Eliana
I used to watch a show on late night television called Bid or Buy. Contestants had to draw for the opportunity to either bid for an item or buy it on the spot. I always believed that if given the chance to be on the show, I’d want to draw a bid. It made everything so much more interesting. The tension the players felt was so palpable I used to sit on the edge of my seat. I never did get to go on to that show, yet I currently find myself in the middle of a real-life bidding war.
The drugs are wearing off, but not enough for me to think coherently or even move. I can hear everything though. There is something extremely sobering about discovering that a price tag can be attached to a human life. My life. Men laugh and comment about my body, some are unhappy that I’m not a virgin.
The last bid was fifty million dollars, a pretty big chunk of money for anyone. I consider laughing about it, imagining myself in a glass cage in this flimsy underwear that barely cover my crotch, on the Bid or Buy show with Chris Salesmen, pronounced Sal-is-man, outlining my specifications. I hear what sounds like an auctioneer’s gavel hitting the sound block, and I’m pretty sure I just became an asset in an instant. The one thing I swore I’d never be.
“Come along, sweetheart, time to go to your owner.” I realize I hate this man more than I have ever hated anyone in my life. I think of Ethan, his vacant eyes. Of my family. Brax.
At some point I’d been untied and now I’m tugged up by the arm. My feet hit the cold concrete floor, and a shiver runs through me. Big hands try to hold me upright. I can make out the outline of a man, stocky, his voice gravelly, as his rough hands paw at me. A cloak of sorts is thrown over me, and I’m led forward. I’m unsteady, and that seems to irritate the person leading me. I stumble on something, and my shoulder slams onto the ground. I’m lifted and led away, the grip on my waist tightening. I hear gunshots, or maybe that is in my head?
