Tears of Tess

Our food was delivered by the same young man with the scar running from eyebrow to jaw. Whoever had sewn the injury did a hash job, and skin puckered in such a way I would’ve pitied him, if not for the fact he was in cahoots with my kidnappers.

He wasn’t big, but moved with strength belying his scrawny frame. I watched closely, gauging if I could tackle him, if the other women would help me.

Even if the women did rally together, how far would we get? There were guards outside the door, and I didn’t know what was out there. City, forest, urban, or country. No point making a move until I knew. Knowledge was power, and surprise was key.

It was the evening of the second day when the door slammed open. It wasn’t dinner time and my heart rabbited when Leather Jacket prowled into the room. Predatory eyes immediately fell on me. All my plotting and scheming evaporated as he grinned nastily, heading straight for me.

Fear sprinted through my blood, flaring my aching body, a reminder danger lurked in every inch of this place. Complacency wasn’t a good idea.

“Come with me, slut.” Fingers wrapped around my sore wrist, yanking me upright. Licking cracked lips, he dragged me toward the door. No! I wouldn’t go, not like this.

I locked my knees, bare feet scrambled to find purchase on the old floorboards, but I couldn’t get traction. He tugged hard, slamming me against his gross body. The leather jacket reeked of sweat and metal.

The women started crying, a wail of confusion puncturing the once heavy silence. Our little oasis in the madness was shattered.

I squirmed, trying to tear fingers off my wrist, but he reached back and slapped me. My cheekbone blazed with pain; I squeezed my eyes shut.

“Obey! Unless you want to be knocked out again,” Leather Jacket snarled. Readjusting his grip, he dragged me down a rank corridor. My face smarted, but I quickly pushed the discomfort away. Pain was a distraction, and I needed to focus.

Men, all dark-haired and grim, dashed past. A woman cried, then screaming joined the horrible symphony. My heart went out to them. It wasn’t just me they’d come for.

My pulse thudded every metre Leather Jacket carted me. We passed door after locked door, until he shoved me forward, sending me tripping into a shower block. Multiple showerheads, cracked white tiles, and well-used soap bars littered the floor, like a gym or a jail.

Oh, God.

Leather Jacket jerked my shoulder, swivelling me to face him. “Strip.”

A burst of defiance blossomed, and I spat in his face. No way would I undress in front of him. I couldn’t. Only Brax had seen me naked—that was his gift, no one else’s.

Fuck you. Fuck all of this. I’d never been so gung-ho or courageous, but everything about me had changed. It was time to embrace the new me.

He chuckled. “So, you like it rough, bitch.” Before I could duck, his fist connected with my cheekbone, shattering my vision into pieces. Oh, God, the pain was so much worse than a slap. I moaned, clutching my face. I’d never been hit before, but this was the third time in a matter of days.

Hands grabbed the collar of my t-shirt and yanked. The sound of ripping material echoed in the tiled shower block. I whimpered as fresh air licked my exposed stomach and chest. The haze of pain slowly left, and I feinted to the side, trying to get away. But he wasn’t suffering from a punch to the jaw and caught me.

He grunted, slapping me again. “You’re a wild one. But that won’t save you. It’ll just mean you won’t get the good buyers, and you’ll end up drugged and brain-dead.” He leaned in and licked, dragging his foul tongue like a Labrador over my cheek, right into my hairline.

I shivered, repulsed.

“If you want another fist to your pretty face, move again,” he coaxed.

Already, a hundred galloping elephants lived in my skull, I couldn’t handle more. My soul wanted to fight, but my body stayed still, obeying.

“Good girl,” he cooed, reaching for my leggings and pulling them down in one swipe. A sharp tug on my hip broke my knickers, and hands fumbled behind to free my bra. It fluttered to the floor, leaving me the most exposed I’d ever been.

Naked, I stood in front of a ra**st, kidnapper, and evil sadistic son of a bitch.

I trembled, clasping arms around my exposed chest. The man chuckled, eyes raping me with a transfixed stare. “You’ve got nice tits. You can’t hide them forever. Get in the shower and wash your filth.” He shoved me toward the soap littered area.

I stumbled, but went willingly. It meant I was away from him, away from his stench, his rottenness. Don’t think about him looking at you. None of this can affect you if you don’t let it.

Holding onto the thought, I stooped to pick up a dry piece of soap.

More women arrived, corralled by hard hands and vile men. Each one was subjected to the same treatment, minus the beating, and I turned away as their clothes fell to the floor. The guy with the scar gathered the belongings and disappeared. The wardrobe of our past lives. Gone—just like that. It symbolised more than just undressing us—it was a message: they owned us. We no longer had the right to wear what we wanted, go where we needed, love who we adored. We were reduced to nothing but naked, trembling girls.

The starkness of our reality hit some women hard, and they crumbled to the floor in tears, only to be kicked in the stomach and forced to crawl into the communal shower.

I swallowed salty tears as I turned on the tap, attempting to froth the age-grimed soap.

The water ran cold, but it was heaven to clean away gunk and hardship. I didn’t like to think about the reason we were being made to wash. That was the future—a place I couldn’t think about. I focused on the present, keeping sane by not letting my imagination run wild with horror.

Bubbles slowly formed on the soap, and I spent the next ten minutes rubbing it over my skin, lathering my hair. I wanted to wash away what happened. Wishing the water would take my unhappiness and gurgle it down the drain, taking me, too. Surely, the sewers would be a better existence.

“Enough!” a jailor shouted.

We obeyed, rinsing under the cold spray, and proceeded to where a pile of moth-eaten towels lay on a bench. I wrapped a discoloured towel around myself, and a rope came from behind, noosing around my neck. I jumped, clawing at the tight bondage.

The man with the jagged scar came into view, tugging gently. “You are no longer whoever you were. You are to forget about your past ‘cause you will never see it again.”