Trafficked The Diary of a Sex Slave

by Sibel Hodge

  I am strong enough to get out of bed for short periods but I do not want to. Sasha sits on my bed and plays cards with me, even though I do not want to talk to anyone. I would rather keep the covers over my head in a darkened cocoon and cry, but Sasha will not take no for an answer.

  I think she knows what I am thinking. She chewed on her bottom lip, waiting for me to talk. I did not tell her anything. I would like to think I can trust her, but how do I really know for sure? I cannot tell my plan to anyone.

  I need to know what happened to the girls she met in the last three years. I want to ask her outright if any of them escaped forever. Did any of them get their freedom permanently, or were they always dragged back to this life by their pimps and traders? If I ask her that she will know for certain what I am thinking. So instead, I just asked her to talk to me as I lay with my eyes closed. Her voice is soothing, and it did not take long before she was telling me about her life in Russia.

  Like me, Sasha thinks about what is happening at home. She said her mother must believe she is dead, and she cannot bear this thought sometimes.

  I know how she feels. Liliana and my mother will be frantic with worry that they have not heard from me. I promised to get word to them when I arrived safely in Italy. By now I should have been sending for them to come and live with me. I wonder if Natalia has told them what really happened to me. What she did.

  Sasha was going to be a chef. She was the top student on her cookery course. She told me about all the dishes she has created, and it almost made me hungry to taste them. Almost.

  As the afternoon wore on she told me about another girl she heard of who escaped. My ears pricked up, but I kept my eyes closed and gave nothing away. This girl was from Romania and worked in a brothel in Spain. One day the brothel was raided by the police and the girl was arrested with all the others and taken into custody. The girl did not tell the police what had happened to her because of threats by her pimp, who told her he would kill her family if she revealed what was really going on. It sounded familiar to me. Sasha said the police even let her pimp visit her in prison, where he repeated his threats to her. The girl did not feel safe enough to explain to the authorities that she had been trafficked, and when the Spanish immigration sent her back to Romania, her pimp found her and took her back again.

  Maybe I should give up hope.

  Day 27

  I have some good news! I got a glimpse of a new girl who arrived here yesterday. She is from Moldova and lived in the next village to mine. Her name is Christina, and we went to school together. I want to ask her if she has news about my mother and Liliana but she is locked in her room. I remember it well. I know what will have happened to her to get her to comply.

  I want to break her door down and hug her, and tell her everything will be all right, but that would make me a liar. I am disgusted with myself that I am happy she is here for my own selfish reasons. What kind of person am I becoming?

  I am so excited to talk to her that I fidget on my bed and cannot keep still. I will have to wait until they let her out, though.

  Please let my family be OK.

  Day 30

  The doctor has been again. My urine infection has gone and he said I am OK to work now. How would he know? How can any of us girls be OK to work? Doesn’t he know that it is not just the physical side of it, but the mental side, too?

  That was just the first bad news I had today.

  When the doctor left I visited Christina in her room. Her door is now unlocked, but she is in a bad way. She cannot talk because the Rapist almost strangled her to death. There are bruises around her neck and she just makes scared, soft whimpers, like a wounded animal. I feel her pain.

  The doctor must earn a fortune in this house.

  I sat on the bed next to her, stroking her hair, which seemed to calm her down. I get the feeling she wants to tell me something important. Maybe it will make this place more bearable to have someone else here from home. I know it works that way for me.

  I feel so much anger. It is bubbling away under the surface and threatening to explode. Anger for myself, for Christina, for Sasha and all the other girls. Anger towards everyone who is involved in this.

  I stayed with her for an hour, until Angelina told me to get ready for the men. And, of course, I said nothing. I did not explode. I did not scream or lash out or cry. I did what I am told because it must be that way.

  Day 32

  The days and nights are all the same. If I did not keep my diary, I would not know what day it was as they all blend into one nightmare. I truly want to die, but every time I have this thought I see my baby’s face.

  Liliana keeps me alive.

  I am anxious for news of her and my mother, but Christina still cannot talk. Part of me feels angry with Christina for this, and then a horrible guilt twists my stomach. It is not her fault she cannot tell me what I want to know.

  Day 34

  My mother is dead and Liliana has been sent to an orphanage.

  I wish I did not know. I wish Christina still could not talk. I can hardly see the pages on my diary through my tears.

  Christina said my mother had a heart attack about a week after I left. Liliana stayed with a neighbour, until the authorities came and took her away to who knows where.

  They are gone, and I never got to say goodbye.

  For hours I have sat in my room on the floor with my arms wrapped around me for comfort. My eyes are puffy and red, and Angelina will not be happy when she sees the state of me.

  My mother has always been there to comfort me throughout my life. We did not have much money, it is true, but I never lacked any love or warmth. She was my rock. She told me I was special; that I could do whatever I wanted to in life.

  Part of me hates her because she was wrong about that, and part of me hates her for leaving me. It is a stupid idea. Ridiculous, I know. How can I hate my mother?

  I used to pour my heart out to her. I used to tell her everything. I am not sure I will be able to do that with anybody else. I do not think I could. All my dreams and hopes have disappeared with her.

  And Liliana…

  Is she safe? Are they hurting her in the orphanage? Is she getting enough to eat? Is she warm, or shivering with cold? Does she have clean clothes? Is Ivan with her? Is she hurt? Will she be kidnapped? Sold?

  I have to find her.

  I picture her, sitting on a dirty bed in a big, horrible dormitory with other small children who do not speak. She is staring at the floor with her huge dark eyes, sucking her thumb and wondering where her mummy and grandma have gone. Wondering why they have deserted her.

  Oh, Liliana, I am here. I love you more than life itself, baby.

  My heart feels like it has been ripped from my body, stamped on a million times, then pushed back in so I can carry on hurting. My stomach is on fire with uncontrollable flames of anger. The injustice of this world makes me sick. This is not fair. What have I done to deserve this?

  I am empty inside. A horrible, dark, loneliness is crushing me from within.

  Liliana.

  How can I get to my baby from here?

  I have an idea that has been tumbling around in my head since the policemen came. I do not know if I can do it. I do not know if it will work, but I have to try. I have to find Liliana.

  Day 35

  I feel like I am in a dark pit, trying to claw my way out. Pain, pain, pain in my soul that will never go away.

  I cannot stand waiting for the policemen to arrive, and yet they are my only hope. Will they come tonight? I never thought I would long for one of the men to come and see me.

  The minutes of the day tick by until it has been a whole hour. I do not know how, but I get through to the next hour, and then the next. Hoping. Waiting for my opportunity.

  I have no energy, and I eat only because when the time comes I need to be ready. Food tastes of nothing. It is abrasive, and it is all I can do to swallow without choking.

  Part of me is dead, too.
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  Day 37

  I have made a very big mistake and I cannot change it. Now my situation is far worse.

  Last night, when the policemen came, I acted willing, compliant. I wanted one of them to choose me. Inside I cringed as I draped my arms around them and flirted as if I wanted them.

  Flirted! To me that word implies that I am free to do as I choose.

  One of the younger policemen I had not seen before could not resist me. It was easy to get him into my bedroom. I was playing a game. Sexy, teasing. But nearby, in the corner of the room was my bag, ready and waiting.

  I undressed him slowly as he licked his lips at the anticipation of what was to come.

  I unbuttoned his shirt and threw it on the nearby chair.

  It was easy to undo his belt with his gun and handcuffs on it and drape it over a nearby chair.

  For once, I was in charge.

  He let me handcuff his arms to the metal bedpost as I undid his trousers, hinting at what was to come – something kinky.

  All the time I was thinking about getting to Liliana.

  I knew I would not have much time. I had to use it wisely.

  I blindfolded him with a black scarf and told him I had a surprise for him. He had to be patient and wait a few more minutes. And as I grabbed his gun and disappeared into my bathroom, I hurriedly pulled on jeans, a T-shirt, and some flat shoes.

  I slipped out of my bedroom and locked the door from the outside. The corridor was clear as I rushed along and down the stairs with the gun in my hand.

  I knew the Rapist would be in the kitchen playing cards with the other guards. I had to try and make it through the lounge to the front door before they knew what was happening. I prayed that I would make it out of there.

  As I rushed through the lounge there were two girls in there, chatting. They looked up with surprise as I sped past them, grabbed the handle of the front door and turned it.

  It clicked open.

  Never had a sound filled me with such joy.

  I stumbled into the night, running as fast as my legs would go before they realized what had happened.

  The dark night sped past me as I travelled through unfamiliar streets. It was probably about five in the morning. I did not know where I was going, just that I had to get as far away as possible.

  I kept expecting to feel a hand grabbing my shoulder and pulling me back so I did not dare look behind me or slow down.

  I ran past bars and shops and houses and apartments until my chest hurt and I could no longer breathe. I passed men in the street who turned their heads and stared at me but I did not stop. What if they were friends of these people?

  I found an alleyway behind a building and crouched in the dark shadows. I wiped my fingerprints off the gun with my T-shirt and threw it behind a pile of rotting rubbish. My plan was to wait there until I caught my breath, then somehow find the Moldovan Embassy. I would get home.

  As my breath finally slowed down it hit me what had happened and I started shaking uncontrollably.

  My T-shirt was soaked in sweat and my jeans clung to my legs. One of my shoes had come off as I was running, and it was only then that I noticed blood coming from cuts on the sole of my foot.

  I had escaped, but what would they do now? Would they try and find me? How could they find me in this big city? Would they try and find Liliana? Surely they would not be able to steal her from the orphanage. There would be adults there all the time to supervise the children.

  I did not know how to find the Embassy or Consulate. I had no money for a bus. Would a stranger help me?

  I took deep breaths, gulping for oxygen to calm me, and walked tentatively back to the street, looking up and down. I needed to find a woman or a couple who would help me. There was a bar a little further down. Maybe there would be someone in there.

  No one in the bar spoke English. They gave me odd looks and shrugged their shoulders at me. I must have looked dishevelled and strange to them.

  I walked on further down the road to a small shop. There was a woman just opening up and stacking newspapers outside.

  At last someone who might help me.

  I tried to explain I wanted to get to the Embassy but she could not understand what I was saying.

  As I stumbled further down the street a taxi driver called out to me.

  ‘I have no money,’ I cried. ‘But I need to get to the Moldovan Embassy. Can you help me?’ I pleaded with him.

  I did not want to get inside a vehicle with this man, but what else could I do?

  ‘No money, no taxi,’ he said, turning back to his newspaper.

  ‘Can you give me directions, then?’ I wailed.

  With much reluctance, he put down his paper. ‘There is no Embassy,’ he said, ‘only a Consulate.’ He gave me directions and told me it was not far.

  I clutched my chest with relief and hurried off down the road.

  The sun was just coming up as I saw the Consulate building in front of me, and for the first time since I had escaped, I allowed a huge smile to creep across my face. I did not think it would be open yet, but I planned on waiting somewhere close by where I could hide until it was.

  In my mind, I was already playing with my daughter again. I was tickling her feet as she giggled uncontrollably. I was reading her a bedtime story and tucking her blanket in tight. I was walking hand in hand with her through the market.

  I was so lost in my daydreams that I did not hear a car slowing to a halt behind me. I did not hear the footsteps or see the shadow on the pavement looming towards me until it was too late. The Rapist grabbed me and shoved me, kicking and screaming, into the car.

  I took a risk to escape and it did not work. That decision will always haunt me.

  Day 38

  The Rapist enjoyed beating me before he raped me. This time he did not touch my face, though. They are going to sell me to someone else and they want me to look pretty. It did not stop him kicking, punching, and slapping me everywhere else. When he finally pulled himself out of me, he said, ‘Do you want your daughter alive or dead? Try anything again and I will slit her throat.’ Then he leered at me, baring his dirty teeth. ‘I think I will rape her, too, before I kill her.’

  I am a troublemaker, they said. They do not need the hassle. Angelina later told me they had thought about killing me, but I am more valuable alive. For now. She seemed to enjoy telling me that Liliana is living with Natalia now. She said the orphanages are poor, and if they can offload a child, they will.

  Before Angelina left she locked me in my room, and as punishment she took the few things I have collected in my time here. I do not care that she has taken my magazines and playing cards that Sasha gave me. The only thing I can think about is Liliana with Natalia. What is Natalia telling her about me? Has she told Liliana I do not love her anymore? That I do not want her? Will she sell my sweet baby to traffickers? Will she feed her and keep her warm? I think about the things the Rapist said. Would he carry out his threats against Liliana? I cannot bear all the thoughts and fears screaming in my head. I can take the external torture, but the internal torture is far, far worse.

  I want to kill them all. I fantasize about how I would do it. Shooting them would be too good. I want to make them hurt and cause them agony. A knife, perhaps, or an iron bar – something that will make them suffer the way they make me and the other girls suffer.

  But there is nothing I can do now.

  Last year Liliana wanted me to buy her a watch. She saw mine and became obsessed with it, as only children can. “Why do you wear it?”; “What is it for?”; “Is everyone’s time in the whole world the same?”; “Who decides what the time is?” On and on she asked questions until I let her wear it.

  A watch is useless in here. I do not need a watch to sit and wait, and pass seconds that feel like a whole lifetime has gone by. I do not need a watch to know that now it will take me an infinite time to gain the trust of my new owners. And without their trust I cannot dare to dream of getting back to Li
liana. They will be watching every move I make.

  So I will behave myself and fool them into thinking I am the best sex slave they have ever had. And one day there will be another chance. I have to believe that or else I will go insane.

  Day 40

  I am trying to remember the last thing I ever bought. Groceries? Wool for my mother to knit us winter jumpers? A plastic hair clip for Liliana? Milk? I cannot remember.

  The last thing Paul Robb bought is me.

  He is my new owner, and Angelina said he will be coming to get me today. I will be going to one of his saunas or brothels in England.

  It is strange for me to admit this, but I am going to miss it here. At least here the men must wear condoms and I have my own bathroom. The house is nice and clean, and I can see the sunlight through the windows, even though I can never feel it on my face.

  I think of the stories Sasha and the other girls have told me, and I fear what my new prison will be like.

  I have a feeling it will be worse. Much worse.

  Day 45

  When Stefan used to tell me I was beautiful, it always lit me up inside. He did it a lot. I would catch him watching me with a proud smile on his face at odd moments in the day. Every night in each other’s arms, before we drifted off to sleep, he would tell me I was the most gorgeous girl in the world.

  When Paul looked at me and said I was beautiful it made me cringe. He is not saying it to a lover or a wife. He is looking at me like an object. Something that will make him money.

  I tried to engage my new owner in conversation on our drive from Italy to England, pretending to be friendly and chatty, but he would tell me to shut up. In the deafening silence I could hear my life ticking away.