Sweat pours down my forehead as more blood soaks my thighs, dripping on the dirty mattress I’ve been placed on.
The girl’s eyes glass, flicking to the blood-coated mattress. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
My eyes widen as the fog lifts, the pain numbing out as I start to shake my head.
No. There’s no way. I can’t be.
I think back to all the times Malachi and I had unprotected sex, gripping my stomach as tears burn my cheeks.
My baby—I’m losing my baby.
My breath catches as another pain comes; this time even more painful knowing why. I want to hang on to the hurt because that means I’m still hanging on to the baby, the child I never knew I was carrying.
The baby I never got a chance to meet because they, whoever they are, took it away.
Took my baby’s life.
A scream rips from my lips in total anguish. I thought I was broken, that they could do nothing that hasn’t already been done
I was so foolish, still so naive.
“Shh, they will hear you.”
I watch as the blonde girl's eyes widen in fear when she sees something. As her head turns, she watches me for a few seconds, deciding what she is going to do, before running off.
I hear heavy footsteps, but I don’t care. Nothing matters anymore.
“Bitch is bleeding out.” His voice is evil, brutal, when static comes over his radio. The pain hits the same time as the voice replies through the static.
I feel a sharp scrape against my arm as coldness washes through my veins. My body bows but no scream escapes, my voice locked inside. My eyelids become heavy…
The feel of someone shaking me causes me to moan, and the blackness that's been holding me down loosens as my eyes flicker open. The room is dim, just a few swinging lightbulbs giving off a dim light.
There are metal walls and a concert floor surrounding the whole place, which tells me I am in some sort of warehouse, on the bottom level. I try to sit, my body aching, limbs heavy. Dizziness washes over me.
I turn my head when I feel someone helping me up and see the blonde girl; I thought I had dreamed about her.
My eyes turn down to the mattress to see the large brown stain, causing a whimper to leave me as I wrap my arms around myself.
“It wasn’t a dream?”
She shakes her head, looking down at the floor. “I am sorry,” she repeats, her voice no louder than a murmur. I lay back down, pulling my knees to my chest.
“I didn’t know,” I whisper. I didn’t know.
She raises her hand, watching me when she sees I don’t react. She starts to run it through my hair and whispers comforting words, for seconds, minutes, maybe hours. Tears sting my eyes as my throat burns, but nothing escapes, not the scream, the pain, the tears. It all gathers in the deepest parts of my soul.
A loud bang echoes around the room. “Dinner,” a booming voice shouts.
“I’ll get you something,” she whispers, before walking off, her pace slow. That’s when I notice more girls, around twenty, I sit up, blinking, noticing more than a few. Taking another look around the room, the haze leaves, revealing brutal truths.
Counting thirty beds, I see more on the other side of the warehouse, with more girls, ranging from about 16 to 24, all wearing the same white gowns, hair down in unkempt veils, covering their features, skin pale, almost translucent.
They all sit on their knees, legs tucked beneath them. One of the men places two large metal pans on the ground, making some of them twitch, eager for their contents. He nods, giving permission, laughing as the girls reach into the pans, shoving sandwiches into their mouths, making themselves smaller, as if hiding what they’ve got.
Taking another glance around, I notice three rooms on the bottom level that look like they could have been offices at some point. Next to them is a metal staircase that goes to a higher level with more offices, around ten, that wrap around the building. There, men walk around, looking over the metal railing, guns hanging off their shoulders. I notice five doors in total, on the bottom level, all guarded. The windows are obscured with some sort of paint that’s peeling, becoming thinner in places, and thin light rays dance against the wall.
The blonde girl walks back over with something in her hand.
“This is for you.” She tries to smile but it's as if her lips don’t know what to do. She is holding some bread with what looks like ham inside.
“Thank you. I’m sorry, I didn’t ask your name?”
She takes a seat on the edge of my bed, watching me. “You need to eat.” Pushing the food toward me, I pick it up then take a bite. The bread tastes days old, but my body still craves it.
“Tara.” I look up, and she tries to give me another smile. “My name—it’s Tara.”
I try myself to smile. “I’m Lilliana. What is this place?”
Tara looks around, scratching her arms again. “The holding pens. This is where they keep the girls, us. Some are used as drug mules, others as whores, and some… some are sold.”
The food I’ve eaten threatens to come back up, and I place the bread down as my stomach turns.
“You need to eat more. You haven’t eaten in four days. They gave you an IV the first two days but nothing since. We are served food once a day.” I reach for my sandwich again, when a noise cuts through the air and girls start running, scattering in all different directions, leaving a lone figure on the ground. Her back arches and twists before she starts to shake, thrashing back and forth. A deep gurgling sound comes from her as the guards move toward her, grabbing her by the arms.
“What’s happening?” I go to stand, to help, knowing she’s having some sort of seizure, when Tara holds my arm tighter, stronger than her small frame should be able to.
“The bags have broken. There's no helping her.” Bags? I look back to the woman, watching as one of the guards pulls out a knife. Tara turns my head. “Don’t look. You will never get it out of your head.”
She holds my face buried in her chest, and after what seems like a lifetime, she releases me. My eyes automatically go to the place the girl was, to see a pool of pale rose.
“What did they do?”
Tara grips my hand. “They got the rest of the bags out of her.” I heave as realisation dawns on me. They cut her open.
“How do we get out of here?” Tara shakes her head, the grip on my hand tightening at the fear coating my voice.
“We don’t. There is no way we can escape. Girls have tried…” The way she says it sends a lump of lead to fill my stomach and coldness to bury into my very bones.
Looking around once more, I think there must be a way to escape. I turn back to face Tara. “How long have you been here?”
There are no emotions when her mouth opens. “I think it's just over a year, if I’ve counted the right amount of light to nightfall.” I gasp, and now I am the one holding her.
“How did you end up here?”
Her eyes glass as a shuddering breath passes her lips. “I was at a college party. This guy… he was nice, and he asked me to dance. I never went out, but it was my roommate’s party and she had convinced me to go. He got me a drink, and I remember feeling funny, then I woke up here.” I shake my head, looking at all the faces. Is this everyone’s story? Snatched off the streets, from parties? Waking about their normal lives then waking up here? I might have been awake for a few hours, but I already know this place is hell itself.