Arin

Oh God.

My eyes quickly darted around the room and landed on the wastebasket by the sink. I leaned out of the tub, clenched my fingers around the rim of the trash can, and dragged it over. Water sloshed everywhere as I dropped my face into the opening and vomited mouthfuls of bile. Pure acid continued to shoot through my lips, stinging my esophagus, turning the white plastic completely yellow.

“Oh, Arin,” a woman said as she opened the bathroom door, rushing to the cabinet. “Let me get you a washcloth.”

I heaved again, still not feeling any relief and too sick to care that I was naked and this stranger could see my bare, beaten body.

My throat felt like a book of lit matches had been pressed against it. My nostrils stung so badly, I swore blood dripped from them. And, with the pain from my bruised ribs shooting around to my back, I couldn’t take another hurl. It hurt too much. Somehow, I needed to calm my stomach. So, I swallowed some air and pushed myself deeper into the water, resting my shoulders against the cool tiles, and I thought about home.

Not the throbbing, not the nausea.

But home.

“Here, Arin,” the woman said, setting a cold washcloth over my forehead. “That should make you feel better.”

I looked past the icy fabric that hung over the tops of my eyes, and I watched her pick up my heap of bloody clothes. It had hurt so much to take those off. My shirt had stuck to the oozing cuts, and my jeans had squeezed the bruises. I had screamed the entire time, and I was sure that had caused my stomach to hurt even worse.

The lady threw the clothes outside the bathroom door and immediately closed it.

“W-who are y-you?” I asked when she faced me again, unable to stop my teeth from chattering.

If I had the energy, I would have draped my hands over my chest and crossed my legs. But every ounce I’d had was spent running to Huck and falling on the ground outside his back door.

“I’m Lawan. I found you outside. Remember?” She held another cloth in her hand, and she coated it with soap.

“What are y-you going to do with th-that?” I lifted my finger to point toward the cloth.

She held it right above my arm and slowly lowered the washcloth until it rested on my skin. “I’m going to clean you.” She moved it in a circular motion, and when our eyes caught again, she said, “I have three daughters. I’ve worked at this brothel for five years. Don’t worry; I’ve seen it all.”

I wondered about the different things she had seen. I got the sense they had been far worse than the way I looked. Still, I was curious about what Huck had told her, what he’d ordered her to do.

Remembering his words kept me from asking.

“Do not ask her about me. Do not ask her anything unless it’s something you need.”

“Welcome to Bangkok.”

“Just relax,” she said. “I won’t hurt you. I’m only going to take care of you.”

She had motherly eyes. The kind I missed. The kind that looked at you to find something wrong, so she could fix it.

There were lots of things wrong.

But none that she could fix.

“They gave you some drugs.” She placed the cloth on my other arm and gently ran it up to my shoulder and down to my wrist. It skimmed across each knuckle, my nails, even my palm. “A good sleep, and they’ll be out of you.”

The drugs had been put in my drink. It was the reason my belly was queasy, why I couldn’t stop shivering. Why the details of that whole night weren’t crisp.

What the hell did he give me?

“After I get you washed, would you like to eat?”

Her question made my stomach churn even harder.

I shook my head but felt the need to clarify in case she didn’t offer it again. “Maybe after I sleep, if that’s okay?”

The last time any food had been in my mouth was the night I went to the restaurant in Mumbai. I wondered how long ago that was. By the length of the stubble on my legs, it had to have been at least a few days.

I quivered. This time, it wasn’t from the drugs.

“Of course,” she answered.

She reached for the cup sitting next to the sink, dipped it into the water, and carefully dumped it over my hair. When my locks were wet enough, she lathered them in shampoo and rinsed it out, and then she covered them with conditioner.

“Much better,” she said, wringing the strands that now felt so soft against my skin. “Lots of dirt. Look.” She pointed at the little specks that floated on top of the water. Then, she got a new cloth and began to scrub my face.

The grime was like a reflection, showing me how disgusting I was. I felt even worse on the inside. I couldn’t remember a time when I had ever felt this sick, this weak, this vulnerable.

But Lawan had told me she wasn’t going to hurt me, that she would only take care of me.

I believed her, and I wasn’t sure why.

So, when she drained the water and helped me stand, wrapping a towel over my hair and another around my body, I knew she would then take me to a bed.

And she did.

The bedroom was directly across the hall. It was a simple queen-size with a frame. No headboard, no fancy comforter like mine at home. Still, it looked so cozy with the white blanket and feather pillows.

Lawan had me sit on the end of the mattress, and then she went into the bathroom again.

Next to me was a pair of cotton shorts and a T-shirt. They appeared a few sizes too big, and I was sure that was so they wouldn’t press into my bruises or rub over my cuts.

I dropped the towel and lifted the shorts, sticking my foot through the right opening. I was just getting it past my second ankle when she walked back in.

“Lotion?” She held the bottle up, so I could see it.

I glanced down at my navel. A purplish mark the size of my hand stretched across the side of my stomach. There was a similar one on my hip and bite marks across the tops of my breasts.

I ground my teeth together, breathing out of my nose, trying to find the calm.

“I think it’ll hurt too much,” I said.

She knelt in front of me and helped shimmy the shorts up to my waist. Then, she opened the T-shirt and slid it over my head. I held her arm to stand, and she brought me to the head of the bed. I crawled inside, feeling the blanket tuck over me and the pillows fluff underneath my wet hair.

“If you need me, hit number two.” She placed a cell phone on the nightstand and waited for me to nod. “Need anything now?”

She had already done so much and had been so nice.

So much nicer than Huck.

Now, all I had were questions—about him, about this place.

About the pieces I was unable to put together.

I still knew better than to ask.

I’d made it out of the alley. I’d been given a place to stay. I had a woman taking care of me. I didn’t want to do anything that would put me on the street.

“No, I’m okay,” I replied. “Thank you for your kindness. I didn’t expect it, but I appreciate it.”

She pressed her hands together, holding them close to her face, and she bowed her head. Then, she turned off the light and closed the door.

The room was mostly dark. There wasn’t a TV. There was only a nightstand, lamp, and a picture on the wall of a man holding a snake. The snake was wrapped around his neck, the head on one shoulder and the tail on the other. It was framed and hung between the two windows where I could hear the street below. The snake reminded me of the one on Huck’s hands. Heads were tattooed on the backs of his palms, and I was pretty sure I saw hints of a tail inked on his neck.

It wasn’t the first time I’d seen a tattoo like that.

Good God.

I closed my eyes and kept my body perfectly still. If I didn’t move, maybe I wouldn’t hurt as much. And, maybe if the pain lightened just a little, I’d be able to fall asleep.

Maybe I’d dream of home.

Or maybe this was all a dream.

At least it felt that way with my mind this fuzzy.

But then I heard Huck’s voice inside my head, and I was reminded of everything that had happened from the moment I got thrown on the dock.

I looked at the picture on the wall again.

In a room full of almost nothing, it was everything I needed.

This definitely wasn’t a dream.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

And I finally let myself relax.

Welcome to Bangkok.