Disappearance: A broken Wing

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Eight months.

Eight months, 250 men, and whatever pieces of myself I once had are gone. I lost my purpose. I lost me. Now, all I do is clean, eat, have sex, and repeat. The word "rape" doesn't even phase me anymore. It's like all the pain has burned itself out, leaving me numb.

I would never have pictured myself like this a year ago. But nothing in life ever goes as planned.

I was lying on the bed, finishing up with another "client," praying that one day I'd just die in my sleep.

"That was the best sex I ever had. We should do this again," the man said, grinning as he pulled on his clothes.

"Talk to my boss," I muttered. "He's the one in charge of messing up my life."

When the door shut behind him, I collapsed back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.

"Knock, knock."

I turned my head to see Keto standing in the doorway, wearing his usual smug grin.

"How may I help you now?" I asked flatly.

"Your duties have been released."

I sat up immediately, my heart skipping a beat. Released? What did that mean?

"What do you mean?"

"When I bought you from Carter," Keto said casually, "I was taking orders from my boss. Carter told us you were a handful, so I made a deal with him: if he sold you to my boss, his debt would be cleared. My boss gave me eight months to break you in, get you obedient. And now," Keto smirked, "your time with me is up. My boss has 'special plans' for you."

I rolled my eyes. "Not surprised." "So... what? He's picking me up?"

"No. We have a driver for the final shipment. You'll be delivered to him tomorrow morning."

"Does your boss have a name?"

"Hito."

Great. One monster after another.

"When do I get transported?"

"Tomorrow morning," Keto said. "But there are a few things we need to... change about you first."

I gave him a dead stare. "Like what?"

"Your hair. Hito loves blondes."

"Fine."

"Follow me," Keto ordered. "I've got a stylist waiting."

I followed Keto down the hall to a room where three women stood waiting.

"Blue, Bailey, Sue," Keto barked, "this is Kara. Give her something to wear, dye her hair blonde, and cut it to neck length."

"Yes, boss."

"I'll leave you to it," he said, walking out.

"Please, have a seat," one of the women said gently.

I sat down in the chair as the stylist picked up her scissors.

"Do you prefer purple or blue?"

"Excuse me?" I blinked.

"Thongs," she clarified.

"Uh... blue, I guess."

The thought of wearing actual clothes again stirred something strange in me. I hadn't worn anything in eight months. I'd forgotten what it even felt like to be covered.

Four hours later, I was officially a blonde. My new "clothes" were laughable—a crop top that stopped just below my chest and booty shorts that barely covered anything. But I guess this was better than nothing.