Even the sizzling chemistry whenever we were near didn’t have the same pop and crackle.
His eyes were void of lust. Even though I hated those four letters and the word they depicted, lust was what hummed quietly between us—it was what gave us the glue to keep dancing this strange dance.
But now…nothing.
And I knew why.
He’s going to sell me.
That’s why he’s waiting. That was why we’d left port—to travel to another city with better prospects for a deal.
That man had mentioned Hong Kong with connotations of women being used.
Is that where he’s taking me?
Elder had fattened me up, increased my strength, and repaired my bodily flaws not for him, but for another. Someone like Alrik who would continue my existence in hell.
I struggled to breathe.
My awful, awful suspicions were confirmed when Michaels came to remove the bandage around my hand and checked on my tongue the third day at sea.
I was on the mend. A healed trinket for sale whenever Elder chose.
“Your stitches are gone.” Michaels grinned as if this was good not disastrous. “How do you feel?”
Answering his questions had become easy. Besides, I was distracted by uglier things.
My body moved without thought. I shrugged. I wouldn’t tell him I physically felt better but mentally I’d stepped ten paces back. I’d locked myself in a doubt-filled cell I couldn’t escape from.
“You can test it out, you know. It won’t fall off if you speak.” He tilted his head, patience painting his softly freckled face.
My tongue was no longer swollen. Tender and sore with certain movements but miraculous in how it’d reduced in injury. Being able to lick an ice cream or curl it to blow on hot soup was a blessing.
Alrik hadn’t stolen my power of speech, after all.
Not that I would know. I hadn’t attempted to use it.
I was afraid.
Petrified.
If I spoke now, how could I go back to being silent when all of this was gone and the Phantom dropped me in Elder’s wake never to be free again?
I bowed my head, not looking at Michaels even though he breathed heavily with frustration.
He patted my healed hand, his eyes dancing over the fading bruises still lingering on my chest. Once again, I sat naked with just a sheet covering me. He’d grown used to my dislike of clothes; he made me feel accepted in a way Elder did not.
If I was ever going to speak, it would be to Michaels. To this man who understood the struggle I lived with, the struggle inside not outside.
But that first word would be so precious. I couldn’t just give it away. Give it to Elder to repay him for his generosity, regardless of his end intentions.
I bit my lip at the thought. Would that stop him from getting rid of me?
Was it worth the cost?
Yes.
No.
Yes.
I don’t know.
Around and around on the merry-go-round of my topsy-turvy thoughts.
The conundrum kept me silent. The fear that he would sell me kept me mute.
“You know where I am if you’re ever ready to talk.” Standing, Michaels collected his bag and headed to the door. “You know, if you won’t speak to me, then perhaps it’s time you spoke to him.” He didn’t wait for my nonverbal reply before disappearing out the door.
* * * * *
That night, after another lonely dinner, I headed into the bathroom.
If Elder was going to get rid of me, shouldn’t I attempt to escape? Shouldn’t I do everything I could to change his mind?
Why was I wasting time doing nothing? Hadn’t I fought my entire life?
Why am I stopping now when freedom is closer than it’s ever been?
My depression from the past seventy-two hours dispersed, incinerating under the quick blast of determination. I liked those questions. They didn’t drown me but gave me a ladder to put my head above the tide and think clearly.
I’d allowed Elder to replace Alrik. I slipped into old patterns of letting him decide my fate.
Not anymore.
A terrifying, totally insane plan quickly unravelled in my head.
Could it work?
Can I do it?
My hands shook as I grabbed the genie lamp and squeezed, sending a quick wish.
I wish to change his mind by any means necessary.
Dina’s advice from our bathroom chat came back. She spoke of rewarding men for their good deeds. To lavish them with praise that kept them generous and kind because they felt noticed and appreciated.
Perhaps, Elder needed to be lavished. To be told he meant a lot to me rather than barely tolerated.
Do it then…
Do what exactly?
Sit him down and blurt out a mismatch of condescending praise like I would to a puppy that’d retrieved a saliva-soaked tennis ball? Pat his head and rub his nose and pitch my voice into sickly sweet, hoping such tribute would keep me by his side?
You have better skills.
My heart gasped, remembering those skills. Those disgusting talents I’d been forced to adapt to survive.