by Breck, A. R.
At that very moment, Ms. Maria decides to make her entrance, opening the door as she always does. No knocking involved. No asking if I’m decent. She makes her entrance as if she’s in charge, which I guess in a sense, she is. She doesn’t spare me more than a heavy glance before making herself useful around the room. Her heavyset body moves about in a slight waddle, dressed in her black maid dress. Her brown hair is slicked back into a harsh bun. She’s unlike the other women around here. They all look ready for a evening drink, no matter the hour. Ms. Maria dresses in a more conservative dress, not to impress anyone, but instead to get her work done.
I'm not exactly sure who Ms. Maria is, but the moment I met her I knew I'd like her. In a roundabout way, that is. She's a strict woman who has an accent so heavy it’s hard to understand her. But she has a sliver of tenderness that shines through her hard exterior. Also, she doesn't seem to like Santiago all that much. The way she coldly looks at him whenever she's in the same room as him makes me believe I might have found myself an ally. But when I went up to her the first week, heart in my throat and eyes full of tears, begging for rescue, she shut down. She stopped fussing on me, all emotions in her eyes shuttered, leaving a blank stare in its place. Then she walked out of my hut without another word. She didn't come back for the rest of the day. She came back the following morning and acted like nothing happened. I figured I shouldn’t test my luck again. She won't be helping me. I'm not sure if it's loyalty or money, but something keeps her at least somewhat loyal to Santiago, and because of this, I can never fully trust her myself.
Ms. Maria doesn’t say anything to me as I lay in bed, looking at me curiously as she walks over to my closet. She picks out my outfit like she does every day, pressing it into my chest with a nod and clucking around the room like a mother hen. I accept her outfit with a sigh and get dressed in the bright yellow sundress she hands to me. The top sits to low and the hem is too short. I’m not sure why they want to dress me in things that are borderline slutty. I don’t want to be a fucking prude, but at the end of the day, I’m only fifteen.
My cleavage is only just starting to be cleavage, and the way some of the men walk through this place stare at me, with their heavy eyes and wet lips makes me more uncomfortable than a damn tarantula walking on my face.
Ms. Maria nods in my direction as she looks me over and walks to me with my hairbrush. I sigh as I slip it out of her hand and run it through my hair quickly, then toss it on my bed. I walk over to the bathroom and brush my teeth, refusing to look at myself in the mirror. Every time I do, I end up drowning in the endless sorrow in my eyes. I can’t look for too long, or else I don’t think I’ll ever find the surface. Walking back out into my room, Ms. Maria hands me a pair of cream-colored sandals that match my yellow dress, and off we go.
The moment we walk through the doors of Santiago's, the tension in my stomach turns into a rigid knot. Upon entering the front door, I’m met with ceilings as high as I’ve ever seen inside of a home. The floors look like glass and the milky white walls are filled with artwork from all across the world. This home is filled with more money than I can imagine, and always in pristine condition, shiny and spotless, as if someone spends the evenings polishing all the knickknacks and buffering the floors.
The secrets whisper in the walls and scream at me as Ms. Maria walks me through the hallway and towards the large dining area. The rich aroma of morning coffee and sweet scent of baked breads should make me melt in this extravagant home. But it doesn't. It feels fake. A lie. Everything in this place and every person that fills it are wrapped in tragedy.
I can hear the staff working in the nearby chef's kitchen. From the sounds of it, there are staff working in there at all hours of the day. I haven't had the opportunity to peek inside, but if it's anything like this house, it's built for a celebrity.
Ms. Maria places a hand on my shoulder and pushes me into my usual chair. I sit on the end like a queen, even though I’m very much a prisoner. A fresh plate of eggs with a side dish of fruit already sit in front of me. The eggs have a trail of steam coming from them, as if they were placed here only moments before I entered the room. A tall glass of orange juice sits next to it, and a memory flashes in my mind as I stare at my glass of the first day I was placed in this chair for breakfast. I can remember not being able to stomach any of my food, nerves making me sick and twitchy. Instead, I watched as the condensation dripped down the outside of the glass for nearly half an hour.
Snapping out of my memory, I glance up from the glass and grab my fork, spearing a piece of cantaloupe and popping it in my mouth. As I chew at my tasteless food, I look around the room that has been silently mocking me for months. The large pieces of art decorating the walls shine from the morning light and watch me in shame. The moldings along the ceiling are a rich brown and have the most beautiful details carved within them. It stares at me in pity. The expansive wooden table sits in front of me. In the middle of it sits a large, stone, centerpiece vase filled with a colorful bouquet of flowers that towers above me. It’s so tall that it’s taller than me even when I’m standing.
The table is large enough to fit at least ten people. The high wing-back chairs looks like thrones. I observe the room every morning, taking in more details until the air turns sharp and the crack of heavy, expensive shoes echo down on the stone floor. I avert my gaze to my plate, pretending to be immersed in my now cold dish as a large form fills the doorway.
"Good morning, Ivy." Santiago's voice holds an air of irritation, and I know it's because I'm not accustomed to his charms.
My eyes lift from his tone, seeing his pressed suit molding perfectly to his form.
"Good morning." I drop my gaze to my orange juice and go to take a sip, cringing as the sweat from the glass makes it start to slip from my fingers. My free hand shoots underneath the glass to protect the expensive furniture around me. I take a sip and listen as Santiago sighs and as he sits at the head of the table. I can smell the fresh scent of cologne swirl underneath my nose and do my best not to sneeze. One of the servers bustles out of the kitchen with a hot plate and sets it in front of him, giving a little bow before hurrying back into the kitchen.
We sit in silence. After a while, Santiago grabs the nearby newspaper and reads as he eats his breakfast. Once he's finished, I listen as his chair groans against the floor as he pushes his chair back. He walks out of the dining room without a word, and the tension in the room slowly leaves with him.
My body deflates, my limbs melting into the chair in relief of his departure. The man terrifies me, but is this what my life holds? A constant loop of meals with no talking, his presence continuously terrifying me? Why am I here? Does he only want company? He can pay to have someone sit next to him and eat, if that’s all he wants. No, not even that. He is good looking enough where he doesn't need to pay for someone to have someone sit with him and eat.
So, why me?
After a while, Ms. Maria comes out of the kitchen and ushers me back to my little hut, where I'm free until lunch, where I’ll be escorted back to the dining room. The same routine happens at dinner. In between meals, I can wander around the property. I choose not to, instead going back into my room and going back to sleep. I still hope that I'll wake up and this all be a bad dream.
At night, before I fall asleep, I move my bed aside and grab the rock that’s been shoved underneath. With as much force as possible, I scrape a heavy line down the wall, low enough that it’ll be hidden by the bedframe. Another tally. Another day of my life trapped in this hell. How many more tallies will I create before I'm able to leave? I imagine this entire wall filled with thin, uneven scores from my jagged rock. A mural of tallies. The thought is both humorous and depressing. If my days are correct, today is the last day of my fifteenth birthday. It hasn’t gone differently than any of the others. I just wish I would have known it was my last day as myself. I wish I would’ve known that tomorrow would be the day that changed me forever.
I slide underneath m
y cold sheets, crying silently as sleep takes me hostage again with another nightmare filled dream. I dream of a monstrosity of a house and a man who lives in it. He holds the key to my freedom, only he eats it with his breakfast, keeping me trapped within the walls of this hell until I take my last breath.
* * *
I wake up to the sound of my front door shutting. Before I can even open my eyes, I can sense the difference that today will bring. My eyelids crack open, and I bring my hands up to rub the sleep out of my eyes. Once my vision clears, I can see Ms. Maria rummaging through my closet. As if sensing I’m awake, she glances over her shoulder. A happy, yet stiff smile covers her face.
"Good morning, Ms. Ivy. Happy Birthday."
My chest pangs. What are my parents thinking right now? My friends? The thought of not being able to spend the day with them makes my heart cry. But the child still living inside me has a beat of excitement festering underneath my grim reality.
It’s my birthday.
"Thank you." I rasp as I stretch and listen as my bones crack. Maybe I will get the day off. An entire day where I don't have to see Santiago? That would be a dream.
"We must get you dressed. Big day for the birthday girl." She says with her head halfway into my closet. Her large, round backside sticks in the air and I nearly snicker. When her head pops back out, she straightens her black dress with one hand and her other hand lifts my outfit for the day.
My smile drops.
Ms. Maria's smile turns pained, as if she knows everything of what's to come. "Come on, Ms. Ivy. No time to waste."
"I could run, you know. It's my birthday. Would you honestly stop me?" I sit up, and like every day, my feet press into the cold ground, and today a shiver breaks out on my entire body.
Her eyes turn cold and she stands to her full height, her chest pushing out in defense. "You know I can't let you do that, Ivy. Don't do anything stupid. Out of all the mistakes you may make in your life, defying Santiago will always be the one you regret the most."
My instinct to flee drains from my body with her words. I can feel my body deflate in hopelessness. I don't know what my punishment would be, but the look on her face makes me realize it's not something I want to find out.
She shakes the outfit in front of her, and I finally get a good glance at what she's holding. "Come on now, breakfast is served."
I grab the outfit from her and slip it on. She doesn't give me the privacy and turn around. She stays where she is, arms folded in front of her chest as she appraises the fit of my outfit. "Perfect." She says with a tight smile. I have a feeling she knows something that I don’t.
My eyes drop to my outfit, seeing the deep purple satin dress that hugs my small curves. Above the waist the satin turns to lace, and with no bra given to me I can make out my nipples. It doesn’t have a strip of fabric on the inside of the dress, concealing what shouldn’t be seen. This dress bares it all.
I look up at Ms. Maria, uncomfortable and confused. "Why am I wearing this? This looks like an outfit for a fancy dinner, not breakfast with Santiago."
I glance towards her hands as she wrings them together, squeezing them over and over again. Why?
“I’m uncomfortable wearing this.” I point directly at my chest.
She has the gall to look remorseful. "This is what has been requested. It is not up to me, Ms. Ivy. Now, please, let’s go before we are late." She hands me shoes that thankfully don't have too high of a heel on them. Once they're strapped across my feet, she wraps her arm around my back and ushers me out of the room.
I shield my eyes from the sun as we walk towards Santiago's house. It's another hot day. The dry air is so much different than Ohio. My skin cracked and my lips were constantly chapped my first month, not used to the low humidity and dry air sucking the life from me.
As per usual, Ms. Maria ushers me into the into the dining area. Santiago is already seated, reading his paper. He glances up as I walk in, his eyebrows lifting in pleasure as he appraises my outfit. Pushing his chair back, he stands and walks over to me.
"Ivy, you look wonderful." His trim form walks over to me like he’s walking on water. His dark navy suit molds to every muscle in his body. The darkness in his eyes is even more endless than usual. There is an extra evil lurking in his irises.
He presses his hand onto the small of my back as he walks me to my chair. This is the first time he's touched me since that first night, and it feels like where he's placed his hand petrifies, turning to stone. It feels like my skin dies from his touch. I can feel his maliciousness penetrating my dress and seeping into my skin. His touch feels rotten to the core. A bad apple. This man reeks with bad intent.
I’m ushered to my chair, letting out an internal sigh as his hand releases my back. He walks to his chair and sits down, staring at me heavily with his dark gaze. "Happy Birthday. The big sixteen. How do you feel? Any different?" His eyes drop to my chest even as his hands lift the newspaper. They don't stray from my breasts. Well, my nipples, specifically, which feel exposed under his gaze. I'm worried they're poking through the lace material, but I'm too much of a wimp to glance down and check.
"How did you know it's my birthday?" Is what rolls off my tongue. Why, I don't know. But he doesn't seem to like the lilt of snark that went into my sentence.
He folds his newspaper and sets it aside. Clucking his tongue, he speaks sharply. "You will come to realize there are many things that I know about you, Ivy."
"Why, though? Why choose me? I've been sitting here for months. Doing nothing. Can't I go home? I just want to go home." My eyes water and I wipe away the tear before he can see it fall.
"You are home, Ivy." His eyes narrow, warning me not to object to his claim.
I grind my teeth together at his words. My mouth suddenly has a mind of its own. "This is not my home. This will never be my home."
Santiago's nostrils flare as he stares at me. The swinging doors open as Ms. Maria walks through with breakfast, but halts in place when Santiago raises his hand. She walks backwards, retreating into the kitchen. Silence ensues as Santiago stares at me. The air grows heavy and my heartbeat echoes through the large room.
I hope he can't hear it.
His chair moves back, and he folds out of it less gracefully than the time before. He walks to me and my body involuntary locks up from his nearness. Pulling my chair out, he grabs onto my hand and pulls me to stand. "Come with me." The poison in his tone makes goosebumps erupts across my body.
"Where are we going?" I question, the tremble in my voice unmistakable.
Santiago's hand goes to the front of my neck, halting our departure from the dining room. "You speak too much out of turn, Ivy. Learn your place. You are a pretty girl, but you are not irreplaceable. Maybe next time I will stitch those plump lips closed so I don't have to hear another word." His accent appears heavier from his anger. His words spit fury and if I had the ability to rear back, I would.
With one blink, he releases my neck and pulls me along. We don't take a right this time, which usually leads me towards the front door. We take a left, which takes us towards a grand staircase with white marble stairs and a dark wooden railing. I stare at my feet as they clack on the marble stairs, so I don't cry. I wonder, if I were to jump off the railing, would my life end? I contemplate whether I would go quick or suffer for days. I doubt Santiago would even try to stop me. I bet he would walk back to the dining room and ask Ms. Maria to re-heat his food.
That's what I would do if Santiago were to plunge to his death.
Once we make it to the top of the stairs, Santiago pulls me to the left wing, and I end up walking into a bedroom of sorts. My eyes fall upon every corner of the room. Looking for exits. Any way to escape. I don't like being in an unknown room. One I haven't been able to study. Even worse, Santiago has pulled me here a whim—even worse—on my birthday.
What the hell is going on?
"Strip." Santiago snaps his finger in my face as he walks around the room. He walks back to
the door, flicks the lock and turns on the lights. I listen to his heavy footsteps as he walks to the lone bed in the center of the rooms. He lifts the lid on a chest near the foot of the bed, and I avert my eyes as he starts pulling things from the chest.
"W-what?" I stutter, his words finally making their way to my brain.
His gaze whips to mine. "I will not ask you again. Strip." His words lash out at me like a whip. My face stays still as stone as my chest shakes in silent sobs.
This room feels like hell. The walls are painted a dark, heavy gray making this room feel sad and dreary. The lighting is limited in this room, making it dim. It makes me cold. The art on the wall is filled with abstract painting of naked women. Couples in positions that make me internally cringe. Women touching themselves. Dread seeps into my blood as my body starts locking down. My mind grows dark as it shuts in on itself. As it prepares for what’s to come.
The four-poster bed sits in the center of the room with blood red sheets covering the mattress. In front of the bed against the wall sits two black chairs. Why do they face the bed?
A bar sits off in the corner, liquor and wine bottles lined perfectly along the side. I don't know why there is a bar in here, it feels so out of place. But then again, it all makes sense, in a way. If Santiago is a human trafficker, the kinds of things that might happen in this room are ones I refuse to let my mind wander to.
I hear the chest close, and my terror slams my back straight. I can see Santiago's irritation from across the room. He walks towards me, his footsteps impatient and irritated. Once he reaches me, the malicious anger radiating off him makes my hands fly behind my back, the tips of my fingers barely able find the zipper. In a panic, I almost rip the dress before my thumb and pointer clasp the metal piece. I sigh once I pull it down, both relief and terror running through me as I feel the dress loosen. For the first time all morning, I feel like I can breathe. I keep the dress pressed to my front for a moment, but when Santiago turns to glare at me, my fingers let go.
