Bend Me, Daddy

Serafina

"Eres un idiota! You gave her too much. He likes his girls awake, you pinche pendejo."

"Relax. She'll come around in a minute. They always do. Once she's broken in, we won't have to give her as much."

The voices floated around me, rising in volume as the argument progressed -sometimes speaking English and sometimes Spanish. Sometimes a combination of both. I didn't recognize any of them anymore. Not since they carried me out of that first house and threw me into the back of a truck with a group of other girls ranging in age from fifteen to forty. At least from what I could tell, because I'd been drugged. To keep me quiet, I would guess. And it worked. As we drove along, I'd faded in and out of a weird dreamlike state, not sure what was reality and what was a dream.

The trip to where I was now seemed to take forever, and yet no time at all. I don't remember much of it, except that we didn't stop once the entire way. And by the time we got here, the bucket in the corner of the truck was so full of piss and shit it splashed over the sides every time we hit a rut in the road. Some of the girls were too out of it to get up, and laid in puddles of their own waste. They hosed us off like cattle before they brought us into the house.

The feeling of complete and utter terror that kept me paralyzed? I remembered that.

I heard the clink of coins outside of my room as money was exchanged and then the latch of the door. I had no idea how much time had passed, or whether it was day or night. The single window was completely boarded up and heavy curtains. hung over it. There was a new voice now. Deep, with a hard accent I couldn't place. "Wake up, woman."

But I didn't want to wake up. I wanted to float in this hazy place in my mind where I didn't feel the stagnant air on my naked skin, and I didn't remember the men that came and went from my new prison.

Sometimes though, they would be late with my next dose and the drugs would begin to wear off, and in these moments, I would claw my way to the surface of my consciousness only to find myself back in the real world surrounded by the overwhelming stench of body odor-mine? Or from the others?-rough hands tearing at my tender skin as I was thrown around on the dirty mattress, my muscles refusing to obey what my mind was trying to tell them. To fight. To run away. To do something other than lay there with words of denial clogging my throat. I didn't like it in the real world. There was only pain and humiliation there. But sometimes, sometimes they were late with my next dose.

And that's when the screams would come.

They simmered within me, starting deep in my gut, then gaining strength as they erupted up through my chest and throat, where they escaped out of my mouth with a force that exhausted me. And yet, I couldn't stop them from coming. Not until the men who kept me here came in with the pills.

In the beginning, I fought them hard, and they would have to hold me down and force them down my throat. But that only lasted the first day or so. Now I was grateful that they gave me a way to escape the horrors of my new reality, and I swallowed them greedily, eager to fall back into the blissful nothingness. To forget where I was and what was happening to me. Or at least be able to endure it until I woke again with only hazy bits of pieces of memories that swiftly faded away. Much like a dream.

Surprisingly though, in those moments when I was conscious enough to wonder if anyone was looking for me, it wasn't my father who came to my mind, the man who raised me. The man I'd known my whole life. The man who needed me so he could marry me off to the highest bidder.

It was Enzo.

The terrifying mafia man who'd promised to save me.

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Would he still want me now? In this vortex of time I was lost in, men came and went from my room, too many for me to keep count. Blurry figures with faces that all blended together. Some were more gentle than others, but they all took what they wanted from me. The words of refusal I tried to say coming out as incoherent moans that only spurred them on as they held me down on the filthy mattress that was covered with my own sweat and blood and the secretions of their bodies. My face and body were sticky with it all.

I wished I could fall sleep and never wake up. I wished I could leave this disgusting body.

"Get up, puta."

Someone yanked me off the bed, their fingers digging cruelly into my upper arm. "Stop!" I tried to yell, but the word was nothing but a whisper that barely made it past my lips. I didn't know if he even heard me. He stood me on my feet, not giving me time to steady myself before he was dragging me out of the room and into the hallway. As I stumbled along behind him past the doors across the hall, I heard the sounds of headboards slamming into walls and the slap of bodies colliding.

We'd hit the stairs before it came to me that I was still naked. I dug in my heels, trying to stop the forward momentum of his grip on my arm, but instead of stopping, he just gave it a sharp tug. I jerked forward and fell onto my knees, my free hand shooting out to catch myself. I cried out when there was a sharp pain in my wrist, and I tried to scramble to my feet, but I was slow from the drugs and ended up sliding along the floor, feeling like the arm he still held was about to be ripped from my shoulder socket.

When I wasn't moving fast enough, he cursed in Spanish and hauled me to my feet with a look of disgust on his face. I couldn't blame him, really. I smelled horrible, even to myself. Keeping his grip on my arm, he removed his other hand from my sticky skin as soon as he saw I could hold myself up. Then he proceeded me down the stairs.

I kept up with him out of sheer willpower, ignoring the whistles and shouts when we reached the bottom of the stairs and crossed through the main room of the house. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw men lounging around the room, some with women on their laps. Unclothed, like me, with dead, unseeing eyes and slack mouths. I kept my eyes on the scuffed wooden floor, unable to even try to cover myself since the guy taking me out still had a bruising grip on my arm and was walking so fast it was all I could do to keep up with him without falling again.

He took me through a door and out into a small concrete courtyard surrounded by high walls, releasing me so suddenly I stumbled, but I didn't fall this time. It was dark outside, and cold, unlike my stuffy room. But there was enough light from the streetlights behind the house that I could see well enough. My arms crossed over my bare breasts and my right wrist throbbing in pain, I lifted my face, enjoying the fresh air and the breeze that brought goosebumps to my skin. Behind me, I heard water hitting the concrete, but my mind was too fuddled to comprehend what that meant. A second later, ice cold needles of pain were blasting the skin from my back. The spray of water was such a shock, it knocked the air from my lungs.

My immediate reaction was to run away, but there was nowhere to go. Nowhere to escape except back inside the house, and he was blocking my way. Huddled in the back corner of the courtyard, I tried to protect myself as best as I could. After he sprayed me down from head to toe, he cut off the water and dropped the hose, then picked up a bucket and came over to me. I stared at him through strands of wet hair, watching as he took a soapy sponge from the bucket and dropped it on top of my head. "Wash," he ordered, using his hands to mimic washing his hair.

I blinked at him as suds dripped from the strands of my hair, my thoughts still too convoluted to be able to think clearly. He repeated the motion, and I slowly lifted my arms and put my hands on my head and started to scrub my scalp and hair as he quickly and efficiently rubbed the sponge over the rest of my body, even kicking my legs open and scrubbing me there. There was something dark on the sponge when he finished, and I realized it was blood. I vaguely remembered having pains in my stomach, and I realized now it wasn't because of the men who'd come to visit me. It was because I'd had my period.

Was it over now? Was that why he was cleaning me up? As I had no idea when it had started, there was no way for me to know. But there was an overwhelming sense of relief that my body had chosen this moment in time to clear everything out, as my chances of getting pregnant were reduced since my birth control pills were still in the bag I'd left in my car. Honestly, I'd totally forgotten about them until just now.

Oh my god. What if I'd gotten pregnant?