Story Starters I May Never Use

Mythical-Fantasy Thing

In which victims band together

~

I don't want to be here.

I was standing, watching Edith speak to a portly woman. The women was an impressive presence, taller than both myself and my companion, which was something of a rare occurrence. Her dress was cut too low.

Edith and the woman were laughing together. I wasn't sure about what. For awhile, I pretended I was paying attention. I watched their lips and nodded. Now I wasn't even keeping up the pretense. What was the point? There was no one here I had to impress. I stared at the cobweb ridden ceiling planks.

Suddenly, the woman was staring at me. I avoided her gaze and picked at my trousers. They were too tight. They weren't mine. Edith has leant them to me. While she was thin, I was curved in more than one place. Edith claimed I looked "smoking" and "hot" in her clothes. Whatever that is supposed to mean.

I finally paid attention to the conversation just in time to hear "Ah! I know just the one for her poor soul!" What? What was this well-endowed lady going on about?

The lady busked out from behind her counter. Under her, the ancient floor groaned complaints that fell to deaf ears. Oh, how I sympathized with those floorboards.

Edith grinned. When the lady began walking, she gripped my shoulders and steered me after her. "You need to wind down for a day," she whispered.

I recoiled. "We don't have time to 'wind down.' We have to make it to Rose Point-" my urgent hiss was cut off by a hand. Edith's, to be more precise.

Edith exchanged a smile with the woman. "My poor dear Elise! So eager to get to our aunt's wedding! She really needs to relax!" Wedding? What god damn lie did she just pull out of her behind?

Nevertheless, the woman smiled sympathetically. "Oh course my dear! Right this way!" She opened a door. What a pretty door. I could have spent the day staring at it's dark red wood, it's silver nails, it's-

Before another thought could cross my weary mind, I was shoved inside and trapped by the door. Edith locked it with a click. "You can come out when you've had a bit of fun!"

I prepared to release and opera of swear words, accompanied by an orchestra of banging on the door. I raised my fist, only to freeze as a voice spoke: "Why, hello."

I really don't want to be here.

Slowly I turned.

Splayed on the bed was a man, nay, a boy. He couldn't have been older than me. His loose, cotton shirt was the same pale ivory as the bedsheets, and his tan pants hung so loose around his waist a few finger-lengths of skin was visible. His eyes were half-lidded, in a way I could only imagine others seeing as "sexy."

Dear god, my suspicions were correct. They had brought me to a brothel.

A breathless laugh I didn't recognize as my own escaped, and I reached for the doorknob. "Oh sorry, I must be in the wrong room. See, I was looking for the loo..." By some miracle, god would exist and the door would open.

The doorknob jiggled and the door remained firmly shut. God had left us and Satan was digging his cold, scaly fingers into my ankles, dragging me into the depths of hell-

A throaty laugh emitted from the boy, akin to the husky laugh men who smoked had. He had sat up in the bed, fingers trailing gracefully in the silk sheets. Cue more desperate door jiggling from me.

"Yes, I am sure that is why your friend shoved you in here and locked the door behind you." Drat. Why wasn't he less observant?

He leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees. Despite the confident way he moved, I couldn't shake the feeling something was... wrong. The boy's smile was forced, his movements graceful but stiff, as if he were in pain. His posture was small.

It was damn near the same position I moved into when I was scared.

A fleeting memory reached out and stroked my conscious, one of me in a nightgown, sitting on my bed. Like the boy, my elbows touched my knees. I am also staring at a figure in the doorway.

I released the doorknob. I wasn't the only one being forced into this interaction.

"Who are you?" He asked at the exact same moment I said "I'm not having intercourse with you."

The boy laughed, this time a genuine, surprised laugh. He was acting amused, but the tension from his shoulders released. He was relieved.

"Now that we have gotten the pleasantries out of the way, may I have your name?" He raised a dark eyebrow at me.

"Cecelia," I answered, surprised I hadn't used Elise, my go-to fake name. No, I gave him my real name. Usually it was Edith who was careless with her name. Not me.

He took a moment to consider my name. The boy's brown eyes took on a distant, thoughtful look. "Oliver," he finally offered his name.

The boy, Oliver, suddenly stood from the bed and moved towards me. Although there was nothing threatening about his movements, I found myself pressing my back against the door.

Up close Oliver looked much different. His face, while clean, was splattered with bruises that someone had very poorly tried to cover with makeup. His blond hair was long enough to brush his dark eyelashes, and was unkempt. What conditions was this poor boy kept in?

I flinched away from him. He was too close.

"I'm sorry."Christ, we were like two scared cats. He backed up. I could tell he wanted to say something, but he held his tongue.

We stood in awkward silence. "I don't think he had ever encountered a "client" who didn't want sex."

I stared at him. He stared back.

I worked up the courage to say something. But when I opened my mouth, the door behind me opened. Edith was back. Her usual suave demeanor was gone, replaced by fear.

"She knows who we are. We need to leave, now."

My eyes widened. My hand automatically moved to the knife that was concealed under my tunic. I was ready to leave the room, but something made me hesitate.

Oliver. He stood there in the middle of the room. Staring at me with empty eyes. He's just like me. An abused, used child.

I extended my hand to him. "Come with us."

He took it. And we ran.