Chapter 63: Chapter 63

Chapter 63 It is easily broken

Silence is like delicate glass.

It is easily broken.

And I'm sitting here, silently suffering as my world shatters like silence. Shatters like glass. Shatters like a heart that no longer can beat properly, simply because it has been fractured too many times.

So the shards of silence lies around me, cutting my feet and wounding my flesh. It covers the floor like the bitter snow.

Or like the shattered windshield of the burning vehicle.

I dance and twirl around the shards, trying to escape their sharp edges that keeps cutting me and wounding my heart and soul.

But the longer I dance, the more I suffer.

The longer I dance, the more I fight.

And the longer I fight, the slower I die.

I scream yet nobody hears. I plead but nobody listens. I cry yet nobody comforts me.

I fall and nobody catches me.

So I plummet.

Down.

Down.

Down.

I hit the bottom.

Rock bottom.

My lungs burst from impact and a painful shriek is torn from my dry throat that is raw from weeping. The darkness closes in on me now. It has me cornered and terrified like a child who's awoken from a nightmare.

Its velvety hands touches me in ways that scares me. It fingers dance across my skin and crawls up my legs, strangling me when it reaches my throat.

I fight and struggle, wanting to break free from the cold fingers of the Darkness.

Darkness....

Darkness has a name. Many names, actually. But none of his powerful names won't ever leave my lips anytime soon.

I'm lost. I'm lost in my panic. My fear. My uncertainty. My questions.

I'm lost in my own mind.

This is the realm of my own mind in which I cannot escape. This is the reality of my own life in which I cannot escape. I get sucked down deeper, deeper, deeper.....

Until I break.

Until I shatter like glass. Like silence.

Because as they speak, their voices break down the walls I built in my head. They break down the mental walls that have kept the darkness out for so long. They break down the walls that lets the darkness leak in, the cold inky waters drowning me once more in an ocean of agony.

Because their voices disturbed the sound of silence.

Their voices of silk flowed like drapes flapping in the breeze that caused pleasurable chills to dance along my skin. The words they spoke were sweet like honey yet as lethal as poison. Their words were as enticing as a beautiful flower yet as deadly as a viper.

They spoke in such a way that they somehow didn't make the situation sound so bad.

But it was bad. It was worse than I could ever imagine.

So, I tried not to listen to their instructions on how to pleasure a man and on all the different positions, and how to make the most money with each client.

I sit here, holding in the tears as they sugar-coat rape like it's nothing. Like it isn't as bad as everyone makes it seem.

But I watch as the girls explain that obvious lie as they try to hide their bruises with makeup and as they tug down the sleeves of their shirts so that they might hide their evidence of self-harm.

And it's then I realize.

They don't even believe their own words that they are saying, so how am I expected to believe the very words they, deep down, don't believe themselves?

Evidence is written on their bodies.

Evidence that their forced labor does effect them. Evidence that rape does effect them.

And so as they explain to me in depth about what this life will bring about, I hang my head in shame. They seem hollow on the inside and their eyes are void as they ramble on about what men like and what men don't like.

Their frail forms shake even now as they stand there in front of me, cloaked in the darkness that dips and shades the valleys of their bones and ridged scars.

Their words mean nothing when evidence stands before my eyes.

"You are expected to work from nine in the morning to midnight. Failure to do so will lead to unpleasant punishments by our superiors." The girl with olive skin and black hair explains.

I shake my head, not wanting to hear about the future that will break me down into nothing more than a mere object. "I won't. I won't do it. I can't do it." I utter into the void.

"You have to. This is your new life now, one in which we all must go through. Obey, respect, and submit, and you will be rewarded. Things can be turned to good in this." The woman says, and I feel sick to my stomach that this woman is more like a girl who looks to be around the age of fifteen, maybe sixteen.

She's so strong and broken at the same time. How can that be?

If she can pull through this, so can you. I tell myself, trying to give myself some encouragement, some hope I can hold onto in this shrouded world.

I promise I will one day free not only you, but all the other girls in this brothel. I promise you will go from a little, weak lamb to a courageous lion.

One day, but today is not the day.

I don't say anything more as this girl finishes up teaching me about all the horrifying ways of this new life I have.

Even after all my years in prison, I still don't understand how people can be so vile, so sick, so evil. How do monsters like them exist? How can people just get so far down a hollow road that right becomes wrong and wrong becomes right?

How do their morals just disintegrate into ash? How can they disappear like a vapor?

Every human is born with a sense of right and wrong.

So, when and what exactly does it take for that sense to be torn apart? Do they ignore their conscience or has their conscience vanished just like their morals?

Did humanity strip them of their kindness or did the Darkness, who has many names, whisper lies into their ears and take over their lives?

Their hearts have turned to stone and and their conscience has fled from them. And when that happens, for whatever reason, they morph into monsters, into beasts that lurk on the earth to destroy the innocent.

And it seems, at that point, they are too far gone. They are passed the point of saving.

And as a result, I am here.

These women and girls are here, stuck in this dark place in the hands of selfish, perverted people.

But I vow to free not only myself, but they, too. I don't know how, but it will happen. I have to make it happen.

"You will be seeing about thirty customers a day-"

"Thirty? Oh God!" I cry into my hands. Be strong. Be strong. Be strong. Don't cry. Breathe. Breathe. I can't have a panic attack not now nor ever.

The girl nods. "Yes. It is overwhelming but it's best for you to close your eyes each time. It helps pass the time."

No traces of emotions are found in her eyes.

I shiver, taking a deep breath.

What would mom say right now? I almost scoff at my own thought, thinking about my fake mother who abandoned me like the rest of my family.

She would say toughen up. Buck up, Barbie. I almost laugh at her words echoing though my head. Her words that give no help nor do they make me feel better.

"W-when am I to....to d-do this?" I ask shakily.

"Starting tomorrow morning at nine in the morning. Meet here with me in this room. Don't be late, or punishment you will have to endure." The girl replies blankly.

"S-so soon." I stutter in disbelief.

"Yes, it's best to get started as soon as possible. This work is high demand."

A numbness creeps into my bones. "Where will they take me t-tomorrow?" I ask.

"The pimps usually take a group of girls down to their underground clubs, or roadside motels, streets known for prostitution and sometimes even homes. That's why they take our pictures....they put them on websites and sometimes allow the customers choose who they want. Sometimes they come here to pick us and pay for us for however many nights they choose."

I swallow the lump in my throat.

My stomach threatens to spill my breakfast when I hear those words.

I've got to get out of here....

As if reading my mind, the girl speaks. "Chances of escape are slim. If you are caught trying to escape, you likely won't make it out alive."

I think I would take my chances. I think to myself but nod in acknowledgment any way.

Once my questions are answered, I'm escorted back into the little room I had awoken in three days ago. I'm shoved roughly in by my captor before the door slams loudly behind me and locks in place.

Almost immediately, I fall to my knees, letting my ragged hair shield my face and letting the shadows conceal me. What have I done to deserve this kind of life?

* * *

I'm ripped from my sleep at seven in the morning. Everything around me spins and I feel sick as I stumble around, trying to stay on my feet as my captor drags me through the dark hallways once more.

I'm blinded by the sudden switch of a light when I'm pushed in a room that smells like cheap perfume. I blink several times in an attempt to get my eyes to adjust, and when they finally do, I see girls.

Girls between the ages of fifteen through twenty-five, all getting dressed into slutty outfits. High heel boots, corsets, and short skirts that show too much cheek. Some we fishnet stockings while others do not.

They do each other's hair, weaving them into braids and crowns of all sorts. Some are curling their hair, while others are straightening it.

Many wear dark red lipstick and too much makeup for my taste, but I don't have much time to observe the scene when suddenly, an outfit is pushed into my hands.

It is a black corset and short, ripped black booty shorts complete with red very high heels to match.

"Don't just stand there and stare at it like a fish! Change!" An older woman yaps at me. I look at her in an odd way, because she looks to be around forty. She's slightly overweight and her dull brown hair is tied into a bun.

She certainly doesn't look like one of the prostitutes.

She must work here....for the pimps.

I cringe. How could women betray each other by letting this happen?

"Where do I change?" I ask nervously.

"Here! Now!" She barks back.

I look around, and notice there are other women doing exactly that.

Changing.

Some of them are even naked as they change.

I hesitantly strip from my worn jeans first and then I proceed to pull the black shorts on. They are so tight I think for a moment that they will crush my ovaries to death. I've always been on the small side with my curves, especially with my hips.

I've never had a problem fitting into clothes until now. And it's obvious that these were purposely made to be tight and revealing. Looking down, I gasp when I notice most of my butt is showing.

A blush creeps onto my cheeks.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. I can't do this!

I've never worn something so short before in my life. These shorts are almost a thong and I feel humiliated to have to wear this in public.

With a sigh, I quickly strip from my loose shirt and pull the corset on. Like I've said before, I'm pretty small with my curves. I am size 30B and I wear a size four in pants.

But this corset made me look like I actually had more than I actually do. It pushes everything up and it is low cut, revealing a good deal of cleavage that I'm not comfortable with.

I feel humiliated and dejected, and I want nothing more than to drown myself in an over-sized sweatshirt and hide away in my own room I had as a child.

"Don't just stand there! Start putting your makeup on!" The rude lady yaps at me.

"I-I don't know-"

"I will do it! Just this once because this is your first time. Sit down." The woman cuts me off rudely as she points to a little stool I am to sit on. I obey her and sit down, my hands nervously shake.

Everything's happening so fast and I feel tears brimming to my eyes. I try to hold them back, but one manages to slip down my cheek.

"Don't fucking cry! You will ruin your makeup and you will be laughed at when you are to be picked." The woman says as she roughly starts coating my face in cover up.

I swallow the lump in my throat and I squeeze my eyes shut. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.

When she is finally done she shoves a raggedy brush with a bent wooden handle into my hand. I quickly brush through my hair and look at a cracked mirror hanging in the dingy room with shame.

I touch my face, now full of makeup. I've always worn light makeup, a little cover up as well as eye liner and mascara. I look like a barbie now with my much too pink blush and eye shadow that could put raccoons to shame.

What have they done to me?

Though, I think a more appropriate question would be what are they going to do me?

Why?

Because this was only the beginning.