out a loan is not an option either.
“Ye’ll always be my wee bird,” he tells me and pulls me into his muscular arms. The older he gets, the more muscle he builds, and the stronger he is. But the tighter he holds me, the safer I feel. And I realise I never want him to let me go.
Tye’s affectionmade me feel as if I were snuggled at home, like nothing could ever hurt me when he was close by. The difference between Tye and the man who now owns me is that there is always a false sense of security in the promise in my captor’s eyes. Not only him, though, but all the traffickers who buy and sell girls and young women.
The rooms we’re given, the clothes, and the luxuries. Gold painted shit may hide the filth, but there’s a stench of evil. With each gift of beauty comes a stark reminder of darkness, of the violence that runs through their veins.
It’s been years since they first sold me from one home to another, and it’s happened twice a year since. I’ve watched girls come and go. Some even stayed. Only a handful, though. These men aren’t in the habit of keeping pets around for long, because this isn’t some posh life that makes us feel special. They ensure we know we’re not. We are toys, drones who follow orders or we face the consequences.
But this place I’m in now, I’ve only been here for a few months. And yet, I feel more at ease here than any of the other houses I’ve been sent to. I’ve overheard whispers we’re in France. The weather has been chilly, even with the sunny days, and they allow us into the garden, which I’ve taken advantage of more times than I can count.
I glance in the mirror and shudder. I look nothing like the girl who packed her bags and left Northern Ireland seven years ago. My thoughts have strayed to home, to Ballycastle so many times. The green hills, the ocean, and the boy I left behind.
I promised him I’d write every single day for that year. He was stuck at school, but I couldn’t. I didn’t even make it to school. They brought in tutors to make sure we didn’t fall behind. The men who bought us wanted to ensure we were intelligent because it made them look good if we were able to hold a conversation with their friends and confidantes about any subject possible. It was the only thing I was thankful for. I graduated, but I still don’t see the light at the end of the tunnel.
Missy walks into the room, stopping short at the entrance. She’s been here longer than I have. She once told me she arrived here at a much younger age. The man who purchased her from the auction is good to her. I’m pretty sure she’s in love with him. He is handsome, I can’t deny it, but he is dangerous. She told me he’s French royalty, or something like that. But I haven’t been here long enough to know if it’s true. The one thing I know is, he’s prone to violence. Even though he’s never struck one of us, he’s still issued threats that force us to obey.
“The party is about to start,” she tells me. “The guests are all in the living room.” Her American accent is a gentle reminder that the girls who come to theseparties,as the men call it, are from all over the world. It’s not just one targeted country.
“Do I look okay?” I turn to her, waiting for her to assess the outfit. We’ve become close friends, and I’m thankful for that.
The home I was in before coming here was hell. They kept us in our rooms twenty-four seven, and even then, we were bound. There was enough leeway to move to the bathroom if we needed it, but we could never leave.
Missy comes to me and offers a smile. “You’re beautiful,” she tells me. It’s something we remind each other of daily.
When you’re here, as a possession, it’s not the same as having a normal life. We’re constantly told we’re nothing more than pets.
“Are the boys coming too?” I ask, curious to see her reaction.
A blush creeps up onto her cheeks at the mention of the twins, and she smiles. “Yes.”
The twins—who arrived at the same time as Missy—are confident, handsome, and they only have eyes for her. Since she and I have grown close, they’ve accepted me as part of their friendship circle.
“Good,” I say with a nod. I feel better when we’re all together.
Even though these men outnumber us, there’s a sense of security having my friends there. We hold hands as we make our way out of my room and down the hall. The house is old, enormous, with countless rooms. Expensive art hangs on the walls, mostly portraits of people from centuries ago. The smooth wooden floors have been varnished to shine, while the accents of gold and copper shimmer. Plants flourish the interior, offering a homely feel to the house, and from every window, there’s a view of lush green hills. It’s almost like being in paradise, but under the beautiful veneer, it’s nothing more than a gilded prison.
“There they are,” one twin, Josh, says.
The other twin, Jacques, walks up to us and smiles. I learnt early on that his name is James, but because our owner prefers his pets to have alternative names for their new lives, he changed it to something more fitting with where they are now. He gave Josh the name Josué, but he never uses it. He refuses to be anything other than Josh to us.