Chapter 68: Chapter 68

Chapter 68 I've seen him

Time seemed to stand still. All breath was knocked out from my lungs when my eyes landed on the man in front of me. My heart seemed to stop beating.

This man.

I've seen him.

He was there the night of the crash....he tried to help me. Memories of that night flashes before my eyes. Even now, I can still see the flames of the fire licking his skin, and how the ashes of the fire rained down upon his desperate face.

And the fire itself.... I remember how the fire seemed to dance in his eyes. It flickered and its thick, black smoke surrounded him in an attempt to snuff him out.

And his eyes.

In his eyes, the orange glow of the fire was reflected. The colors of the fire seemed to have taken over his irises, changing them from an icy blue to a dark glow that was brought on my tradjety and death.

Even his icy eyes could not burn the fire out.

I can still feel his frigid glare cast down into my own eyes when he saw the destruction I caused. I can still see his desperation as he tried to save the child that I killed.

And I can still feel his pain when the child could not be saved.

And now he stands before me.

But unlike the last time I saw him, this time, he's emotionless. Void. Empty.

There's nothing. Absolutely nothing. His eyes are like the cold, dark depths of the ocean. They almost seem to glow in the darkness that wishes to conceal this man in front of me.

The shadows creep along his features, shielding parts of his appearance from me. The darkness dips and sinks into the crevices of his facial features and his rugged appearance makes him look dangerous.

And maybe he is.

He wears a dark grey T-shirt and jeans. His boots are black and his brown hair is tousled and wind swept from no doubt the motorcycle that I've seen him make his escapes on. His eyes studies my own and with his thumb he swipes over a bruise on my cheek.

I flinch back in fear.

"D-don't touch me." I warn, backing away fearfully. He's so tall, much taller than me. He's muscular and strong, everything that I'm not. I'm no match against him and for that, I'm terrified.

He could crush me in seconds.

And his eyes....they're cold. So, so cold. It's like he has no emotions. He's mysterious and he stares at me with a blank expression. Every customer I've had has always had some kind of an expression crawling across their faces, whether that be lust, desire, or evil.

But his....his expression is void. It holds nothing as his eyes capture and imprison my own. He studies me, and I watch as his eyes scan my body. I know I'm not the prettiest and I know I look pretty broken right now, and though I cower under his gaze, I don't blame him.

And then he walks forwards, slowly stalking me like I am his prey.

And maybe I am.

He did purchase me for his pleasure, after all.

"Rule number six of the code all under our commands must follow. Submit and obey. Submit yourselves to us and obey the customers that you serve. Offer your body to them, you are nothing and will always be nothing. Respect them. Don't look them in the eyes unless they command you to. You are inferior. Ask of them how they would like to be pleasured and obey. Refusal to do any of the codes and you will be accordingly punished." My trafficker's words flow through my head.

"It is easier to submit than to fight. You will be rewarded when the time comes for your obedience." One of the girls had told me that when I first got here.

And they are right - both my trafficker and that girl. I am inferior to this world as well as every body in it, and it is easier to submit than to be beaten.

Too many times I have been burned by hot irons and beaten by chains. Too many times I've been beaten into unconsciousness.

Too many times. Too many times.

I small sigh leaves my lips and I fall onto my knees on the floor. I let my hands rest into my lap and I bow my head. My hair shields my face from reality and I wish I could just hide away forever.

The shame still hasn't gone away.

"H-how can I be of your pleasure tonight, sir?" I ask shakily. The world seems to stop.

A few moments of silence ticks by and for a moment, I think he's just going to stand there and stare down at me for eternity. No words are spoken and neither of us move. My breath is warm against my folded hands as I mutter a silent prayer into the nothing.

The musky air chokes me and my heart painfully thumps with each beat. I shiver, feeling weak and cold.

I am dead but breathing. I am alive yet I'm not. I'm terrified yet intrigued. I am all these things, simply because of the man in front of me. The man I don't know. The man with no name. The man with captivating eyes and no soul.

The man who does not speak.

The man of mysteries.

But in an instant, the silence is shattered. It is shattered like glass. It is shattered like my heart. It is splintered like wood. This man has opened his mouth, and stern words follow his command.

"Get up and follow me." Cold. His voice is deep and so cold that I'm sure it could put the most frigid of winters to shame. It holds so much power that I feel weaker than I already am, like I have no choice but to comply.

But worst of all, his tone makes me feel like I am nothing.

And maybe I am. Maybe I am nothing.

I'm just a flower quickly fading.

Here today and gone tomorrow.

Maybe I am a wave tossed in the ocean that gets lost among the other waves. That gets quickly drowned out before meeting its death when it collides with the rocky shoreline. Maybe I am vapor in the wind that dissipates in an instant, never to be seen again and forgotten.

And this man....who resembles so much that I'm not, knows this. He knows I'm weak. He knows I'm a whore. He knows I'm tainted and dirty.

I am disposable to him.

And I fear that, as he leads me out of the room, he's leading me to my destruction. I fear that he will rip me apart like a powerful beast once he lays his hands on me.

But, isn't that what I wanted?

To die?

To simply have things end for me?

Why have things changed? Why has the need to die fled from me? Why am I conflicted now?

My memories are in ruins. My emotions have faced their ultimate destruction. My body is falling apart, and yet, I don't want to die anymore. I want to survive. I want to fight. I want to search for the live I was meant to live.

And as I cautiously follow behind this man, I am determined to find just that.

A new life.

Because surely, my present can't be my only future. There must be something more.

I keep my pace slow and I stay alert as this man leads me out of the room he was supposed to use me in. Maybe he doesn't want to rape me in such a dirty room, perhaps he's taking me elsewhere to carry out his duties.

He's just like every other man.

Evil. Selfish. Lustful. Rapist. Strong.

Trust....in this world, it doesn't exist. It has vanished just like the morals and it is extinct just like compassion and gentleness.

This man's shoulders are broad and notice he smells faintly of cigarettes and alcohol. I scoff to myself. Do you lie awake at night, too, and drown your problems in alcohol just like most other men in this world?

My eyes then scan the white lines that run down his arms and I realize they are scars. Some look like old cigarette burns that never have healed while others looks like they were produced by a sharp object.

They trail all the way up his arms, and I notice that on his right arm, a dark tattoo of some sort paints his skin. The scars disappear into the tattoo and I can't quite make out what it is as the rest is covered by the sleeve of his shirt.

When we make it to the lobby of the motel, one of the pimps is standing at the front desk. Many pimps work at or even own the dirty motels, and use them as their prime prostitution centers.

Fear builds up inside me. Surely, this pimp will stop us. This man paid for me to be used here, and I am forbidden to leave this motel until the next day.

The pimp's glare hardens at us and he approaches us with a growl. I avert my eyes to the ground, dreading what is to happen.

"Sir, what are you doing,? You can't leave the building with a whore. You signed up to stay in this motel-"

Before the pimp even as a chance to finish his sentence, he's thrown against the nearby wall. The man pins him by the throat and I watch as the pimp gasps for air. His toes skims the ground and desperation swims in his eyes.

"You will let us leave and you won't tell a soul." The unknown man says, his voice low and dangerous. A shiver runs down my spine at the strength and fierceness of this man.

I watch as the pimp gasps and his eyes seem to widen in recognition. "Y-you're the leader of the g-" The pimp starts before the man shuts him up by knocking him out cold.

The pimp hits the floor with a thud and blood leaks out from his nose. I don't even react, this kind of behavior is something I'm used to by now.

The man growls in irritation before turning to me, his eyes ablaze."You're going to follow me and you're not going to make a sound. If you decide to run, you better pray to God that he will provide you with a miracle so that you can outrun me."

I swallow nervously and nod in understanding. He then turns his back and starts to walk out of the motel, and I follow after him.

Where's he taking me? What's he going to do to me?

I could run. Now is my chance to escape. He's not watching me and I could just sneak away. I could actually escape. But what if he catches me?

I decide not to take my chances. I've made many escape attempts before, but they were just that, attempts.

And every time I'm caught, I'm beaten to the brink of death and I suffer from my wounds for days.

So, I remain behind the rugged stranger. And the farther we go, the more concerned I become. I feel sick with nervousness and I'm so shaky I fear I might fall. He leads me down narrow, windy streets that are dim with shadows.

He has taken me to a completely different town.

The buildings here are completely abandoned besides for a few sketchy gas stations. The streets are dull and grey and everything is of darker colors.

The last town I was in was a poor, run down neighborhood. I traveled to different cities for prostitution but I had never been to this one. The man has yet to speak a word to me, and I wonder what goes inside that head of his.

What is he thinking? Where is he taking me? What is he planning to do with me? Will he kill me once he's done with me? Why else would he have led me all the way out here if he's not going to kill me?

I'm going to die.

I breathe in and decide to except my fate rather than fight it. Perhaps death will bring the rest and peace I've been looking for.

I follow him into an old brick building. The brick is a fading red and some of the windows are completely shattered. Graffiti is sprawled out all over the outside and when he leads me inside, it's even worse.

It's dark. It smells of weed and I notice many needles lying around. No doubt, the needles are used for drugs. The floor creeks under my feet and when dust fills my lungs, I resist the urge to cough. Black mold grows down the moist walls in several places and furniture - or rather, what's left of the furniture, is tipped over and broken.

It's cold inside and when the stairs lead to his bedroom, I stop in my tracks.

And so does he.

He turns around slowly and looks at me. His face emotionless and his eyes are cold.

I shiver under his gaze. He's like a beast, a predator. His hands are clenched at his sides and I can't bear to look at him anymore.

"Did I tell you that you could stop?" He asks sternly.

"N-no-"

"If you aren't in that room this instance, you will wish that you were never born." He says darkly. His voice is so low and holds so much promise, I obey.

But not before whispering back in response, "I already do."

The room is small. It holds a bed, a fridge, and an old recliner chair that seems to be nothing more than a dust collector now. There's a single window, but the curtains are drawn over it, dampening the light that wishes to reach in.

I walk to the bed and sit on the end of it, keeping my head bowed.

But to my surprise, he walks to the fridge and pulls out a can of beer before sitting down in the dusty recliner. He pops open the cap.

"Tell me, how long have you been street walking for?" He says quietly. His voice is so low it's hard to hear him.

"Uh, too l-long, sir." I stutter, confused.

He takes a sip of his beer. "And you're against your will..." He mutters to himself, scoffing. His eyes aren't even on me as he talks.

I ignore his statement.

"Sir, what would you like of me?" I ask him politely.

"To get out."

"W-what?" I ask, shocked.

"You heard me, damned woman. Get out. You're free." He mutters carelessly as he brings the can to his lips.

"I'm free? But what if I'm caught-"

"You won't be." He growls in irritation.

"How can you be so sure?"

But he doesn't answer.

Instead, he crushes the can in his fist with ease before he arises from his chair. My heart thuds in my ears with each slow step he takes and his gaze never wavers from mine even as he approaches me.

"Who comes to a brothel and pays for a woman they want nothing from?" I whisper as a lone tears runs down my cheek. I search his eyes for any trace of dishonesty, some hint of abhorrence.

To my surprise, he wipes my tear away with the rough pad of his thumb. "Leave this place, and never return." He murmurs coldly.

I'm free.

Finally free.

I stand up on shaky legs and my hand meets the cold door knob. I look over my shoulder to catch one last glimpse of the rugged stranger that has granted my freedom.

He still stands there, facing the bed with his back towards me.

"What is your name?" I ask him, my voice softly breaking the silence.

He exhales deeply, before turning around slowly. His gaze is on the floor for a few brief moments before he hesitantly brings his eyes up to capture mine.

His lips part and his voice gives an identity to a stranger. A name to a face.

"Colton. They call me Colton."