Blood Slave

“It wasn’t me, it was the China! She kidnapped me and held me in her apartment all this time. She only called you to get rid of me, so I wouldn’t call the police on her. She’s using you to make me disappear. She’s playing you.” There was simply no way to explain what had really happened. I tried my best to relate the complexity of my situation in partial truths.



“And where did you get all that money, puta? You expect me to believe these lies? The China give you thirty thousand dollars while she got you locked away? No soy tonto cabrona!” I’m not stupid.



I was screwed. What could I say that made any sense? I had to try a new direction, a new motivation to keep me alive.



“No … Listen. The China has a boss … he made me work for him. He likes me – I’m valuable to him. She’s using you to get rid of me out of jealousy. Her boss will pay you fifty thousand to get me back unharmed.”



I hoped the taxi driver overheard our conversation, maybe he’d call the police and report it. No luck there, he was blissfully ignorant of our little drama, watching traffic and listening to the radio. The driver hummed along with a gritty, alternative rock tune, something about bleeding it out and digging deeper just to throw it away.



The chorus line of the song repeated over and over with a fast pace beat and ripping guitar riffs. The words belted out in a scream of frustration and angst. The message was eerily symbolic of my situation. I bled out all my hard-earned money, digging deeper to ransom myself to Enrique, and for what? Arana wanted me dead. He’d probably find a way to get his hands on Enrique’s money, and kill me anyway. I bleed it out digging deeper just to throw it away – the story of my life.



Arana assumed I lied. “And what makes you so special? Why would they lock you up, pay you all that money, and then call me to get rid of you? You not telling the truth. I’m gonna have to hurt you some more to get the truth.” He wanted to hurt me anyway. Anything else was just a bonus.



The heartless bastard watched me cry silently as we crept through the city, making our way back to Spanish Harlem, to his apartment, where he planned to hurt me really bad.



I had to up the stakes. “He’ll give you a hundred thousand for my safe return. If I call him tonight, he’ll have it for you tomorrow. He lives on Park Avenue, he’s rich. I’m telling you the truth!”



“Tell me why, Esperanza. Why would some rich cabron on Park Avenue pay for you?”



I said the only thing I could think of that might make sense. “He loves me.”



Arana laughed as I lied to him. “Nobody loves you. You’re nothing. Nothing but a pinche prostituta. I’ll be doing the city of New York a favor by killing you.”



He had dropped the pretense of returning me to Faustino. And he was right, no one loved me. I was alone in the world. Enrique hadn’t cared enough to take me with him. Lia wanted me dead. Arana and Faustino would simply use me up and spit me out, if they let me live. What reason did I have to live for? I couldn’t think of a reason, but I wanted to live. I didn’t want to die! I wanted to live!



I persisted with the lie, hoping for a miracle. “No … that’s not true! He loves me, and he’ll pay you a hundred thousand dollars cash to get me back. I swear it on my mother’s grave!”



“Hmmm …. who is he? Do I know him?”



“No … you don’t know him, he’s from Spain.”



Arana stared me down. The wheels started turning in his head. We rode the rest of the way in silence while he thought about it seriously. He had a hard time imagining how I could fit into a world of wealthy high-class people as anything other than a whore. In his opinion, you can take the girl out of Colombia, but you can’t take Colombia out of the girl. Then he recalled the expensive cocktail dress I had been wearing last night and how glamorous I looked. He’d never have recognized me if Lia hadn’t pointed me out. He began to wonder if maybe I was banging some wrinkly old man, giving him the time of his life, a sugar daddy. That seemed a plausible scenario given the fact I actually did have all that money. He remembered the twenty-four carat gold bracelet he removed from me last night. Someone cared enough to buy me expensive clothes and gifts. Maybe it wasn’t all a lie.



As we headed into the towers from the taxi, I caught a glimpse of someone, a ray of light in my darkness. Conchita walked down the sidewalk not thirty yards away. Our eyes met for a moment. I gave her a direct look. Recognize me. See me. Please see me! She did a double take, and altered her course, heading in our direction. I peeked a glance at Arana. His attention drifted in a different direction, preoccupied with thoughts of what to do with me. I gave the cutoff sign to Conchita, swiping my hand across my neck to warn her off. It was enough she knew I was here with Arana. I didn’t want to put her in danger.



She seemed to understand. She took off walking away from us as we entered the building, a single glance back at me over her shoulder. I had to work hard to keep from smiling. It was such a small thing, but it brightened my world with hope to know a friend was out there, aware of my situation. Though I feared him, I hoped that she would contact Faustino, bring him knocking on our door. The lesser of two evils. I’d love to see Arana’s face, caught with his pants down, abusing Faustino’s personal property – me. I’d have a better chance of explaining things to Faustino. At least he’d be willing to collect the ransom and let me walk. Faustino had a head for business.



Though in high spirits after seeing Conchita, my luck had run out. Behind closed doors with Arana, I read his intent a split second before he clocked me with that badass right hook. It didn’t knock me out, but it sure knocked me down, and it hurt like hell. He had me dazed, seeing stars. My newly broken nose exploded in agony, obliterating all senses. He had to have broken it again, it bled everywhere. Then I was up, being carried back into his bedroom, my pants and sweater savagely ripped off. He threw me down on the bed and I went off kicking, screaming, and clawing at him. I caught him in the nuts and he backed off.



“You gonna regret that shit!” he hissed, his teeth gritted in pain. I’d nailed him a good one.



I scrambled backwards to put distance between us and fell off the bed onto my back. Still dazed, my vision blurred from tears. When your nose is broken you cry. It’s not a girly thing, it’s a reaction to the trauma. I caught his thoughts just before he struck. He leapt over the bed on top of me, knocking the wind out of me. He was mad enough to kill. His hands wrapped around my throat, choking me off. I understood his plan as I passed out. If I stuck to my story while he played with me for the next few hours, he might consider trying to ransom me off. If I survived.



I awoke to pain, my hands and feet bound to the bed posts. Naked of course. It’s the most terrifying thing in the world to be stripped and bound, hands above my head, legs wide open.



It began again, rape, beatings, and more rape. This time he didn’t care about how I might look after the fact. He didn’t really expect me to survive. He re-broke my nose for sure. If not with the first punch, definitely the second, third, fourth, or fifth. I think he broke my jaw too. And ribs – several – he hit me in the exact same places as before, right where I was already bruised and tender. I was meat to be pulverized and tenderized so he could chew me up and spit me out. That song from the taxicab came to mind again, probably the last music I’d ever hear. I bleed it out digging deeper just to throw it away.



The torture wasn’t all fun for Arana. I puked again, blood and bile. I hadn’t eaten in over forty hours. He didn’t like being puked on, but he liked being pissed on even less. It’s one of those things that happens in moments of pain and suffering. He was so angry when I peed on him. He got me good for that one. He nailed me right between the legs with an evil right-handed punch. Though I don’t have balls, that’s still the most sensitive part of my body, and it hurt really bad.



I passed out several times throughout the afternoon and evening. I’d wake up as he smacked me – sending waves of agony crashing over my broken face. No amount of begging or bargaining made any bit of difference. If anything it angered him more to listen to me plead. The only thing he wanted to hear were sounds of pain, an aphrodisiac for him. Every grunt, squeal, cry, and whimper, helped keep him going. That and Viagra. He made sure he stayed hard for my punishment, and he enjoyed it thoroughly.



Sometime later he lost stamina. His knuckles were raw and his cock hurt. He left me tied down to go clean himself up and get some rest. I was so exhausted. I fell into deep sleep immediately. I’d been on a nocturnal schedule for three months, but he had me awake all damn day. Torture is hard work, especially when you’re on the receiving end of it.



In my comatose sleep I dreamed of Enrique. I needed him so badly, more than I’ve ever needed anything. In my dream he sat on a plush leather airline seat, one of those really deluxe private Jets. A luxurious interior paneled with gleaming hardwood grains, and cream-colored leather cushions. He had a Forbes magazine in front of him, reading, ignoring my presence. He’d be touching down in New York soon. I missed him so much, I needed him. How wonderful to be together again, in his arms, feeling his teeth sink into my neck, breasts, thighs. Then she was there, that psycho Asian, sitting across from Enrique in her conservative skirt and blouse. She spoke to Enrique. “Hope has left us. She’s gone. We’ll never see her again.”



Enrique nodded his head, frowning. I screamed. “No! I’m right here! I need you!”



He looked up and saw me for the first time, and I was there on the plane with him. Me as I was at that very moment, bruised, broken, bleeding, naked. I was in so much pain, I needed him so badly. “You left me with that cunt! You left me to be tortured and raped! You left me to die alone in pain! You don’t care! You don’t love me!”



He spoke with that infuriating calm assurance. “Querida, I’ll be there soon, and all will be as it once was.” How could he be so calm when I was dying, without him, in agony?



Arana entered into my dreams to beat me and bent me over the airline seats. He raped me and pummeled the back of my head. My skull throbbed, waves of pain. My whole body ached, throbbed. Enrique just sat there holding his magazine, ignoring me. Lia winked at me twirling her fingers in a cute little wave, bye-bye.