Winter Flower

by Charles Sheehan-Miles

  I gagged, my nostrils flooded with sharp-smelling cologne and my own terror. My fear almost instantly grew worse … I knew the cologne. It was Rick.

  He yanked my head back by my hair. I felt something sticky against my face, and it tightened and tightened over my mouth. It was duct tape. I was screaming as loud as I could now, struggling as hard as I could, but I couldn’t make any sound. My nose was clogged up with snot and I shifted to a new terror … that I wouldn’t be able to breathe and that I’d be left alone to die here. I struggled, but then felt an incredibly sharp pain in my lower back. I’d been punched in the kidney. I doubled over, weeping and grabbing at the tape that was wrapped around my head.

  Rick’s voice, when he finally spoke, was almost clinical. “You need to be quiet in here. No one can hear you anyway.”

  I froze. His weight lifted off of me and the closet went dark again. During the melee I’d pissed all over myself; my jeans were soaking wet and my nostrils were flooded by the stink. I scrabbled, desperately trying to get my fingers under the tape, to tear it open. With each breath I felt my nose clogging more and more.

  I was making animal whining sounds as I tore at the tape and my face, and finally I was able to tear a tiny corner. I yanked at the tape, getting greater purchase, and finally was able to pull a significant piece of it loose. Unable to stop myself from moaning in terror, I slowly unwound the tape until my mouth was free.

  Then I just lay there, sucking the cool air into my lungs.

  I didn’t call for help anymore.

  I stripped off the soaking wet jeans and balled them up in one corner of the closet, then I curled up on the floor in the other corner and cried. I tried my best to stay silent.

  Brenna

  I never found out how long I was locked in the closet. Hours? Days? I know that the crack under the door went dim, then bright again, then dim, so it was at least one night and another day. But I’m not sure if it was more than that.

  I didn’t move the second time he opened the door of the closet. My lips were cracked from dehydration, my stomach hurt so bad from hunger I hardly understood the sensation: it was nothing like I’d described as simple hunger in my life before.

  He looked down at me with an expression of pity. His eyes took in my condition as I lay on my side: the pile of feces that I’d finally lost control of sometime on the second day, the stinking mess of my clothes.

  He sighed and said, “There’s fresh clothes for you out here. And a shower. But clean up that mess first.”

  I cleaned it up the best I could, but it was in the carpet, the smell permeating it, no matter how hard I scrubbed. The more I scrubbed, the more it seemed like I was just spreading the stain, and I began to shake, my chin trembling. Was he going to be pissed? Would he lock me in the closet again? Or worse?

  The clothes he had put on the bed were … not enough. A too-short blue mini-skirt. A sleeveless black tank. No underwear.

  I kept my soiled underwear, took the clothes and went into the bathroom without a word. There was a window. It was small, but it was there. I started to close the door, but he put a foot in the way.

  “Leave it open. We’ve got things to discuss, and we can’t do that if you’re trying to climb out windows.”

  I swallowed and looked away.

  His lips curled up in a sad, knowing smile. I continued to stand there, holding the skimpy clothes in front of my body, and I said, “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Go on and take your shower. Just leave the door open.”

  I was going to be sick. My stomach hurt, and I couldn’t stand the way he looked at me. I backed toward the shower and turned it on, then did my best to get in and undress without him being able to see me. He just looked amused.

  I stayed in the shower until the water got cold. But no matter how much I scrubbed, I didn’t feel clean. I knew he was out there waiting, and I didn’t know what was going to happen. It wasn’t going to be anything good … that much was sure. I wondered where Nialla was. I wondered where my parents were, and Sam, and how long it had been. When the hot water finally ran out, I reached outside the shower curtain and grabbed a towel and began to dry off.

  I carefully wrapped myself in the towel then stepped out of the shower.

  He was sitting on the bathroom counter, leaning against the mirror and looking at his phone when I stepped out. “Feel better?”

  He sounded like he was actually concerned.

  “I want to go home.”

  He shook his head. “Your home is here now.”

  Dread and anxiety overwhelmed me. “What are you going to do to me?”

  He shrugged. “That’s completely up to you. You cooperate and make me happy, I’ll make sure you have everything you’ve ever dreamed of. You get into trouble, you’ll have to be disciplined.” He stood up and approached me. Then he pointed a finger directly at my nose. “Betray me, and you’ll die.”

  I swallowed. “Please, just let me go.”

  He shrugged. “That’s the one thing I can’t do. Now or ever. You might as well get used to it.”

  He reached toward me and tugged at the towel. I grabbed at it with both hands, but he pulled harder, yanking it off of me. I tried to shrink, covering myself the best I could with my hands, but he just shook his head. “Get on the bed.”

  I started to cry. I couldn’t help it. I’d never been so afraid in my life. I shook my head, no.

  Rick exploded into violence.

  I can’t talk about the things he did.

  Twenty

  Brenna

  “It won’t always be this bad, you know. Sometimes he can even be gentle. But it’s easier if you don’t fight.”

  At Nialla’s words, I curled myself into the tightest ball I could. I wanted to be invisible. I wanted to go back in that horrible closet. I wanted to be anywhere but where I was. My stomach was churning, and I felt weak from hunger and thirst and despair.

  “Let me get you some water,” she said. She slid off the bed, and a moment later I heard the door open and then close. From somewhere outside of the room, I heard his voice murmuring, the words indistinct. Nialla’s response was sharp in tone, but I couldn’t make out the words.

  The sound of his voice made me flinch.

  You’re nothing but a whore, now, he had said. You work for me now. You can make it easy or hard on yourself, but in the end it doesn’t matter. No one is coming to get you. No one is going to rescue you. Me and Nialla … we’re all you’ve got.

  He had made me say it. I’m a worthless whore. When I didn’t say it convincingly enough, he hit me and made me do it again. And again. And again.

  I hated him.

  I was alone only a few minutes. When she came back in, she spoke in a gentle tone. “Sit up, drink some water.

  She had to help me sit up, which made me more ashamed than ever. I winced at the sharp pain between my legs. I was bleeding. She wrapped a blanket around me then handed me the water. “Drink it slow. If you drink too fast after going so long without water, you’ll puke it all up.”

  I took a sip of the water. It felt like lead in my stomach. I wanted to curl up and hide, but I took another drink instead.

  “That’s good,” Nialla said. “You’re doing good.”

  Her kindness made me resent her. I thought of her telling me that I should run while I had the chance. I swallowed and spoke my first words to her. “I thought you were just jealous. You tried to warn me.”

  She looked away from me. “Not soon enough.”

  “Why?”

  She looked puzzled. “Why what?”

  “Why did you warn me?”

  She shrugged. “It’s too late for me. But this is no life for a kid like you.”

  The bitterness in her tone was unmistakable. I asked her, “What happens now?”

  “Now you whore for him.”

  I flinched. Fear was settling in on me down to my bones. I slowly shook my head. “I’ll die first.”

  She gave me a sad loo
k. “You might. If you don’t make him happy.”

  I needed to survive. I needed to somehow escape from this place … wherever it was … and get in touch with my parents. I didn’t answer Nialla. Instead, I drank more of the water … slowly. Finally I said, “I’m really hungry. Can I have something to eat?”

  Rick let me eat a little, just enough to take the edge of the hunger. Then later that afternoon, he raped me again. Then he locked me back in the closet. I was beginning to believe that he was just going to kill me, but it turned out, he had much worse in store than that.

  Brenna

  On the third day of my imprisonment, Rick burst into the closet. He threw new clothes at me. “Get dressed in this.”

  It was a dress that amounted to little more than a long shirt, sheer and silvery reflective material. It would barely cover me.

  “I don’t—”

  “I didn’t ask. I told you. You’re gonna get used to this one way or another. Understand?”

  He turned and walked out of the closet, shouting, “Nialla! Get your useless ass in there and get her ready to work. I’m done waiting.”

  “But Rick—” Her protest was cut off by a loud crack. He must have slapped her, and hard. She went silent instantly. A moment later she appeared at the door of the closet. A bright red handprint marred her face, with white spots in the center.

  “Come on, Brenna. You gotta get up off the floor. You gotta get dressed, or he’s gonna fuck both of us up.”

  I stared at her, feeling dead inside. “Why do you listen to him?”

  Nialla shook her head. “You don’t get it, Brenna. He’ll kill you. Or me. He owns us. It’s better to just go along now. You’ll see. Someday it’ll get better. We’re saving for a place.”

  I shook my head, not understanding.

  “Please,” she said. “Just get dressed.”

  I shook my head. “I won’t do it. I won’t be his whore.”

  Nialla started to cry and looked back toward the front of the apartment. I still hadn’t seen past the boundaries of this closet and the room and bathroom beyond.

  “Brenna—” she whispered.

  The shout made both of us jump. “Are you fucking kidding me? She’s not ready yet!”

  Rick appeared suddenly, but he didn’t come after me. Instead, he ran at Nialla, shoving her up against the doorjamb. “Why the fuck isn’t she ready?” he screamed. As he shouted the word fuck he shoved her against the doorjamb, slamming her head back. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You think you can be my bottom bitch if you can’t control a fucking new whore?”

  With each emphasized word he slammed her against the doorjamb again. Her eyes were starting to dull, and I could tell this was real; he was really hurting her. I stood up and started to run toward—

  I stopped. Without pause, he’d pulled a pistol from his waistband and pointed it at my face.

  “Were you going to run at me, bitch?”

  I shook my head, suddenly even more terrified than before. “I’ll get dressed. I’m sorry. I’ll get dressed. Just don’t hurt her anymore.”

  He stared at me, nodding his head. His eyes were wide, his nostrils flaring. “Good. Good. You do that.”

  He shoved Nialla against the doorjamb again, but with no real force, and then he walked away.

  She stood there catching her breath. I peeled off the senselessly tiny skirt and shirt and changed into the … dress? It wasn’t deserving of the word. It was too tight, and the fabric irritated my already raw nipples.

  But what was I supposed to do now?

  Nialla was crouched down in the doorway, crying silently.

  I whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get you hurt.”

  She shook her head. In a rough voice she said, “It’s fine. Just come on.”

  She stood up and led me into the bathroom. She broke open a makeup case and spread boxes across the counter. She picked through it, selecting one thing, then the next.

  “Okay. We’re going to make you look pretty.”

  I swallowed and felt my chin quivering as the dread sank back in. “I don’t want to. I don’t want to do this, Nialla.”

  She sighed and closed her eyes. After a few seconds, she reached into her bag and took out an unmarked prescription bottle, opened it, and extracted a small blue pill. “Here. Take this.”

  “What is it?”

  “Valium. It’ll help. Trust me.”

  I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t. But what the fuck was I going to do? I reached out and took the pill and dry swallowed it. It caught in my throat, and I almost gagged, then leaned forward and drank directly from the faucet.

  The valium hit me almost immediately. I’d hardly eaten in days, and suddenly felt woozy as hell, like a fog was lowering over me.

  I stood there quietly while Nialla put heavy makeup on me. Lipstick. Dark blue eyeshadow, and more mascara than I’d ever worn in my life. She put some perfume at the base of my neck.

  “Hopefully it’ll be someone nice,” she muttered. “I asked him to wait, to give you a few more days. But he said if we didn’t turn you out tonight, then he’d have to … have to … sell you.”

  I closed my eyes. Sell me? What the fuck world was this? Who would he sell me to? How does someone go about selling a person?

  I wanted to go home.

  “Is she fucking ready?”

  Rick’s shout from the front of the apartment barely penetrated my consciousness. Everything seemed so fuzzy.

  “Let’s go.” She led me to the living room. Rick looked at me dismissively then jerked his head toward the front door.

  I followed Rick out of the room and down what seemed like a mile-long hallway, then down an elevator. He kept a hand on my elbow the entire time.

  As we came out of the elevator, I saw someone entering the nearly featureless lobby. A man, maybe twenty-five, in a suit. I tensed and immediately felt him increase the pressure on my elbow.

  “Don’t even think of it,” Rick whispered. “You’d be dead and I’d clear out of town and that would be that.”

  The man walked past us, and I felt, more than I saw, his eyes scan me from head to toe.

  In the car, I sank into the bucket seat, the leather feeling almost sticky against my skin. The stupid dress rode up my butt when I sat down. I tried to pull it down. Looking out the window, the lights in the parking deck were fuzzy with wide halos.

  I didn’t recognize where we were. Unfamiliar urban streets. Washington, DC? Rockville or Bethesda? Arlington? It had to be one of those. We stopped in the parking deck of another large building and Rick keyed in a number. The gate opened, and then we were going down a long row of cars until he parked.

  It was all too loud, too unfamiliar. Another car drove by, fast for a parking deck, the wheels screeching on the smooth concrete. Then we were headed down another long hallway, and Rick unlocked a door.

  He looked around, leaning into the room, then pulled me in. He pulled me close to him and said, “Now listen to me. I’m gonna be right there in that room. I can see everything that’s happening. You try to run away, you try to fuck with me in any way, you’ll pay. You understand?”

  I nodded, helplessly. He probably could see everything. Did he have cameras? Peepholes? One-way mirrors? I looked around, wondering.

  He put a hand under my chin and jerked my face back toward him. “Look at me when I’m speaking. You’re Strawberry now. Tell them that if they ask your name. You don’t have any other name, not anymore. Understand?”

  “I understand.” I was Brenna, no matter what he said.

  A knock on the door.

  “Listen!” he said urgently. “Go answer it. When you wouldn’t cooperate, the only people I could reasonably get were folks who didn’t care if you fought a little. So just cooperate and maybe you won’t get hurt.”

  He walked away, shutting a bedroom door behind him. I looked around. There was a small living room, and another bedroom.

  Another knock on the door
. Maybe I could open it and run. Maybe I could talk to them. Convince them to leave me alone, and go call the police and set me free.

  Yes. That’s what I would do. They wouldn’t hurt me if they knew I’d been kidnapped. I opened the door.

  A man stood there. He was tall and wore a suit. Forty maybe, with sculpted hair and glasses. He looked like a banker, or somebody’s father. He was my father’s age. He wore a gold wedding ring.

  Folks who didn’t care if you fought a little. Was that true? Could it be true?

  I froze. I didn’t know what to say.

  “You gonna invite me in?” he whispered, urgently.

  I nodded. “Come in,” I said. “Um … we’re in here.”

  He followed me in, closing the door behind him. Then he looked me up and down, his eyes lingering a long time on my breasts. “In there?” he asked, pointing toward the bedroom.

  I took a deep breath. Through the haze of whatever pill Nialla gave me, I knew I should be terrified. But I felt muffled, like a heavy blanket was draped over me and the entire world had lost its sharp edges. I walked into the other room. He followed, closing the door and locking it behind him.

  I turned toward him. His eyes were sweeping over my body now, wide. His mouth opened slightly, like he was barely breathing through it.

  “You look familiar,” he said. “You were on the news, weren’t you? You’re that girl from Fairfax County.”

  I was on the news?

  Jesus. I nodded, tears welling up in my eyes, fear punching through the numbness. “Please help me,” I whispered.

  His eyes widened. “What?”

  “Please,” I begged. “I just turned sixteen. I was kidnapped. Please don’t hurt me. Call the police? Tell them I’m here?”

  His jaw set in anger. “Are you fucking kidding me? You want me to call the police? What should I say? Hi, I’d like to turn myself in for screwing a minor? Is that what you want?” His voice rose to a shout at the end, and he surged toward me.

  No! I cried out inside, wanting to scream as he grabbed me.