A Slave to Love

Chapter 3: Sinbad and Robin

When I woke up, my mouth was dry and I was spread atop a bed so comfortable, for a second I thought I was at home.   

But no. This strange situation was continuing and not at all a dream. 

I found myself in a tent-like room; four walls of dark red and black fabric while I lay in the center of the room on a wide, luxurious bed. The bedspread was red, big surprise there, and it had dark red see through curtains coming down on either side of the bed, which met up at the top of the tiny room. The curtains were held back with black ribbons so I could see clearly around me. I looked up and saw at the top of the center of the bed a naked electric bulb hanging that somehow was bright enough to illuminate the room but dim enough to keep things looking dark and eerie.

I swallowed hard as I sat up, putting a hand to my throbbing head. Music pounded from a distance and a deep voice was talking but I couldn't make out the words. I was still dolled up in that utterly terrible dress and heels and I couldn't deny my situation anymore, no matter how much my brain tried to rationalize it, deny it, protect me from the truth.

This had to be some kind of sex trafficking ring. I was here to be used. Then probably discarded.

Bile rose in my throat and I nearly started vomiting, but panic had me fighting the urge. There was still time.

For the first time in days, I was alone, and there was no doors to keep me locked in. I had a chance to slip away.

Suddenly, the music cut off and the voice was the only thing I heard besides my pounding heart and raspy breathing. I scrambled off the bed and landed on my feet, nearly falling over, my body still weak and shaking from fear and whatever it was they injected me with, but I caught myself and hurried around the fabric walls, searching for an opening.

I finally found one, my fingers slipping through a silky seam, and right when I opened it the voice in the background stopped talking and the music returned, loud and rhythmic. Whatever party was going on, was hopefully a big enough distraction to keep me from being noticed as I--

A man appeared on the other side of the opening.

I shrieked, stumbling backwards as he eyed me with red eyes. The same red eyes the woman who gave me the make over had. What was with the freaky red eyes? Were they contact lenses or something? Who were these people?

The middle aged looking man looked me over while I did the same to him, trying to gauge the possibility of slipping past him as he was blocking my only way out. He was a little pudgy, with a thick midsection and clothes that were slightly too tight, like he hadn't yet admitted to himself he had lost his finer young figure. He looked like one of those older guys whose life hadn't been the best, a mixture of bad luck and a poor personality, and he had that look in his eyes like the universe had finally paid him what he was owed. It was the same look the 'guard' had given me when he saw me after my make over, something hungry, satisfied and full of want.

There was something almost predatory about this guy, the way he slinked forward towards me as he walked with more grace than his looks implied he had. His eyes never left mine and I found I was rooted to the spot, unable to tear my gaze away from him. I felt like a defenseless mouse and this man was the snake; hypnotizing me with his eyes until he got close enough to strike and I was helpless to stop him.

His hand reached up and stroked my neck. That was enough to snap me out of that spell of his. I darted backwards, keeping my gaze on his hair to avoid freezing up again.

"Get away from me," I said, trying to sound intimidating, but my voice shook.

"Ooh, a feisty little one," he purred, advancing again. I forced myself not to back up anymore, backing up meant you were afraid and that you were giving in. "I like them when they fight."

"That's called rape, by the way," I spat at him, glowering at his blonde hair, I couldn't look at his eyes, I just couldn't. While the words came out confident, I felt fear trickle in faster. He was going to hurt me. They'd kept me alive all this time, had made me up all pretty just for him to use me. The urge to be sick rose again.