Chapter 65: Chapter 65

Chapter 65 I wouldn't want to bring a child into this world

My body aches.

I've been stuck in human trafficking for two whole months now, and being raped repeatedly has taken a massive toll on my body. I have about thirty customers a day, and each and every one of them leaves bruises and blood on my body when they're done with me.

Some are so rough with me they cause internal bleeding from my womb, and I'm sure they've damaged the chance for me to ever conceive children.

Perhaps, maybe that's why I haven't fallen pregnant yet. It's extremely unusual for any woman in human trafficking to not fall pregnant eventually. And maybe it's a good thing.

I wouldn't want to bring a child into this world. I couldn't imagine having a child being raised in this environment.

But the fact that I may never be able to have children of my own one day, when perhaps, I'm free from this hell, hurts me. The choice is stripped from me now, and for that, it breaks me.

And as I walk down the street, I swallow back tears that threaten to spill. My high heels click loudly against the chipped pavement, drowning out any other sounds. Night time has fallen, and I'm being forced to sell myself on the streets.

I can't escape.

They're watching me.

They have eyes everywhere.

Even now, I can feel their hidden eyes upon my body, watching my every move and making sure I'm doing what I am told to do.

So I walk towards the vehicle that's parked on the streets. Their headlights are on and it's as if a spotlight is being shinned upon me. It lights me up and with each step I become closer and closer.

My heart pounds painfully in my chest and I forcefully push all my emotions in the back of my mind. I hide behind the walls I have built around my heart and live life feeling numb. It's the best solution so that I might not hurt myself anymore than I already am.

But some nights, my walls fail me, and I hit rock bottom.

And then I realize just how broken I am. Just how much pain I'm in.

And those nights are cold and painful. Those nights I wrestle with the devil for my identity, for my purpose. The devil holds lies in the palms of his hands, and I feed from them. He feeds me lies in my most vulnerable moments, he attacks me when I'm at my lowest point.

And I hate myself for believing them. But sometimes, I just can't help it.

You're worthless. He says. I know, I reply. I used to not believe them but as I walk up to the car window about to sell myself for another cold round of rape, I believe them. I believe them because I am worthless. I'm a cheap slut in the hands of a monster.

And nothing more.

I lean my head into the open window of the car and put on a fake, seductive smile. "Are you ready, boys?" I ask huskily.

Two men, looking around their mid thirties, smile at me. They are both regular customers, one of their names is Brian and the other one is named Caesar. They both take turns with me when they purchase me for the night.

They're both actually good looking men who come from wealthy families. Brian is a successful CEO of a company and Caesar is his successful business partner who also, coincidentally, happens to be a lawyer.

A very well known lawyer at that.

It just goes to show that even the richest of people have hidden lives. Sometimes the most seemingly perfect people hide the darkest, deepest secrets. Their reputation could withstand a storm, but their private lives tell a story much different.

These two men are dangerous for that reason. Everyone knows and trusts them.

But if word got out that they spend their nights with victims of human trafficking in their free time, their lives would be ruined just like the girls they rape.

"Hop in, baby. You can sit on my lap on the way there." Caesar says, licking his lips seductively. I already feel sick to my stomach as I open the door and proceed to do what he says and sit on his lap.

His grip on my waist is harsh and bruising and I wince in pain. I can already feel the abuse I've sustained by his hands from last time.

And I do everything in my power to stop myself from curling up into a broken, defensive ball. I can feel my body shaking in fear and I try my best to breathe through the panic.

I don't think I can ever get used to this.

When we arrive at their place, I'm thrown into a bedroom. Brian has taken a peculiar liking to me and for that, I'm cautious. His liking for me is sick and twisted and I fear him greatly. I decide it's way easier to do what he says than to fight it.

Last time I fought him I couldn't walk properly for two weeks. He had crushed my left foot with a brick to ensure I don't try to run as he has his way with me.

So when the time comes, I take the girl's advice who had instructed and prepared me for my first night of hell.

I closed my eyes so that I couldn't see what he was doing to me.

So that I couldn't feel anything.

Because maybe, if I couldn't see what was happening, if I couldn't feel what was happening, then I would be okay. Maybe then, I wouldn't be as traumatized.

But while closing my eyes kept me from seeing anything, it didn't stop me from feeling anything. It didn't stop me from feeling his fingers thread through my hair and pull hard. It didn't stop me from feeling his hands leave bruising marks along my chest, neck, and abdomen.

It didn't stop me from feeling my insides being shredded by his unmerciful thrusts. It didn't stop me from feeling him leaving painful hickeys along my neck that will last for days.

As he had his way with me, he laughed at the tears escaping out from under my eyelids. He mocked me for my pain and emotions.

Humiliation and shame is so prevalent in my life now it's overwhelming. I don't know what to do.

I just don't know what to do.

And so the night passes on. Each man showing no mercy to me. Not a single one knows compassion and not a single one displays even a small act of kindness.

They are selfish.

And it's then that I realize.

I hate them.

Every single one of them.

So I go about the night degrading myself repeatedly. When the clock strikes midnight, it is time for my shift to be over. I'm exhausted and I'm sore everywhere.

At this point, even sleeping on the cold hard ground sounds sufficient. I just want to be alone for the rest of the night and sleep. Heck, I just want to be alone forever. Humanity has damaged me enough and I just want to be alone.

But in this life, things never go my way because my trafficker was waiting for me in my room. He was a burly man with black hair and tan skin with inky tattoos crawling all around his body. He's got several piercings and he looks very intimidating.

He administers my punishments when I act out and I am completely and utterly petrified of him and his strength. I do not know his name, as most pimps go by code names.

His code name is D'andre.

"What do you want?" I ask timidly, looking down at my feet.

He growls before slamming me against the wall of my bedroom. I groan in pain and he forces my head up to examine my neck. "Do you love being a fucking whore?" He growls out.

"W-what are y-"

"Damn it whore, are you falling in love with a customer?"

"N-no!"

"These hickeys tell another story." He says, looking me into the eyes with his fiery, possessive ones.

"I'm n-not lying, I-"

But I don't get to finish my sentence when his fists strike my face repeatedly. He kicks me in the abdomen and I fall to my knees, coughing for air. I open my mouth to breath and that's when I feel his saliva coating my face.

He is spitting on me.

I don't have a chance to recover when he beats me again.

And again.

And again.

I cry out in pain, trying to breath properly. Tears blur my vision as he repeatedly buries his feet into my ribs. I beg him to stop, but he doesn't. His assault carries on for what seems like hours. "You like being a whore, don't you?" He shouts over and over again as he beats me.

I couldn't do anything.

I was helpless to his attacks and he's reduced me down to nothing more than a shivering, abused mess on the floor who is too weak and injured to do anything.

When he's done with his fists, he pulls out his chain which he uses to beat me.

"N-no please, not t-that." I beg him.

But my pleads falls on deaf ears and cracks it down onto my skin.

He beats me everywhere on my body with it. The cold metal of the chain soon becomes warm with my blood. The skin that doesn't end up splitting forms into big, ugly welts. I try to curl myself into a ball in defense.

But he kicks me so hard I am uncurled from my ball. He yells that I am supposed to take his punishment and calls me horrible names that hurts my heart and breaks me down.

He never aims to injure my face in any way, because he wants a high price for me when I am sold to customers. But tonight was different, because his last few beatings connected with my face.

The heavy weight of the chain slams down onto my eyes and nose. Immediately, I feel my nose crack and blood rushes down. The pain causes my head to throb and I know I will be receiving black eyes by the time the sun arises.

And then he stops.

All is silent except for his angered, harsh breathing. I feel his gaze on my broken body. It's one of pure disgust.

"This is why you don't fall in love with a customer. Besides, nobody would ever love you, especially not now, you ugly slut." He says before spitting on my and leaving my room, making sure to slam my door so hard it rattles the floor.

I choke back a sob as I turn to lay on my back. It hurts to even lie here on the floor, and I know I won't be making it to my bed tonight, which consists of a thin, old mattress on the floor.

This wasn't the first time he's beaten me like that, and I've figured out it's the most comfortable position to sleep on my back in times like these. Fetal position puts too much pressure on my wounded and bruised ribs.

Darkness shrouds my eyes and warm tears fall freely. I feel my blood sticking to me and drying on my skin. When my adrenaline fades away I sob in pain. The pain makes my skin throb and causes a searing migraine.

All through the night, my groans of pain could be heard. When they got too loud, I had to shove my fist in my mouth so I wouldn't wake the pimps.

God only knows what punishment I would endure if that was to happen.

I passed out in the early morning hours the next day. It felt good to finally get a few decent hours of sleep before my hell has to start all over again.

* * *

Morning came. I dread every single day, and this day was no different. I would be fulfilling my duties at a motel known for prostitution.

It was going to be just like every other day.

Or so I thought.

I was changing into my outfit for the day at nine in the morning when they came.

Their voices sounded like thunder as they shouted incoherent words through the door.

Some of their words were a mix of English, Italian, and Spanish, making them sound like loud, incoherent words with their booming voices.

My heart thunders in my chest because I know these guys mean business.

They, or whoever they are, started pounding on the door with force. When nobody answered the door, that's when I heard clear English.

And I understood.

"This is the police, open up!"