Syrena

I’m in bed, but I can’t sleep.

How could anyone when they just caught someone washing out blood?

There was no mistaking it; I could smell it.

But why would he lie about it?

Why wouldn’t he tell me he got into a fight?

Or is it something else he’s trying to hide?

There’s so much I don’t understand about this man. Why he’d try to kill me one moment and then take care of me the next as if nothing ever happened. It’s as if he can change his personality with the snap of a finger, and I don’t know whether I should be scared or intrigued.

There’s something about him … and I want to find out what it is.

Something so much deeper than is on the surface.

But why should I? This man is keeping me a prisoner in his house.

I shouldn’t even remotely care about wanting to find out who he really is, yet … I can’t stop myself from thinking about exactly that.

When we were in the bathroom, he touched me in a way he hadn’t before.

Like he was … craving me.

I felt his tongue on my ear and his fingers on my cheeks, touching me delicately as if he wanted to caress me. Make me feel wanted.

And it did, which is what scared me so much.

How does this man have so much control over me when I don’t want him to? I don’t even know him. He’s fucking dangerous, yet I was as meek as a lamb the moment he pushed me against the wall and whispered in my ear.

My only choice was to run.

There’s no way I could ever let him get close.

Right?

That’s what I tell myself as I curl up in bed and wrap the blanket around me, wondering how life outside this house is moving on without me. I think about my previous home, the club, my life before the compound, and I come to the conclusion that I literally have nothing to be happy about.

Tears well up in my eyes, wishing it wasn’t true.

This place—this spacious home and soft, comfortable bed, and the delectable food he cooks—can’t be the best thing I’ve ever lived.

I refuse to believe that, because if I do … I may never want to leave.

* * *

Three years ago

I hug my teddy bear for the last time before placing it back on my bed. My friends here always told me I was too old to have a teddy bear, but I don’t care. It’s important to me.

I don’t want to leave it there because it’s the only reminder I have that someone’s out there waiting for me, and if I don’t leave it, they’ll never know I was here. They’ll never be able to pick it up again and find the message tucked in the lining that says “I’m waiting for you to take me home.”

If I even have any family left.

I swallow away the lump in my throat as I sigh and turn around.

I can’t stay here. Despite the fact I’m not old enough to live on my own, I need to do this on my own terms. I’ve stayed in this orphanage for long enough. No one ever came to pick me up. No one came to take me in.

I guess that’s what happens when people see a blind girl. They don’t want the responsibility, the difficulties that come with that. But my blindness is not a weakness. I don’t feel weak.

I march toward the windows and take out the pin from my hair. I’ve practiced this so many times that I know exactly which places to prod to open it.

And as I hang from the ledge and jump down on the grass, I don’t stop. I don’t pause to say goodbye. I just keep running … keeping going toward a better life.

If there ever is one.

* * *

After months, I’ve finally found a place to call my own.

Well, sort of, anyway. It’s a creaky old attic above the club where I work, but it’s big enough for a proper bed. Plus, I have my own shower, toilet, and cooking station, which is more than I had while I lived on the streets.

I admit, life hasn’t been easy since I left the orphanage, but the freedom I gained is amazing, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

I love that I’m able to go wherever I want and do whatever I want.

The club owner, Roy, doesn’t let me live here for free, so I do have to work as a server every evening. Also, it’s not exactly a regular club … more like a brothel disguised as a club. Girls are scantily dressed, and sometimes, Roy makes them dance on the makeshift stage in the back. Sometimes even half-naked and with men giving them money. I’ve even heard girls talk about having to suck dick and take it up the ass.

He makes me dance too sometimes. I only agreed because he demanded it, so he’d get more customers, using me as some sort of a freak show. He says it gets the men riled up.

But he doesn’t have to tell me that. I know firsthand what men do when they see a girl like me dance on the stage.

They ask for more time, one-on-one time … and I have no choice but to give in to their demands.

After all, money is money.

And Roy loves the money.

He always screams at me to do more because I live here for free. And not just that, but if I don’t work hard enough, he’ll smack me.

It didn’t start that way. He was nice to me the first few weeks. But that all slowly changed as his health began to deteriorate, and then he started taking it out on me.

I do my best to stay positive, and I am thankful to have a place to stay, but I don’t know how much longer I’ll last.

As I walk along the tables and clean them, someone clears his throat in the back.

That’s strange. I thought everyone had already left?

I turn and frown, listening to where the sound came from. “We’re closed for the day,” I say.

No response.

Maybe it was all in my head.

I shrug and continue cleaning the tables, making sure everything’s ready for tomorrow, when all of the sudden there’s someone shuffling behind me.

I pick up the nearest glass and hold it out in front of me like a knife.

“Who’s there?”

“Relax …” His voice is low and grumbly, and it makes my skin crawl.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?”

“I’m a paying customer,” the man says, chuckling.

“Please leave. We’re not open,” I say through gritted teeth, clenching the glass, walking backward while using the tables to guide me through the club. I have to get to the attic door. It’s the only one I can lock from the inside … the only way to get away from this creep.

“You’re really blind, aren’t you?” he asks.

What kind of question is that?

Another pause. “I had my doubts for a few minutes, but watching you stumble around like that makes it obvious.”

For a second, I stay put.

That’s when a cloth is pushed over my mouth.

I scream, but the sound doesn’t travel far, and a disgusting stench enters my nose. I try to push him away, but my muscles become weaker and weaker.

“Calm down … it’ll only take a few seconds.”

No. This can’t happen. What does he want with me? What is this? Why is he doing this?

But no matter how hard I try to speak up, I can’t even form the words on my lips. Just a faint squeal and his devious laughter as I sink to the floor and slowly fade away.

If only I knew then what horrors I would come to face.

How badly I would be treated by the man who took me.

How I would be left in a cage for months, living on small bits of food and being made to dance until my feet bled.

Maybe if I’d known beforehand … I would’ve fought harder for this freedom I love so much.

* * *

Present

It’s been a few days since I saw Chase. I haven’t come out of my room. Not because I don’t want to, but because I don’t want to give him what he wants.

For some strange reason, he’s allowed me to stay there, which I didn’t expect. He even started feeding me, placing plates of food on the floor along with small juice boxes before closing the door behind him. It’s better than nothing at all, I suppose.

However, spending days locked up in a room by yourself really does a number on you, and after a while, I’ve had enough. So I step out of my room and close it behind me, listening to the sounds. It’s dead quiet. Too quiet.

Has Chase left?

Can I search the home for clues about my whereabouts … and about him?

Suddenly, a familiar sound … He’s clearing his throat, and something is shifting like pieces of paper … or a book.

“Morning.”

He’s right in front of me and to the side. On the couch, most likely.

I stay put even though I’m wearing a very tiny dress that leaves nothing to the imagination. I know he’s watching me, thinking about me, wondering what’s going on in my mind.

Right now, I only have more questions than answers.

Why me?

Why him?

“Why did you rescue me instead of the others?” I ask, not giving a shit about the directness of my question or the consequences.

He shifts in his seat. It takes him a while to answer. “Because you looked … innocent,” he replies.

I swallow away the lump in my throat.

Innocent.

Far from it.

But my blindness makes me seem easy. Willing. Weak.

“Because I’m blind?”

“Because you were perfect.”

“For what?” I tread closer.

“For me and my … needs.”

I take another step and then another one until I’m right in front of him. “And what are those needs exactly?”

I bend over and place my hands on his knees, giving him a full frontal view of my tits.

I know he’s looking. I don’t even have to see to know.

Men are always like that.

Since that time in the bathroom, I’ve realized something. He wants me.

I’m sure of it.

I could feel it in the way he touched me, but I didn’t want to think about it because it felt so goddamn wrong. But I can use it to my advantage. I can use his needs against him.

So I lean in and whisper, “What do you want from me?”

My hand slides up his knee slowly, inching closer to his dick. For a moment, I wonder how big he might be, but I push the thought from my mind. It doesn’t matter as long as he gets what he wants … and I get what I want.

“You want sex? Is that it?” I murmur, licking my lips right in front of him.

I’m willing to sacrifice my morals if that’s what it takes.

Besides, how bad could it be?

It’s not the first time I’ve given my body to someone in exchange for something else.

After all, all men want the same thing … and they’ll do anything to get it.