Chapter 66: Chapter 66

Chapter 66 Hope tasted sweet

I could be free. That was the thought that gave me hope when I heard it was law enforcement banging at the front door. Maybe they were going to raid this old home and rescue the girls enslaved in this horrible ordeal.

Hope tasted sweet.

I thought maybe the police finally caught on. Maybe they were performing an operation of rescue, just like the ones I've seen on TV when I used to watch crime shows with my family.

In no time at all, officers came charging into my room, dragging me out of there. However, they didn't take me away. They didn't rescue me or show mercy upon me and the other girls.

Why?

Because they were not police officers at all.

They were merely wolves in sheep's clothing.

They threw me into a large room with bright lights and cameras. I recognized this room from one of the first days I had been here. I had to get my pictures taken for customers.

It was humiliating.

The officers were apparently undercover pimps, disguising themselves as law enforcement in order to deceive the public. And I watched in horror as they dragged little children, no older than maybe ten years old into the room with me.

There was many other women.

Young women of all ages, and it sickens me.

How can humanity be so perverted? I don't think I will ever know the answer to that question. They took pictures of all of us in inappropriate positions. Some of the girls were crying and they were mocked for their tears.

Nobody cared that they were minors, innocent children in the hands of vile monsters.

It broke my heart.

At night, when nobody is looking, I cry for the girls and women stuck in this hell with me. It's heart breaking and I know I have to find a way to not only save myself from this hell, but others also.

When it was my turn to have my pictures taken, I got disgusted looks. They mocked me for the bruises on my face and kicked down what was little left of my dignity.

"The whore is too ugly to have her pictures done. Customers prefer beautiful women and girls." One of the men mocks.

"Nah, some people dig that rough shit. Take her damn pictures, I'm sure it will be bound to please somebody out there." Another one replies.

I close my eyes and look down in shame as I'm forced in front of the camera. They force me to get in humiliating, degrading positions before the camera and they even make me strip a little more.

Just close your eyes, and you'll be okay. Just look at a blank spot on the wall, and you won't feel anything. Let yourself enter a mental state of nothingness.

And so that's what I did, and it made things easier. It was hell and I think I'd rather be dead than live any longer. This life hurts me so much I don't know how much longer of this I can take. Some of these women have been stuck in this situation for years.

How can they go on?

I don't think I could handle it for that long.

When they were done with taking pictures, we were ordered to get back to work. The pimps watched us carefully as we applied our makeup and styled our hair. I was still in so much pain from the night before, and walked with a very noticeable limp.

I could hear the men's snickering as I walked by them.

They took pride in my pain, and I hated it. I hated them. Every single one of them. I've seen the dark sides of man and I don't think I can ever trust them again.

When I can't find my brush, I realize I must of left it upstairs in my room. The creaking of the stairs haunts me and its always dark in my room. The aura feels evil and heavy, and a cold chill freezes my bones, making my body ache even more.

My hand settles on the old door knob of the door when I hear a noise. It's muffled but....it's still there.

"Hello?" I call out.

No answer.

I shrug and I'm about to open my door when I hear it again. This time it's louder and....it sounds like crying and begging.

My eyes land on the door just across the way from mine. I'm not supposed to interfere with customers and their "objects of pleasure" because I will be punished to the highest degree.

But something is drawing me in.

I take quiet, careful steps to the door and press my ear up against it when I reach it. My heart hearts when I hear the voice of a mere child, and I cry for her. Unable to stand the sounds any longer, I open the door.

And see two men about to do God knows what to a little child no older than the age of ten. She sits on the bed and cries, while the men stand around her, mocking her for her tears. Already, I can see bruises lying under her eyes and dried blood under her nose.

When I see one of the men unbuckling his pants, I can't take it.

I step in.

My eyes land on the old lamp sitting on a dusty table beside me. My fingers wrap around the glass lamp.

And I hit the man in the back of the head with it.

Hard.

So hard, in fact, that the man is knocked unconscious and falls to the ground in a heap. The little girl screams and I notice that blood is running down from the large gash on the back of his head that I created.

It isn't too long after when I am attacked by the other man. I hit the floor with a thud and a groan, and I feel the cold tip of a knife pressed against my throat. His other hand is tightly clasped over my mouth and I struggle to breath.

"You shouldn't have done that." The man on top of me says. I feel his blade being buried into my neck slowly and painfully.

I wince.

But yet, I speak.

"No, you shouldn't have done that you sick bastard. How could you d-do that to a mere c-child?"

He growls at my words and pushes the blade so deep in my neck I feel my blood running down my throat. He shows no mercy when he swipes the blade completely across my neck, no doubt trying to slit my throat.

And for a moment, I thought he succeeded.

I thought he had cut my jugular vein and I would bleed out within a minute.

But when that minute rolls into two, then three, then five, then ten, I realize that I am here to stay. The pain is agonizing and I wheeze for air on the floor. I am losing a lot of blood and I can feel it forming a puddle beneath my neck.

It isn't long before my trafficker is aware of the situation, and I know it's him when dark boots enters my field of vision. No words are spoken between us and he kicks me in the face to temporarily end my torment.

* * *

I awoke in my room with molded walls. I am aware of what had happened, of what I had done. But the only thing I'm concerned about is the little child in the room across from me.

I know my attempts to save her was futile, because there's really no way out once you're trapped in this life. And for that fact, I'm scared. I feel so helpless and I wish I could do something.

But how can help everyone when I can't even help myself?

I mean, look at me. I've been raped to the point that I'm internally damaged. Bloody discharge constantly drips from between my legs and I'm covered in bruises and wounds from my tormentors. I've lost too much weight and I'm too skinny. I look sick. I look used. I look dirty.

It's like I'm being shot when I'm already down. It's hopeless and I can't get up. All I can do is wait until I take my last breath, but even then, that might not be for awhile.

I run my hand down my aching, bruised face. When will this ever end? Will it ever end? Or will my present remain my future?

I know I will be facing a night of punishment in The Shack, as the girls here call it. It's an old freezer that victims are thrown into for the night to be punished. It's located in the back yard of this run down place I am forced to call home.

And almost as if on cue, the thundering of boots shake the floor my broken body lies upon. I stay deathly still when my trafficker halts above my body.

All that is heard is his breathing.

His angry breathing, labored because it is produced by his rage that cannot be harnessed.

He makes one command.

"Take off my belt."

I hesitate.

"Bitch, are you dumb and deaf?" He mocks as he threads his fingers through my hair and drags me off of my feet with a yelp. The wound on my neck is still open and throbbing viciously.

Feeling weak, I submit with shame. I unbuckle his belt, my fingers shaking as I pull it through the loops.

He is going to beat me with it.

"Look at me." He commands harshly. I have no other choice but to look at him. I see his hand raise, and I don't have time to flinch when he slaps me across the face.

My head whips to the side but I don't make a sound. I've grown used to the sting of a slap upon my cheek. He then slams me face first into the wall and I feel the cold blade of a knife skimming the skin of my back as he cuts the clothing off.

I don't make a sound when I feel the metal of the belt buckle hit my skin. Not even on the fifth, or the tenth, or the fifteenth strike do I make a sound.

I suffer silently.

My flesh burns and my back feels swollen. When a particular lash strikes across my bare thighs multiple times, my legs shake.

But I refuse to fall.

At this, my trafficker growls and hits me harder. I know his arm is getting tired, and soon he will have no choice but to stop.

"Why must you always go against me? You've been a problem since day one! Why can't you be an easy, submissive woman like you're supposed to be?" He rants angrily to himself.

"T-then kill me."

His beatings stop. His loud breath remains. I still completely.

He wretches my head back by my hair and forces me to look at his ugly, scarred faced. "I won't kill you until you're a pathetic, weak, old mess who's pussy is equivalent to raw hamburger meat, slut."

A shiver runs down my spine at his cold words as he carelessly throws my head back into the wall and steps behind me to continue his blows.

I don't know how many strikes he gave me that night in total, because I lost track at around forty-three.

Only when I collapse and was no longer moving did he drag me outside and throw me into The Shack. He doesn't even look back when he slams the door so hard the icy floor beneath me shakes.

It's freezing and dim, and I curl into myself in my attempt to stay warm. My teeth chatter and the pain is too much. I feel dizzy and my neck throbs and leaks blood and liquid.

God, please, just take me. I can't take this much longer. Have you abandoned me? Have you left me like everyone else has? I feel so alone.

My bottom lip quivers yet tears do not spill for whatever reason. It's like a force is holding them back and I scream in frustration. I scream to let all my emotions drain out of me. I scream until my throat is raw and torn.

I scream until my voice has vanished.

And I scream until my eyes close in exhaustion and my mind shuts itself down in an attempt to save itself.

* * *

I could barely walk the next day. It didn't take a genius to figure out that my body was shutting down. I wasn't eating much. I simply didn't have an appetite. My stress both mentally and physically has taken a toll on me, and my unwillingness to live isn't helping the situation, either.

Every now and then I black out.

I don't think I have much longer.

Fight, Lily, there has to be brighter things ahead. I tell myself, trying to lift my spirits. But it's hard to find joy in a dark place like this.

Fight. Don't give up.

I sigh as I step the cock-roach infested bedroom I am to wait in for my third customer of the day. I'm exhausted and I'm in so much pain. My back burns and I feel sick and feverish. The wound on my neck throbs and I can hardly even stand.

When the customer walks in, I await, standing with my head bowed and my hands folded in front of me. I hear the man inhale before taking heavy steps towards me.

His scent.

It smells clean and masculine.

His black military-looking boots steps into my vision and I squeeze my eyes shut as a calloused hand touches my bruised cheek softly.

Softly.

I haven't known a soft touch in years, and I freeze. Was this some kind of cruel joke? Was this just one of their kinks, or some kind of cruel way to give me hope, only then rip it away from me?

The man seems to be examining me in silence and I hang my head in shame. His cold, calloused hand has not left my face, and when he tucks a tendril of my oily hair behind my ear, I flinch back.

He's going to beat me. I think to myself bitterly.

But when more moments go by, and I'm still in one piece, I become confused. Why isn't he hitting me? Why isn't he stripping me of my dignity or using me for his pleasure only?

"Look at me." The man speaks. His voice is deep and stern, yet calm. I swallow nervously, and turn my eyes up to his.

There has to be some good left in the world, surely, there is a light. A voice speaks to me.

And little did I know that my light was standing in front of me. Little did I know that my light was the captivating blue-eyed man with a dark past that mirrored my own.

Who knew that darkness could also bring about light?