At the window of my room, I stare out across acres of field and woods through the boards nailed over it. As if I would jump out a second story window. A twenty-foot drop seems like a broken bone waiting to happen which is pretty useless when trying to escape. I pace the room. The floorboards creak beneath my feet every so often. There’s chatter downstairs. Chairs scraping, men talking. My heart pounds in my chest.

I lean against the door and slide to the ground. I counted at least six men on my trek from the first floor to my room. I can’t take six men. I don’t even know if I can take one. Banging the back of my head off the door I let every emotion course through me. I thought having courage meant not being afraid. I thought vulnerability was a weakness. But, I realize courage isn’t the absence of fear, it's acknowledging it and walking toward it anyway.

There’s a shaker style wooden chair in the corner of the room. I push away from the door. I squat down next to the chair, inspecting the legs. A grain of hope blooms within me. This could work. I lift the chair and place it upside down on the bed. Doing my best to stay quiet, I manage to dislodge the center rung between the legs and begin wiggling and smacking one of the legs until it comes loose enough for me to yank off. I hold the chair leg in my hand, letting its weight become familiar. A wooden club is as good as it gets in terms of weapons currently. I swing it through the air, the hushed whoosh it makes, satisfying. A small smile forms as I imagine someone besides me getting hurt.

Boots clomp up the stairs, igniting my senses. I put the chair back. Luckily, wedged in the corner with three legs it stands upright. I tuck the leg I broke off under the stained mattress on the floor before pressing my back along the wall furthest from the bedroom door.

The sound of a padlock unlocking causes me to lean into the wall more firmly. The door swings open, handle smacking the wall behind it with a thud. Alexei saunters in carrying a plate and wearing a smirk. He cocks his head at me.

“Lunch.”

“I’m not hungry,” I tell him, shaking my head.

“It’s not a choice. You eat.”

“Why bother feeding me? You’re going to kill me anyway,” I spit out.

He laughs as though I’ve genuinely amused him. “If the boss says you eat. You eat.”

I cross my arms over my chest and shake my head. Alexi’s pleasant tone vanishes.

“Eat, Fighter, or I’ll give you something to fight about.”

“Just leave it.”

“This isn’t like before,” he says. A chill sprints up my spine. With animal speed he’s inches from me. I freeze, stuck against the wall. His enormous bicep flexes as he grabs the sandwich in one hand and tosses the empty plate on the mattress. “I said, eat.”

Trembling, I remain glued to my spot on the floor. Fisting the sandwich, he crushes it to my mouth with such force that my scalp smarts from the spot he’s pinned me to against the wall. I keep my mouth sealed and shake my head as he attempts to force the soggy sandwich into my mouth. He pulls back and relief rushes my veins before I can register his movements. With one swift motion his fist connects with my temple. White light bursts behind my eyelids as I crash to the floor.

Degradation isn’t for the faint of heart. There are things you think, no you know, you would never do. But that’s just speculation until you’re in the situation. As humans, we love to say, ‘Oh, I’d never do that or I’d fight, or I’d take a beating’ when talking about a difficult scenario, but in reality, you have no idea what you will choose to do until you are faced with actually choosing in the moment.  

When I open my eyes, Alexei is sitting on the mattress. The mangled remnants of my sandwich scattered on the plate beside him. Groaning, I hesitantly touch my temple. That’s when I notice a bare arm. My bare arm. Humiliation pummels me as I let my gaze wander. My pajama bottoms are still on. Internally I breathe a sigh of relief. Heat floods my cheeks as I realize I am shirtless and braless. Sitting up, avoiding Alexei’s raunchy stare, I cover my breasts with my arms.

“Are you ready to eat now?”

Weighing my options, I decide to take the food and save whatever’s left of my modesty. I nod and extend a hand for the plate but Alexi chuckles coldly and shakes his head.

“Crawl to me.” Every bone in my body rejects his words.  Hate builds, clawing through my bloodstream. “You lost the right to eat like woman. Now you eat like dog.”

He’s sitting just opposite the end of the mattress where I stashed the chair leg. Swallowing thickly, I get on my hands and knees. My breasts sway with each crawl toward him. He grins, enjoying the show.  Inches from his knees, he commands me to stop.

“Kneel.”  I rest my rear end on my heels and cover my breasts. His hand darts out, slapping my hands away. The sting of his slap makes me yelp and leaves my arms dangling at my sides as I hold his gaze. “Good girl. It’s funny you’re here now. You were never supposed to be one of our girls, but you know, we can’t have loose ends. It took a while for the bosses to decide what to do with you. Kill you or see if you were worth any money. And of course, no one was allowed to touch you while they deliberated.” He snorts at the thought.

A shudder rolls through me. He pinches a clump of sandwich from the plate and brings it to my lips. I don’t immediately open for him. His free hand palms my breast and on the horrified gasp that leaves me he stuffs the bite into my mouth. Pinching my lips together he says, “Chew.”

A man walks by the open bedroom door and says something in Russian while making a lewd gesture. Alexei laughs and roughly kneads my breast while saying something back to him. I’m teetering on a knife’s-edge of tears. Bile creeps up my esophagus as I try to chew. I am not cut out for this kind of humiliation. The man in the hall’s footfalls fade as he heads downstairs. I try to swallow but can’t. I open my mouth and vomit violently launches from me. Alexei yells and jumps up from the mattress, cursing and swatting bile from his lap. I lean left, sliding my hand under the mattress. My fingers wrap around the chair leg and I drag it out into the open.

Alexei is facing the door, shouting downstairs. Rising to my feet I take my makeshift club, channel my limited softball playing skills and swing at his head. The sound it makes against his skull makes me gag. The chair leg breaks. His hand shoots to his temple as he drops to his knees on a half-grunt, half-gasp. I hit him again with what’s left of the chair leg. The thud of his body against the wooden floor is sharp and makes my stomach flip but I don’t stop. I lift the chair leg and bring it down on his head.