CHARLOTTE
I don't think my lungs are working.
My chest heaves as I'm led out of the auditorium, an overwhelming feeling of suffocation spreading through my body. Objectively, I know I'm getting the oxygen I need to survive, but my brain isn't getting the memo and is forcing me to hyperventilate as I make my way down the hallway.
That wasn't as awful as some warned it would be, but I know this experience will stay with me forever. Every second I was forced to stand under that light felt like hours, and the sounds of excitement that emerged from the darkness were horrifying.
How many men were there, their eyes raking over my bare flesh as they decided whether or not I was worth their money? I could see dim screens light up as Anthony read out my information, but I refused to let myself count them.
The number seemed to grow once he said I have good odds for twins, and I hope my shock wasn't too evident. Did my parents know? It almost guarantees that whoever bought me has breeding in mind.
I'm uninterested in knowing how many men tried to purchase me today, and I'd rather die than hear how much I was sold for. I wasn't in there for as long as the women who went in before me, and I hope that means something good.
Either that or I'm desperately reading into things that have no meaning. It's probably the latter.
It usually is.
I continue struggling to breathe as I follow Anthony down the hallway and into a room I've never been in before. He beams as he gestures for me to enter, and it takes everything in me not to lash out and attack him.
Dirty fucking man.
He made us believe he was, at least to some extent, on our side. His pitiful glances and occasional encouragement were all a facade. I curse myself for not recognizing it earlier, but seeing the joy currently spread across his face shows the truth.
He only ever saw us as paychecks.
My vision grows blurry as my eyes fill with tears, and I turn and enter the room with a defeated sigh. Fighting him will only make things harder for me.
"Somebody will be by shortly to groom you to your male's preferences," he says, closing the door.
The unmistakable sound of a lock clicking into place follows, but I hardly find myself surprised. It's not the first time I've been locked in a room, and I'm sure it won't be the last. Being in this facility has taken a lot from me, my hopes for freedom first and foremost.
All the women who were called into the auction before me are here, most currently being groomed. Some lie on beds receiving full-body waxes, and a few are getting their hair cut.
I recoil as I spot a woman in the corner getting her head shaved, and with a heavy heart, I realize it's Erica. She was gleefully sharing her experience with Ben just an hour ago, and now she's sobbing quietly as that same man shaves her head.
I'm surprised whoever purchased her requested this, and I hope it was the only demand they made.
A loud cry distracts me, and I turn to see some blonde I've only spoken to a few times receive a wax. The male grooming her presses his hand to her tender skin after removing a large chunk of her pubic hair, and he waits for her cry to die down before adding more hot wax to her body.
Other than the occasional pained shout, the room is silent.
Well, mostly.
The groomers don't seem to have the same reservations and chat loudly amongst themselves as if this were a regular, everyday occurrence.
