"A Flame that Fades"

Chapter 13: Rules of the Game

Freya's POV

"Get ready. Your performance starts in twenty minutes," the pimp said, his voice flat as he tossed a revealing, lace two-piece onto the bed near me. The fabric seemed to mock me with its delicate fragility—something designed to draw eyes, something I didn't want to wear. "Resa will tell you the rules."

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving me in silence with my racing heart.

I can't do this. I stared at the lace set, the soft fabric feeling like a weight pressing down on me. How had my life come to this? How had it come to me being forced to wear something like that and sell myself to strangers? I couldn't wrap my head around it.

I was supposed to be free. I had been running, trying to escape, and yet, here I was—trapped.

The minutes passed in a blur as I tried to think of anything else, anything to escape from the reality unfolding around me. I shifted in the wooden chair, trying to make myself as small as possible, my back hunched over with the weight of it all.

"Look at me," Resa's voice cut through the fog of my thoughts. She was standing next to me now, her hands gently lifting my chin, forcing me to face her. She was calm—too calm—her movements deliberate, almost practiced.

I tried to speak, to ask questions, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, I just let her apply the lipstick to my lips. The red color felt like a mask, a false shield to hide my fear and confusion, to cover up what was happening to me.

"This is how it works," Resa said softly, almost as though she was reassuring herself more than me. "You're here now. You're safe as long as you follow the rules."

I couldn't look at her as she finished. The words felt cold, even though her tone was gentle. The reality of it was suffocating. Safe? How could I ever feel safe in a place like this? In a life like this?

"There are only three rules; One, while you perform on stage, the men aren't allowed to touch you, but if one pays an amount up to the pimp's standards you'll be taken into a private room for clients where you will sleep with them. Second, grow thick skin, you or what you feel don't matter here." 

She finished applying the lipstick, and I looked up at myself in the mirror. The girl staring back at me was a stranger—a woman I didn't recognize, someone who had been forced into something she never wanted. I didn't know her anymore.

"And the third rule..?" I stuttered. Her face darkened as she placed her hand on my bare shoulder. "Be up to the pimp's standards, or else." 

"Or else what?-" I was about to ask before she cut me off.

"Time's almost up," Resa said, standing back and giving me a once-over. "It's going to be okay. You'll see."

I wanted to scream, to argue, to fight, but the words got stuck in my throat. I had no fight left. What was there to fight against when it felt like everything had already been taken from me?

The mirror reflected a version of myself I didn't recognize—a hollow, broken woman staring back. I had come so far, only to end up here. Why? The thought echoed through my mind over and over. Why is this happening to me?

But no answer came. There was nothing left to do but follow her instructions.

I slowly stood up, my legs trembling, and reached for the lace set on the bed. The fabric felt like poison in my hands, but I couldn't stop myself from putting it on. It felt wrong—so wrong—and yet, I knew it was my only choice if I wanted to survive.

As I slipped the straps over my shoulders, a small part of me screamed in protest, but I silenced it. This wasn't my life anymore. This was just survival. Nothing more.