He made it clear I was still his wife, and no matter what, he would never willingly let me go. It felt like he wanted me to die only by his cruel hands, not anyone else’s.
Pushing myself up on unsteady arms, I fight for balance, forcing my body upright. The blonde girl hovers close, just as naked as I am, her wide eyes darting toward the door.
When the men return, and I barely have time to lift my head before a violent rush of water blasts across the room. The freezing spray slams into my skin, so sharp it feels like needles, almost knocking me off my feet.
The men laugh as the women scream, getting off on the torture they’re inflicting. The women scramble against each other, desperate to escape the torrent, but I don’t move.
I let it hit me, head bowed, water stinging my eyes and soaking my long, black hair.
They pull us in a line, one after the other, until the sound of chains and panicked breathing becomes some sick kind of melody.
Cold metal is heavy around my wrists and ankles, with a rope linking us by the neck like a leash, tugging each time someone hesitates, a silent reminder that none of us belong to ourselves anymore.
The sack traps the air around my face, and in the dark, my mind begins to fold in on itself, searching for walls that aren’t even there.
When we come to an abrupt stop, I jolt forward and bump into the woman ahead.
I can’t see who’s staring, but I can feel their gazes pressing against me, and it sets my nerves alight.
The white dresses they’ve clothed us in, much like the one I wore when I was sold to Law, does nothing to shield the feeling; it only makes the exposure worse, like we’re sex objects to be inspected before we’re worthy of the abuse that’ll undoubtably follow.
Without warning, the rope connecting me to the women in front and behind me is released, and I’m dragged sideways, my legs barely holding beneath the crushing weight of the shackles, metal screeching across the floor with every forced step.
They keep pushing on my back, causing me to stagger, unable to see a thing in front of me. The deeper I’m pushed into wherever I am, the louder the screams and sobs of women and children become around me.
The kind of noise that digs beneath your skin, drilling themselves into your bones until you’re certain you’ll hear them humming in your mind for the rest of your life.
When my upper arm is seized in a brutal grip, I’m pulled to the left so hard I nearly lose my footing.
After a few stumbling steps, my chains are freed, and strong arms suddenly wrap around my waist from behind, lifting me effortlessly.
Before I can even gasp, my back is dropped onto a freezing cold surface, the power rattling through my entire body.
A cry catches in my throat as leather restraints are pulled tight around my ankles. Then my wrists, then across my shoulders, pinning me firmly against the metal beneath me.
Terror surges through me as I struggle against the straps, but they don’t give.
Suddenly, the bag is torn off my head, and all I see is a guy walking away, closing the heavy door behind him.
My eyes dart around the filthy room as the surgical light above me buzz’s and flickers like a dying firefly.
Grime clings to every surface, the cracked, black walls ooze with old moisture and dark stains that have long since soaked into the crumbling plaster.
Rusted cabinets hang crookedly from their hinges, doors gaping open to reveal shelves of filth. On a dented metal tray nearby, instruments, or should I say weapons, lie scattered in a disarray.
“What the fuck is this place?” My voice is only a murmur.
“Hell,” The words come in a weak, wheezing reply from my left.
My head shoots toward the sound so fast it sends a spike of pain down my neck. But what I see stops my heart cold.
A young woman lies strapped to the surgeon’s table beside mine. She can’t be no older than her late teens. Bright, fiery red hair, matted with sweat and greese spills across the surface beneath her like a dying flame.
She’s completely naked, her skin ghostly and translucent, pulled so tight over bones that they look ready to pierce through.
But it’s her legs, or what remains of them, that really hits me like a gut punch.
Where her thighs should be are two brutal, bloodied stumps, the flesh stitched roughly with thick black thread, red and raw while swollen and leaking yellow pus.
