Used. (EDITING)

Chapter 3: Gone.

After the first time, there were many other encounters just like it. He'd come into my cell and have his way with me. Slapping, punching, spitting on, pulling, yanking, choking. Each time, he'd repeat the same thing. You ain't nothin' but scum. This is yer own fault this is happening. Dirty whore.

And each time, I'd fight back. I'd punch him in the jaw, I kick him, I'd scream and bite  and tear his shirts. Sometimes, on a good day, I'd draw blood. He said he liked that I was a fighter. He thought it was sexy. He snaked up and down my body and choked me half to death so that I'd have a helpless expression on my face that he so loved. 

When he was done the fourth time, he whispered in my ear.

"I like.. A girl like yerself, a naughty little bitch. Unfortunately, I can't keep ya. I sold ya off for some  quick money! Yer not worth much, but I milked out what I could get from the sorry bastards," His hot breath gave me chills. 

Well, it was either that or the fact that I lie on my bed nude with a draft pouring in from the cracked door.

"Die, you asshole!" I spat in his face.

He only wiped it off and laughed. This guy got a kick out of my fighting and yelling. He'd told me so the second time.

"Pepper, ya seductive little brat, how much more of ya can I take?" He glanced at me from  the corner of his eyes.

"I done tried everythang. I done whipped ya, starved ya, beat ya, and everything in between. But this one's a fighter. A woman with spice. You make me sick." He lunged on me and choked me, and I moaned in pain.

"The people yer goin' with ain't gonna know what hit'em!"

"Your sick," I say in between shallow gasps. 

                                                                .........................

I wake up to an intense pain on my ribcage. I gently touch the swollen, raised skin and imagine what it must look like. Purple, swollen, disgusting. The slot of the door creaks open, and this time I'm reluctant to go over and retrieve whatever might lie inside the slip. 

"Evelyne, come and receive this package." I hear the Russian voice once again. 

"And what if I don't want to?" I make the words sound extra feisty today, because that's exactly how I feel. On edge. When I first came, I felt alone, desperate and anxious. Now, I just feel pissed and sore.

"Take it now!" The man demands.

I rise from my stiff bed and walk over to the metal door. The package held before me is a nothing but a lumpy, brown cloth with a white string keeping it all together.  As I take it, it's a lot heavier than what I imagine and my hands immediately start to sink. Damn,  I don't even have enough strength to hold a package. The slot shuts and I'm alone in the darkness again.

I couldn't be more happier.

I slowly and cautiously unwrap the cloth, silently praying there's nothing lethal inside. I find that there's a flashlight, a tube of mascara, and a dark red lipstick. I click the small black flashlight on to examine the treasures inside of the cloth more closely. The mascara is the cheap drugstore kind that you usually get for a buck fifty, and so is the lipstick, which is smearing the top of the clear case as if it's already been used. At the bottom, I see a yellowing paper that has little tears around the edges. I carefully open it. The letters are short and rushed. Very bold and all in capital letters.

PUT THIS ON AND WAIT IN YOUR CELL UNTIL REQUESTED.

I did as I was told for once, carefully apply the lipstick to my chapped lips and soon moving onto my eyes. 5 minutes pass before I am called to comeout of my cell slowly. I am cuffed and led down the never ending hall until I am suddenly standing at an all white, metal door. No windows. Just 3 locks, not including the one on the door and one combination lock. The man wearing all white hurriedly unlocks all 5, and ushers me into the dim room. It's not until the man flicks on the lights that I see what's in  the room. 

The room looks like an auditorium, but much smaller with a round stage and a white table in the front of it, 2 fold up chairs behind it.  There's nothing on the walls, the room is fairly bare except for the table, chairs, stage, and cleaning supplies in the corner. 

The man who escorted me here makes a call on his cellphone. To my suprise, his voice isn't very deep. It's quick and hurried and makes you feel jumpy inside.

"Yeah. She's here... Okay, copy that." He sighs, and hangs up the phone.

"Go on the stage and wait there. Do not sit, only stand. Take off your sweatpants." He orders, as his eyes rake me up and down.

I suddenly feel self-concious in my dirty white tank top and baggy white sweatpants. I do as I'm told anyways, because I have no energy to fight. I strip down to nothing but my undies, aand I am handed a hair tie to tie up my now stringy and messy curls.

I hop onto the stage and the lights beam onto my head. I stand as the man watches me, and I brace myself for the worse.