Drabbles

Strange Love

     The club is full and scary and you and the other women trapped here are on the verge of tears. Strobe lights make your eyes ache and the ugly, lustful stares you get makes your body follow suit. All of you is hurting right now. The promises given to you weeks ago were supposed to bring you closer to your dream, but instead they led you to this hole. This hole you'll never crawl out of. This hole you were thrown in while you weren't looking and forced deeper and deeper until you weren't sure how you got to the bottom. Now you're stranded, tied down by a made up debt. The only way to pay off this imaginary debt is to work real hours. They've beat it into you already, beat it into some of the other girls harder, but you know what you have to do. Plans of escape from this hell fled long ago the first time one of the girls tried. She succeeded, partly, only to end up in a shallow grave with no marker. You helped dig.

     Someone pushes you further into the abyss and you pull down the half shirt they've forced you to wear. It's not cold- no, there are too many bodies jammed in the room for that- but you want more to wear anyway. Your legs are too exposed, your arms, chest, stomach, back. You've never been this nude with anyone you hadn't agreed to get into bed with. But no one here cares about that. The consent nor the way your skin crawls. All these men care about is removing what little clothing and dignity you have left.

     The music chosen for tonight's event is fast and makes you sick. The little stage before you is lit up to showcase the night's products- you and the other girls in the same rickety boat. You're wrangled behind the curtain, then one by one you're called onstage by the new names you've been given. The youngest girl there cries and begs not to be thrown out to the wolves. She's only fifteen, you've learned, and a virgin. She's going to be auctioned off, you heard. She's going to be worth unimaginable amounts of money.

     Your fake name is called and you're shoved out onto the stage. The lights above blind you and you blink to find slobbering monsters watching your every move. They cheer when you try to cover what you can with your arms, and they whistle when you start to tear up and trip over your own feet. It's humiliating. They love it. You're thrust out of the lights and into the darkness, and you're clawed at like you're in a nightmare. But these beasts are very real and their human faces are not comforting. You run as far as you can but get nowhere. Your antics earn you a swift bruise on your upper arm and you're placed behind the bar for now. Secretly you're happy to have a barrier between yourself and the nasty customers that know full well the girls working here aren't present by their own will.

     Serving drinks is easy. The girls are mostly the only ones ordering on behalf of the men, and you try to comfort their wet eyes and blotchy cheeks the best you can with expressions. It doesn't work, and you see sad eyes turn empty as the hours pass. One girl you came here with comes out from the back room shedding hollow tears, her body unable to function properly. She's been drugged, you see, and she's thrust onto someone else to be used for their amusement. You lower your gaze and think about the money she's making for herself rather than the pain she'll feel in the morning. But when you look up again you lock eyes with an older man, his smile stuck, his gaze dragging up and down the half of you he can see. Your skin crawls and you look away, focusing on the alcohol you're handling. The sensation of his slimy stare has gooseflesh springing up all over your arms. It's against your better judgment, but you glance up and find the old man speaking to the owner of the club. The owner of you.

     They flick their eyes in your direction and you hope against hope that what's happening isn't happening. You continue to pour and mix drinks while pretending you're not being measured and magnified like cattle. But then one of those mean looking men yanks you out from behind the bar and you're forced to face the old man leering at you. The owner introduces you and instructs you to take really good care of the old man. The old man smiles in that wicked way that makes you want to vomit. Then he touches you too familiarly and starts to lead you to the back rooms. The image of that drugged, crying girl flashes in your mind. No, no, please no!