Chapter 62: Chapter 62

Chapter 62 Will I be able to get back up this time?

Waking up in a small, dirty room bound and gagged is something that was not in my plans for the future.

In fact, when I envisioned the future, I pictured something much more different than this. I laugh bitterly, not surprised that life has yet again kicked me down.

Will I be able to get back up this time?

I don't know.

Because right now, my chances aren't looking good at all. My head is pounding and I'm sure a bump has made itself present onto the side of my head. I've got many scrapes and bruises from the fight I put up and my arms feel cramped from being tied tightly behind my back.

The floor is concrete and hard beneath my body. I struggle to sit up and soon, I manage to find myself with my back against the wall, panting for air through my nose because tape and cloth are shoved deeply into my mouth.

My mouth is painfully dry, the cloth having soaked up all my saliva.

I'm scared. No, I'm terrified, but I'd be damned to let these people see that. I can't let them affect me, I can't them see just how vulnerable I am. I can't be seen as weak because the weak are easily controlled.

The powerless are easily thrown into submission.

I take my time to survey my surroundings. I'm in a damp, small room. The walls are painted grey and they're crumbling. The floors are concrete and dusty and the door is made of steel.

There's absolutely nothing I could use to escape or protect myself. Even if there was, I can't exactly do anything as my wrists are painfully tied together and my mouth is stuffed like some Thanksgiving turkey.

What will he do to me? Will he rape me then throw my body into some unknown territory? Surely nobody would catch him because now, I'm just a nobody. I'm a faceless homeless woman on the streets who has no family or friends to report her missing.

Or is this man a psychopath of some sort? Will I be involved in his sick twisted game where he's obsessed with me and will be his little pet? I've seen those documentaries before of girls who have been captured by some psychopath and held captive for years.

Or, am I stuck in a situation where I will be exploited for men's enjoyment? The possibilities are endless and none of the possibilities have a bright side.

You've been through hell, Lily, surely you can overcome this, too. I tell myself in an attempt to encourage myself. I feel a panic attack coming on and I do my best to keep my breathing exercises intact like the doctors had told me.

Breathe Lily, breathe. You'll get through this. You'll get through this. But this time, I'm not so sure. Maybe it would be better to die. I mean, if this is what my future beholds then perhaps I'd rather be murdered by some sick pervert than to live life as a captive.

No, don't think like that. Life is a blessing, or at least it should be. Be strong.

I flood my mind with encouragement thoughts and yet, I don't believe them. I can't stop my eyes from watering. I feel like screaming and cursing life itself. How many times can life kick me until I no longer can get up? Until I no longer can find the strength to crawl towards the finish line?

Because isn't that what life is?

A race?

One big, great race that everyone runs in order to find their finish line, or their rest? Isn't it everyone's goal to finish well in their race of life?

Everyone wants to finish successful, happy, you name it. But what happens to those who fall so many times they no longer can find their footing?

What happens to those who eventually are struck down by life so many times that they are wounded and can no longer fight the good fight and win the race?

I know what happens.

I now know what happens.

They don't.

They don't finish the race well.

They don't finish the race well but get trampled by others.

Life kicks them down and people come along and trample them beneath their feet, leaving the weak to suffer and take their last breaths alone.

And damn it, at this point I am just exhausted. I am exhausted of this constant cycle of let downs and horror. And by the looks of it, it's going to get worse. I don't want to keep fighting but for whatever reason, something nudges me on the inside, whispering me to keep going.

To fight the good fight.

To finish the race well.

You are alive for a purpose. You have value and are here for a reason. My own soul seems to repeat those words like a mantra in my head.

But I disagree.

But for now, I will trust.

I will trust that I am here for a reason. I have to.

I sigh and strain my ears, listening for anything. Any voices. And creaks. Any footsteps.

But there is not a sound to be heard. Everything is deathly silent which has me nervous. Where am I? What will become of me?

I close my eyes, picturing my teenage years. Picturing my own bed. My own room. My own clothes. My own personal space.

And oh God, my diary.

My meaningless diary that consisted of my doodle and my writings of daily problems I had faced. I smile when I remember I had written about a guy that I liked at my high school, and my friend, Tina, ended up dating him.

I remember furiously scribbling my jealousy into that diary that day. I remember cursing life and thinking how unfair it is and how I deserved him and not her.

I almost laugh.

Oh how my teenage problems are nearly forgotten and mean NOTHING right now. Absolutely nothing. I remember my own mother saying:

"The things I thought of as a teenager are forgotten now. My problems as a teenager vanished and I don't look back anymore because now, they seem like a mere ghost who no longer exists."

And for once in my life, I think my mom was right about that. The little issues I thought would be the end of the world as a teenager are nothing to me now. They were such little problems that are fading memories.

Because now, there's bigger issues to be taken care of. And as I flip through my memories like a book, I notice I wasted many precious years taking things for granted. My bed. Proper food. A home. Family. Friends. Money.

And more.

So much more.

Sure, my friends and family were fake on the inside. But my family still provided me with a roof over my head and for many years, love that I actually believed. Love that made me feel good, made me feel valued.

My friends gave me company that I now so desperately crave now that I am alone. Even if they were fake, it was still nice having someone talk to me.

I wish I could go back in time and change things. Change most everything, actually. But I can't, and now everything is gone.

I continue to go through my memories when finally, I hear signs of life.

Footsteps.

Heavy footsteps that are nearing me. They are getting closer and closer and I find myself holding my breath in fear. My heart speeds up so fast and I feel sick to my stomach.

The door clicks loudly as it becomes unlocked.

My barrier is being torn down.

I brace myself for what is to come, and sure enough, moments later, a big man steps through the door. He has dark remnants of facial hair and his skin is of an olive skin tone. He looks like he's from Southern American decent with his darker features and stocky build.

He wears a beige t-shirt and baggy jeans that drape over his hips. His eyes are dark and tattoos crawl up the length of his arms.

His black hair is slightly long and brushes his ear lobes. He looks younger, maybe early thirties or so.

He smirks at me. "You're awake." His husky voice says. His English is heavy with some sort of an accent.

"No, I just sleep with my eyes closed and my mouth talking." Is what I wanted to say.

But the gag restricts me from doing so, so I just settle with rolling my eyes and scoff.

His gaze hardens and he stalks towards me like a predator. His gate reminds me much like that of a male lion who ripples with power with each lengthy step as he slinks through the tall grass, unseen by his prey.

And suddenly, my fearless facade flees from me, leaving a scared little girl in its wake. I feel like nothing under his gaze. I feel useless and powerless.

He shoots out his arm and drags me up off of my feet. I yelp when he slams me against the wall and looks me right in the eyes with his wild, deadly eyes. He groans deeply as he hides his face into my neck and skims my skin with the rough stubble on his chin.

A sickly chill creeps across my skin and I try to throw him off of me. He retaliates by advancing on me. A slimy tongue shoots out from between his lips and I nearly gag at the feeling of his saliva being dragged up and down my skin.

But then I remember.

He forgot my hands were the ones bound together.

Not my feet.

I forcefully knee him in the groin. My legs are strong, having grown up in sports such as gymnastics, softball, swimming, cross country, track, and soccer. Even in prison, I was eventually aloud to routinely exercise and run laps around the prison courtyard.

He groans in pain loudly upon impact and nearly falls to his knees. I see my chance for escape and pry myself from his grip.

I sprint towards the door.

I just make it out when a hand wraps around my ankle and yanks me backwards. I stumble and crash onto my knees, groaning in pain as I do so. The beast of the man crawls on top of me and straddles me, pinning me down beneath his weight.

And then he slaps me.

Hard.

So hard, in fact, that my ears ring and my face feels like it's been split into two. My eyes water but I refuse to let them fall.

He smirks again. "Not so tough now, are we? Now that you're in a position all women should be in, you've gone submissive. But don't worry, that's how they all are." He even chuckles and it makes me sick that people like him even exist.

I curse at him through the tape blocking my mouth and he smirks as he painfully rips the tape off from my mouth and pulls the cloth out. I cough and it feels good to get a good breath of air.

"I'm not submissive!" I exclaim, writhing from under him and trying to buck him off of me. But this man is almost more beast-like than human in his size, and it's no use.

"If you aren't now, you will be. And if you still refuse, then there will be literal hell to pay." He hisses before yanking me up off of my feet.

"Where are we going?" I frantically ask when he drags me down the dim hallways of the old building.

"Don't fucking ask questions. Don't fucking speak unless you're spoken to or commanded to. Don't look any man in the eyes. You are now nothing nor do you mean anything to anyone. It is easier to obey than to fight. You will be rewarded for your good behavior."

"What?" I shriek.

He suddenly stops and I slam right into the back of him. I don't have time to recover when he raises his hand and quickly backhands me on my other cheek. He hits me so hard I fall into the wall of the hallways.

My cheek throbs and I can't even cradle it because my hands are still tied.

He pins me against the wall and wraps his hands tightly around my throat. "What did I just tell you?"

"N-not to talk." I stutter, horrified.

"Then fucking obey." He harshly commands, loosening his grip before dragging me back down the hallway and towards an empty room.

Filled with girls.

The room was filled with girls.

Girls between the ages of thirteen and twenty-eight.

They wear t-shirts and booty shorts. They do each other's hair and speak in hushed whispers. There are girls of all ethnicities and their eyes look sad and downcast.

"New shipment! You know what to do, ladies!" The man shouts and roughly pushes me forwards.

They nod in unison and four girls approach me. "What the hell is going on?" I mutter, backing away like a spooked animal.

"We are to train and prepare you for your first night soon." One of the girls who is no older than sixteen answers back shyly. Her brown hair is straight and it falls in her face.

She peers up at me with shy brown eyes.

"My what?" I ask, a sinking feeling starts to settle in my ribs. I think I know what she means but I don't want to come to terms of it just quite yet.

The girl next to her with a black Afro clears her throat. "What she means to say is.....that....that man, he's a pimp. One of many, actually."

"A pimp." I mutter quietly.

My heart is beating out of control as reality starts to sink in. Things start to become hazy around me and I squeeze my eyes shut. No no no.

The girl continues hesitantly. "This....this a brothel. You've been thrown into a brothel and now you must work."

When I thought about my new future, this did not come to mind.

When I thought about my new future, I didn't expect to be exploited in the worst way possible. And if I don't find a way out of this soon, I don't think I would ever be able to pick myself up off of my feet again.

Because if I don't find a way out of here soon, I think I'd be nothing more than broken glass in which people have given up on fixing.