The Mistake That Broke Me

Chapter Eighteen: Don't Cry

Song: Castle of Glass by Linkin Park

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Don't cry.

Those two words echoed in the back of my mind that night as time progressed and reality came creeping up on me. I had been warned not to cry. The girls had told me I would soil what's little left of my dignity and be mocked for it.

My captor, who I'm assuming is the main pimp, comes sauntering into the room like a predator. His eyes skims the crowd of girls and he smirks at me. "Ladies!" He commands, "You know what to do. New girls, follow the line!"

Not a sound is made as the girls move out of the room in a line. I stand there dumbfounded for a moment before I gain the courage to squeeze into the line.

Escape. Escape. Escape.

I yelp when I feel a hand land on my butt and squeeze tightly. "Looks like you are more than just a bag of bones after all." A deep, cold voices whispers into my ear.

Out of instinct, I raise my hand and slap my assaulter straight across the face.

When I look up into angry black eyes, I know I've screwed up. A red hand print now lies on his right cheek, and I can't help but feel satisfied.

He roughly grabs my upper arm and yanks me into his chest. "I can't hit you right now because I would ruin your face. But when tonight ends, there will be hell to pay." He whispers into my ear.

A cold shiver runs up my spine before he pushes me back in line. We are escorted outside where we are loaded up into black vans. There's about fifteen other girls with me tonight, and they cram us into the large van like oysters.

I notice the neighborhood I am in is dirty, run down, and nearly lifeless. It's the worst part of town in which no decent person steps foot in and where no law officer dares to tread.

It's almost as if I'm in uncharted territory.

And just down the street, is a filthy, dark club. Upon stepping inside, I nearly step on several large cockroaches. The girls behind me and in front of me don't react at all and the place smells like weed and cigarettes.

We are taken into the back room which is large, dull, and empty. The room is dim, the only source of light coming from four single light bulbs that hang in each corner of the room.

We are lined up across the room, our heads bowed and our shoulders hunched in defeat.

And then everything happens so quick.

Men enter the room, and I'm too scared to look up. All I see is the approaching black boots, and my heart thunders like a wild stallion in my chest. I try to control my breathing and remain calm, but how can one possibly remain calm in a situation like this?

Some of the men speak Spanish while others are speaking what sounds like Italian. They mutter too each other as they check each woman out.

It doesn't take long for men to pick a woman they want and exchange their cash to the pimp who's eyes look lustful for the money. His greedy, grimy hands eagerly take the cash from the men and he shoves it in his pocket.

Not caring that he just sold women to their deaths, in a sense.

No, not physical death.

But mental. Spiritual. Emotional.

And I'm next.

A rough hand is grasped around my arm, and I gasp and attempt to pull away for a mere second. I only stop when I catch the eyes of the man who has me. His eyes are dark brown and brooding, warning me not to struggle.