Chapter 3

I came out of the bathroom smelling of roses and vanilla and gasped at the sight of Rover sitting on my bed, swinging his legs like a four-year-old. His eyes were surveying the room before they settled on me, scanning me from top to bottom in my bathrobe.

"Hey, beautiful Scarlet," he called grinning. Just a night ago, I would've thrown aside my bathrobe, showing every inch of myself, for that grin. Now, I couldn't help but want to run and throw up again.

It's crazy how one day we dream of spending our life with someone and the next we're ready to settle for anyone except them.

Without getting a reply from me, which I wasn't planning to provide, he stood up and came closer to me.

"Or should I say Firecracker?" He said, raising his eyebrows. Before I knew it, I had slapped my palm to his face, so hard that even I was surprised. Though terrified, I was proud of myself.

But Rover's naughty, malicious smile vanished into thin air, fire blazing in his eyes at his rage.

He pushed me so hard that I hit the wall behind me, and a stinging pain ran up my back. He then grabbed my jaw with his hand, digging his fingers into my cheek and pressing his body against mine.

"You know we can't hit you because we need you to look flawless from top to bottom, but don't challenge me, Scarlet! Don't tempt me to hurt you." He spat the words.

"You are already hurting me." I tried to utter the words through my scrunched face.

"Sorry." He took away his hand, yet I could still feel the pain. If only the hurt was limited to my cheeks. But, no, Rover had given me deeper wounds, wounds of betrayal. Too bad they didn't show on my skin—then I might be able to escape this place.

"You know I love you. You are my favorite of them all," he said, undoing the knot of my bathrobe.

I wriggled in his grip, but he kept pushing me into the wall.

"And now I want you to cooperate." He continued pushing the collar of my robe behind my shoulder, kissing me on the neck.

"And what if I don't? What if I don't cooperate with you, Rover? What if I shriek and slap and kick any guy who tries to touch me? What if—"

"Shush." He stopped me mid-sentence, touching my lips. Every time he touched me, it burned.

"If you won't cooperate, then I will have to replace you. I wonder who could replace you...?" He started thinking theatrically. "Ahh! I wonder what Rosa is up to these days. And her body…yuuuumy!"

No. No. Not Rosa. Not Rosa.

"How dare you talk about Rosa like that! Don't you even think for a minute about bringing her into this hellhole!" I shrieked.

"Oh, I wasn't planning on it. But your indignation and your don't-touch-me attitude made me reconsider. So, cooperate and let the customers do what they want to. Do to them what they ask you to. Keep them happy, keep yourself happy. It's a win-win for both of us. And the moment we detect even the slightest bit of disappointment in our customers, we will call your sister to take your place, and you will clean the rooms after she has delighted the horny men." With that, he slid the bathrobe completely off me, tracing his fingers and mouth over my body, the way he did the night before when he stole away my virginity. That was a beautiful time, but now, even his delicate touch hurt me, every of my skin shrieking to get away from him.

I couldn't let Rosa get trapped in this place. She couldn't come here. I'll do everything I can to keep Rosa away from here, I vowed.

******

Later a lady walked into my room with curly hair and a plump body. She introduced herself as Millie, my sex stylist. That's right! They created a position titled "Sex Stylist."

"You, as a woman, assist other women so they can better be raped?" I asked her, surprised by how hoarse my voice sounded from all the crying and sobbing.

"I get paid for it," she said.

Wow! She decorated women so they could be raped because she got paid for it. Now I understood all those poets who cried about the loss of humanity in their poems:

I got ten dollars for my faith, Twenty for my happiness.

Thirty for my body, Forty for my conscience And fifty for humanity.

And then, living, boast about having a life!

This isn't living, this isn't life.

It'd be better to be this lifeless paper, Where I flaunt my humanity It'd be better to be this lifeless pen, Which narrates the essence of my humanity But isn't that where humanity exists now?

The beauty of living, Humanity lasts only in the lifeless.

Only on paper.

Only in this poetry.

******

The sun had already gone down, promising the arrival of the night sky. The time of darkness.

There was light makeup on my face, and my lips were painted the darkest of red. I lied on my soft bed with just a towel around my body. I smelled like an orchard, or perhaps it was the fragrance of the room. My eyes were blindfolded again, confining me to dark, and my hands were locked in handcuffs behind the bedpost. I was bait, tied and helpless, waiting for a wild beast to eat me raw.

I heard footsteps into the room and my heart threatened to leap out of my chest. Whoever he was, he cleared his throat as he shut the door.

"What? Is your penis stuck in your throat? You gonna go for oral, or are you already too fucked to fuck me?" I asked, then immediately bit my lip to refrain from saying anything else. I wasn't supposed to mock my customers. I was supposed to be cooperative, make them feel pleasure, not insult them. And then a gripping fear tightened inside me: what if the guy complained and that psycho Rover went after my sister? No. Oh no.

Before I could apologize, the guy spoke up.

"Tell me, why are you labeled as a 'Spicy Feisty Treat' on the menu? Is it because of your body—or your tongue?"

His voice was very manly, and I hated to admit, sexy too. The way he spoke revealed he was a formidable man, and strangely, I didn't hate him anymore.

"There is a menu?" I asked.

"Oh yes. There is a menu with every girl's picture and a little description."

Like the ones in restaurants describing food? 

"I think it's because of your body. Because I doubt you are supposed to use your tongue that way," he added. 

And with that, I was afraid again.

I hated how I had lived these past hours, afraid, crying and shrieking. Life wasn't nice to me, but it had never been as cruel as it had been these past two days.

"I know. Sorry," I said, trying to sound as apologetic as possible, adding, "Handsome," to the end.

He smirked.

"Is it your first time?" He asked.

Getting raped? Yes!

I didn't answer though.

"Rule number two of being a Firecracker! You always answer your customer!" He roared.

"Yes. This is my first time as a Firecracker," I said, every inch of my body shivering.

"And you are already at the top?" His voice came from closer this time, but there was no hint of anger. In fact, the bed squeaked, and I knew he was making himself comfortable on the bed before he made himself comfortable on me.

"At the top?" I asked.

"Yeah. You are the first on the list, the most expensive, the one that makes men like me intrigued," he said chuckling.

Please, Universe, save me. Save me.