Trafficked -- Beaten -- Trapped
When eighteen-year-old Stacy Degray sets off to visit Felipe, a charming guy she met on the internet, she has no idea that she is being lured to his home country Malaguay to be auctioned off as a soldier's bride. All...
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I don't sleep at all during the night, the warmth of Miguel's body next to me in the bed pure torture. My whole body is sore; it's a terrible reminder of what I have lost. My mom told me that her virginity was her wedding gift to my father, and being robbed of my ability to consent is almost as painful as the act itself. The minutes wind down in slow agony; for the first time, I'm up well before the crack of dawn.
When I get down to the compound to start my patrol, I'm relieved that Tomás doesn't resume his babysitting duties. Emilien is nowhere in sight; when I'm assigned a new translator, I'm scared to ask questions. He's a boy about my age who chain-smokes on our way into the city without uttering a single word. Giving out the assignments is routine and I tell him to hang around the market square to ensure the other soldiers comply with my orders.
"Where're you going?" he dares to ask while squinting at me.
I return a smile. "I really have to pee."
Walking off, I catch him rolling his eyes at me and I hurry to get some distance between us. With the stop scheduled for thirty minutes, I can only pray that he won't call my extended absence in. I swiftly walk toward the river and along the warehouses until I hit the wall Shauna told me about. Pacing back north, I find the gate with two soldiers in front.
My heartbeat accelerates; I'll be totally screwed if they don't speak any English. My vocabulary is still limited to the bare basics and conveying that I need their help is way above my knowledge level.
At seven-twenty, I dart out of my hiding place; getting to the gate, I pant and double over. The two guys stare at me with wide eyes, probably wondering what this crazy woman is up to.
"I'm Stacy Degray, patrol head leader," I press in between rapid breaths, which start to make me dizzy. My heart pounds so loud in my ears that I might even be shouting.
"I know who you are," the one guy responds and the knot in my stomach loosens. I should've known that they would staff the post to the foreign section with at least one English speaker.
"I need help at the truck in the town square. There's a rebel ambush." I widely gesticulate with my arms. "Hurry."
The two guys mumble something in Spanish and I already fear they don't buy my story. What am I going to tell Miguel? Tapping my foot, I try to convey a sense of urgency while biting the inside of my cheek until I taste blood.
"You should stay here—it's safer," the one guy says. "The new shift should be here in five minutes, so stay put."
When they take off running down the street, I can barely stifle a victory grin. Next stop, embassy—and then home. My heart soars at the prospect of being reunited with my family in a few hours. Even if my parents are mad and take their time to forgive me, I'm willing to work hard and comply with every punishment in the book. I'll even major in Early Childhood Development and help out at the church summer camp all through college if it means so much to my mom. Anything is better than staying here.
