The young girl in the cage at the side of me softly cries and I battle with myself on whether to try and comfort her. My heart overthrows my brain as I put my filthy hand through the bars, my fingernails broken and brittle. “Hey,” I say softly, not wanting to frighten her even more. She flinches then slowly lifts her head to face me, her eyes hollow and red from all the tears. The girl looks down at my open hand before lifting her own and placing it in mine. Her skin is cold and dry as I wrap my fingers around her boney hand, the notches of each knuckle are prominent under my finger tips.
“What’s your name?” I whisper to her, not wanting to attract any unwanted attention or put this poor girl in the firing line. Her dull brown eyes bounce around my face then she opens her cracked lips.
“It’s.. it’s Emily, what’s yours?” I give her a soft smile. “I’m Annabelle, but you can call me Ana.” Her mouth lifts into a small smile and my heart aches for her. “How long have you been here, Emily? I haven’t seen you before.” Her dark brows furrow as she thinks. “Uh, about two weeks. I think? I’ve lost track of timenow. It could be more or it could be less. I remember it being a Saturday, that’s when me and my boyfriend usually have our weekly date nights and I was waiting for him to pick me up when I was grabbed from behind, a foul smelling cloth was pressed over my face and then.. I don’t remember the rest.”
I notice the tears welling in her eyes as the harsh memory flashes in her mind and I squeeze her hand a little tighter in mine, in the hopes that it brings her a grain of comfort. Her eyes dart towards our connected hands and she repeats the movement.
“How about you? How long have you been here?” She asks and I school my features, not willing to let the horrific memory infiltrate the solid walls that I’m placing around me brick by brick.
“I think it’s about a month, but like you said, time is hard to keep track of here. I was in a car accident, ran off the road on my way home to my..” The words fail me for a moment and I clear my throat. “My boyfriend, my car was a complete wreck. I don’t remember much after that. I probably passed out and then woke up here.”
I can still hear the scraping of the metal against the tarmac before I made contact with the steel barriers, the sheer force of the car hitting those solid structures flung me out of my seat, causing me to smack my face against the hard steering wheel, and then my mind started to go blank and fuzzy and the only person I could think of was Dean. Every so often I let his presence inside my fortress, but only for a couple of minutes. Anything more and I begin to fall apart and I can’t afford to do that, not here.
“You miss him don’t you? I can see it in your eyes.” My eyes flick back to Emily, I nod and chew on my abused, dry lips. I don’ttrust myself not to crumble if I speak about Dean.
“Get some rest, Emily. Don’t give up just yet.” A tight smile tips my lips up and I give her hand one last squeeze before pulling mine back through the bars.
“Thank you, Ana.” She whispers before leaning into the corner of the cage and resting her head on the bars. I mimic her pose as I shuffle myself backwards and let my heavy eyelids fall closed as pure exhaustion and sorrow take over my body.
“Ana. Wake up.”
“Ana, hey. Wake up.”
A soft voice infiltrates my mind, weaving in and out of my delirious state. It’s warm, like a lover’s touch. “Dean? Is that you?” I whimper, the words struggling to pass through my dry lips.
“No. I’m sorry, it’s Emily. You need to wake up. The guards are coming.” Hearing Emily’s voice, my soul shards in half. I must have been so tired that my mind had conjured up Dean’s voice. Imagining that this whole situation was just a vicious nightmare, a cruel joke and that I would wake up in Dean’s arms, not at the bottom of a rusted cage.
Prying my eyelids open, the dark prison comes into view. This isn’t a nightmare at all. I feel Emily’s soft touch on my shoulder through the bars and I turn to face her, my bones screaming for release from the cramped space.
“What’s going on?” I whisper.
“It’s Selection Day. The guards will be here soon.” Emily’sbrown eyes scan my face before she turns towards the only door out of here. I follow her gaze towards the door and listen for the guards arriving. Echoes of deep voices can be heard behind the heavy door, the cries of women and girls alike stab into my ears as they’re dragged from their confines to be prepped for Selection Day.
Selection Day happens at least twice a week, depending on how many buyers my cruel husband has lined up. I think this will be my fourth Selection Day? I can’t be sure. The hours, days and weeks all roll into one here, leaving us in a constant state of purgatory.
The heavy door slides open and a handful of guards spill into the damp space, each of them unlocking the cages in quick succession. Starting from the ones closest to the door, until they reach Emily’s and then mine. I watch on in silence as Emily is pulled from the cage, heavy tears tumbling down her face. She looks back at me and something unspoken settles between us, almost like a promise that we’ll make it back to each other. I want to believe her but in a place like this, happy promises go to die.
The burley guard who’s taken a bit of liking to me, grips his filthy hands around my upper arms and pulls me from the cage, the rough concrete scrapes against my skin that’s already full of fresh and healing wounds.
“C’mon baby.” He grunts into my ear as I’m thrust into his chest. I keep my eyes locked onto the floor as he runs his nose through my greasy hair, the sourness of his breath infiltrating my senses. “I hope no one buys your used up cunt today, that way I can have my fill again.” His words feel like razor blades over my skin and vomit threatens to make its appearance at the thought of him touching me again. I can’t go through with that again but I’m not sure which outcome will be best. Being boughtby a cruel bastard who will no doubt use me to fulfil his sick fantasies, or staying here were I’m subjected to rape and torture by the same guard. I guess I’m at a loss either way.
The guard pulls his face away from my hair then drags me through the damp room where I’m then thrown into the group of women, waiting to be polished and primed like glorified cows at an auction. Bodies of all ages jumble together, shoulders hitting shoulders, toes standing on toes. All of us are facing the same fate.
A hand slips into mine and I jump at the unfamiliar contact and turn to face whoever it is.
“Emily. You scared me.” I say, my heart still hammering in my chest.
“Sorry. I saw you in the group and I..” Her words trail off and her dark brows furrow as if she’s in trouble. “It’s okay. We stick together.” I whisper then give her a warm smile and she returns one back, giving my hand a quick squeeze. My brain is at war with my heart over whether this friendship between me and Emily is a good thing. This place snuffs out any kind of good you have in your life, it poisons your mind and your soul and I don’t think my soul can deal with any more loss. Regardless, I keep Emily’s hand in mine and walk us through the cramped tunnels, silently vowing to myself that I’ll do what I can to keep Emily safe. If I can’t make it out of here, I’ll make sure she does.
I’m slumped into a leather chair, my grubby feet dangling acouple of inches from the ground as a black gown is thrown over my front then fastened at the back of my neck. Blaring white bulbs burn my eyes as the older woman at the back of me gets to work on styling my freshly washed hair. It’s a small privilege in this place, but it’s one that doesn’t last long and often leads to death. Still, I basked in the feeling of having fresh hair. Staring into the mirror, my once bright blue eyes are now void. Empty of all emotion and feelings. I don’t even recognise the woman staring back at me. She’s become an unknown entity, a stranger. Dark circles sit heavily under my eyes, leaving them hollow and my cheek bones protrude from the pale, gray skin that covers my skeleton. My once full lips are now bruised and cracked that sting everyday. Gone is the woman I once knew, the woman who managed to find the will to leave her abusive husband, the woman who fought her demons on a daily basis, a woman who foundreallove in the shape of a man who would burn the world for her. All of that is gone, and in its place is an empty vessel, a shallow grave with nothing to lay in it.
The older woman, whose name I don’t know and don’t care to find out, curls my hair into effortless waves before dampening a cloth to wipe over my face, arms, hands and feet. The product doesn’t need to be in pristine condition, it just needs to be better than it was when we came in. I keep silent as she moves around me, her face stoic and void of emotion. She digs through a small makeup bag that’s packed with various shades of foundation, concealer, eyeshadows and blush.
I want to ask her what she’s doing here? Did she choose to be here or is she a prisoner just like us? I decide to keep the questions to myself, knowing that if I open my mouth when it isn’t needed, I’ll probably end up dead. The woman takes my face into her weathered hand and applies a layer of foundation to my dry skin, the thick substance spreads across my facelike a heavy interior house paint. Almost immediately, the once graying skin is now a perfect cream tone, like untouched porcelain.
The woman continues to blend the heavy makeup into my skin before moving onto a pink blush which she places onto the apples of my cheeks, instantly it brings the colour of life back into my face. Once she’s happy with the blush, she moves onto my eyes. She dips the small brush into the dark chocolate brown eyeshadow, small specs of powder fling across the palette before she brings it to my eyelids. The hairs on the brush are soft against my lids as she swirls it around, blending the brown into my skin.
After a couple of minutes, she finishes the look with a thick black eyeliner, a layer of mascara and a gloopy pink gloss that sticks my lips together everytime I close them. The sensation is uncomfortable but I daren’t voice my opinion. Instead, I nod to the older woman who removes the black gown and hands me a dress bag before ushering me into another room that’s packed with women who all look like porcelain dolls. Each of them are shuffling and squeezing into tiny dresses to showcase the goods.
