Mango

Chapter Nine.

I woke up on that disgusting bed I passed out on after that traumatic experience with Bafana. I couldn't take it anymore after Bafana plummeted into me with so much force that even blinking hurt, so I just blacked out. I couldn't remember what happened thereafter and I couldn't care less either, because it wouldn't change the situation I was in at all.

There was a knock on the door and I tried not to roll my eyes as Johan walked in. "I'm glad to see you're awake. Now get to work." He clapped his hands twice and two men walked in. Johan told me to stand, but I couldn't, even if I wanted to. Bafana really did a job on me. So much of a job that I could literally feel my legs hanging by a thread as these two broad men carried me out the room and towards what looked like a bathroom.

"Take a quick shower. Your next customer arrives soon." One of the guys said before he slammed the door in my face. At least I get some privacy for a few minutes so I can scrub off the gag-worthy feel of Bafana off of me. I switched the head of the tap to the left so hot water could come out. I felt tense and I felt disgusted. I didn't care that I got raped, no. I've been through that already and it doesn't hurt as much, but what truly breaks me is the fact that my own father was the cause of this specific downfall.

It broke me so much that I wanted to die. Yes, I'd rather die than suffer through this, because I know I've done nothing wrong in this lifetime, but I'd be blessed with so much more in the next. I thought about my mother for a moment, and I was glad she didn't end up with Johan. I was livid that he'd called her a cheat and I felt my anger on my skin as I scrubbed vigorously. I couldn't even register that I had begun crying, but I didn't care. As long as I'd feel half clean by the time I'm done, to hell with everything else.

"You have 2 minutes until your auction. So I suggest you hurry up before my guys drag you out." Johan shouted from the other side of the door, his words nearly knocking me off my feet. An auction? My auction? I was going to be sold just like some expensive, old painting? This has to be one of the worst days of my life, honestly.

I dried off and I was given some indecent clothes to wear, not that I had any other choice. I slipped through the thin fabric easily, and it only covered my chest, torso and a little bit of my behind. I put on the black pumps I was given while wondering how anyone knew my shoe size.

My heart leapt at the thought of Johan possibly knowing my shoe size, but yet again I'd only be disappointing myself even more. I was a hundred percent sure a majority of the girls in this brothel wore a size 5 shoe, if not a size lower or higher. So that completely crushed any hope I had inside.

My time in the bathroom was up and I waited for one of the guys to direct me to where the auction was taking place. How a man could sell his daughter without feeling a sliver of remorse was beyond me. There was really nothing I could do about it. At times like these I wished I was seated in a room I would call mine and be dead set on watching a marathon of Courage the Cowardly dog - if that show even exists anymore.

The bathroom door opened and Bafana showed himself with that sickening smile. My stomach twisted and turned like some animal trying to escape a crocodile's death lock. Memories of yesterday returned too fast, which caused my sudden stumble backwards before Bafana held me in place.

"Leave me alone, you..."

"I highly suggest you don't finish that sentence, s'thandwa." He smirked as he gripped my forearm and dragged me along the hallway to who-knows-where. Somehow having Bafana call me s'thandwa reminded me of Khaya. The person who got me in this mess to start with. To say my heart wasn't broken would be an understatement. My heart was taken by a Goliath-like man who stepped on it repeatedly. Oh boy, he wasn't done. He then did a slam-dunk into the basketball net that led to a shredder. Now, imagine how torn I felt.

If I had ended up here myself I would've felt tons better. But Khaya was the cause of my misery. How I wish I never met the bastard. How I wish I never met his father.

Bafana shoved a nightgown in my chest and that really hurt my breasts. As we walked I rubbed them subconsciously to ease the pain, but even walking was a fucking mission because I have to say this again, Bafana did a job on me! We got to a room and I was shoved in. A bunch of girls quite my age stood there staring me down like I was the only prostitute in the room. They were all dressed in nightgowns of different colours and we're given numbers. I wore my nightgown over the slutty garments I had on and I was grateful it was the only clean thing in this God forbidden brothel.

A number fell off the side as I straightened out the gown. Number 7. Seven has always been my favourite number and if one was to ask why I wouldn't know what to say. And now after seeing the number, the loathing within me was directed to the stupid number. I hoped this wasn't going to go according to chronological order. Otherwise, I would be the seventh one bought, but it seemed better than staying here. That's one thing for sure.

The door opened and Bafana showed his facially challenged self. "Numbers one to ten line up." He said without glancing up. The girls moved so quick that I could've sworn there would've been a stampede if I didn't know better. "Number one, you up." A girl a little darker than I was given a nod and made her way out with Bafana. We all waited in fear as it seemed to take forever, but not even 10 minutes later Bafana returned to take number two with him.

It kept going like that every 10 minutes or so. People were buying these girls and I can't blame them for the quick service, because all these girls were beautiful. It was now my turn to go meet up with fate. "If it isn't my favourite hoe in the world," Bafana grinned as he led me backstage. I decided to ignore him and stood where I was directed to stand. "Now, behave or it'll be me and you tonight." He winked and I had to force myself to swallow my vomit again.

"My dear daughter. Nice to see you all cleaned up. Now, we are going to start the bidding in less than a few seconds so I suggest you stand there and look like the innocent little girl that you are so we can get this over and done with. Am I clear?" I just nodded at Johan as he signalled for someone to roll up the curtains. What I saw shocked the Dear Jesus out of me. There were hundreds if not a thousand men just seated around mini circular tables, either smoking a blunt or drinking and having a jolly good time.

Before anyone could say a word a number flew up from the back. "I didn't even say a single thing and already this little lady got herself a bidder at R100 000. Nice." Johan announced with a chuckle, causing others to laugh as well. This continued for what seemed like 20 minutes. This took longer because a coloured guy who looked to be in his middle twenties was off against an older man who just wouldn't give up. Deep inside I was praying the coloured dude would win because I've had enough of old men in this lifetime.

"And R1,750,000 it is. Sold to the Chris Brown look-alike in the very back row. Thank you." Johan finished off and I was glad I could get off that damned stage and out this place. Bafana pulled me and took me to the foyer of the building where I was told to wait for the guy who just bought my life.

"It's sad to see you go." Bafana laughed while I just ignored him again. He shrugged and left as my owner walked in looking all high and mighty.

Fucking coloureds.

"Jason." He introduced himself with a slight nod.

"Mango," I said just as confidently. I wasn't going to let him treat me as bad as the others, not yet at least. He led me outside the building towards a white G63 Mercedes. I looked at the car and thought I'll probably be cleaning the damn monster for life from now on.

Way to be a slave.