Too close. She hits too close to home.
7
Anna
I come to slowly, my vision blurring as I blink my eyes open. Bright light pours through a nearby window, and tiny dust particles catch in the sunshine like bits of glitter. The last thing I remember is a needle, and I shudder at the thought. I’ve been terrified of needles ever since I was first sold and had to watch scared, newly acquired slaves lined up and injected with Heroin. That burning, delirious sensation is one I never want to experience again, and oh, how they tried to get me hooked, dependent on them for my next fix. It would have been so easy to give into it, but I knew the second I did, I was every bit their captive. As long as I had my own mind, they never truly had me. In the early days I thought of my sister, of getting back to her, but as time went on it just became about getting through the next day, because I’d already made it so far.
I turn my head into the pillow and catch the faintest trace of a citrusy scent I know far too well for so little interaction: Rafael. He held me down while that doctor put a needle in my arm, and it makes me hate him. I feel violated in the worst way.
Pulling back the covers, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, only to find a bandage covering my foot and half of my calf. The pain in my ankle is muted to a dull ache and judging by the grogginess swirling through my mind, I’m guessing they’ve given me some kind of drugs. Nausea still lingers in my stomach, and though I’m cool, my naked skin is clammy. The clothes Rafael gave me are discarded on the bed as though I tore them off in the night.
The lavishness of the room has a slow resentment burning in my veins. This place, this room, it’s all just a gilded cage waiting to unleash its twisted horrors. I was thirteen when the Russian Bratva dragged me out of the orphanage I’d been in since I was five. I learned that night that there is no such thing as innocence, only monsters and victims. That is until I was ‘saved’. I remember so clearly the first time I was brought into a house similar to this, seemingly rescued from the torment of the Bratva by a man who promised I was safe now…as long as I did what he wanted. What he wanted has haunted me in ways that have driven me to near madness.
Rafael is no better. He’s a man who profits from the suffering of women, who trades in flesh and souls. And I am his prisoner. Freedom was so close that I dared to hope. That hope is now eating away at me, whispering of injustice and wrongness. My blind acceptance is fraying, worn away by anger so hot that it feels as though it’s physically burning me.
I glance down at my bandaged leg again with a frown. Most people wouldn’t have bothered to fix it. I shake my head. In this situation, kindness is merely a prequel to cruelty. I know this path well. For the first time in a long time though, I latch onto the anger and the bitterness, allowing it to consume me. If I wait for my leg to heal, perhaps I can escape this place. Maybe I can actually make it out, or die trying.
A car engine hums just outside the open balcony doors, distracting me from my thoughts. I get up, stepping onto the cool marble floor and shifting my weight onto one leg. As soon as I step outside, the wind caresses my cheek, catching the gauze curtains and making them billow around me. Warm sunshine instantly bathes my skin, and I close my eyes, smiling as I tilt my face up towards the blinding orb of light creeping into the sky. I’d forgotten the way its rays could heat me to my very soul. The sound of tires crunching over gravel draws my attention, and I glance over the railing to watch the enormous gates swing open for an SUV. The gate closes behind it, the armed men taking up their guard once more. In the daylight, I can see the full extent of the fence more thoroughly. It’s solid metal all the way around, and armed men patrol the perimeter at various points. The place is like Fort Knox. It looks like the ‘die trying’ is far more likely than making it out of here.
There’s a knock on the door, but I ignore it. A few seconds later, Maria is standing in the doorway to the balcony.
“Rafael wants to see you. You need to put some clothes on,” she says, trying not to look at my naked body. “You’ll need these.” She produces a pair of crutches. I stand up and hobble back inside, sitting on the edge of the bed. “What would you like to wear?”