Chapter 4 - Locked in her strength - mduno
I threw up everything I had in my stomach. How disgusting! It was a mental shock to realize the level of human degradation, from my perspective on life. I can't understand it. With my upbringing, I can't conceive of selling my body for money, designer clothes, or riding in luxury cars. I am worth more than that. My view of life was so different from what was happening downstairs.
It wasn't about being religious, but one thing I am sure of. The Creator doesn't like that. It's about respecting your intimacy and life itself; you can catch a disease. In an orgy, you break so many values. If humans understood that regardless of the religion they practice, they should preserve their integrity as a person. The commandments are fundamental to keeping your conscience clear; it's just about respecting universal laws even if you don't believe in a Higher Being. Now I understand my mom's words. The crux of the world's crisis was the lack of fear of God, which had stopped being instilled in homes. It was sad to recognize that some or many women have contributed to this decadence.
I never thought I'd see such a scene live and in person. Every time I relived the image, my insides churned; I even vomited through my nose. I flushed the toilet, turned on the sink, washed my face, and rinsed my mouth. The young man entered the bathroom without taking his eyes off me. He took toothpaste and a new toothbrush from a drawer, handed them to me, and I accepted. I felt my face flush under his analytical scrutiny.
After cleaning my mouth, I drank water to ease the discomfort from having thrown up the little in my stomach. I hadn't had lunch and it looked like I wouldn't have dinner either. When I left the bathroom, he was closing the balcony door. This time, his gaze was different; it was a mix of surprise and curiosity. My heart started pounding frantically, and instinctively, I looked around for something I could use as a weapon, just in case.
"When does this end?" I asked with the hand towel on my face. He didn't pounce; I needed to start a conversation to calm my nerves.
"They open the doors tomorrow after eight in the morning." My eyes widened. "You're new to this world, right?" I stood there, mouth agape.
"Do I look like a whore?" I replied. "Do I have 'I cost a hundred thousand pesos' written on my face?"
"Is that what you're worth?"
I stopped being myself, and I don't know if it was the wait, the cold, the idiot asking that stupid question, or what I had just seen. I don't know, but I exploded.
"Look, sir! I don't give a damn who you are. If you had a bit of brains, you'd understand that seeing me hiding here means I'm not like those women who are... doing... you know." My tongue got tied again. "You know what I mean." I felt my face flush with anger. "I don't do any of that!"
I didn't hear anyone come in; I just felt when he put his gun to my head. Honestly, I don't know how my legs managed not to give out.
"Until today, no one has survived after talking to my Boss like that, bitch." The young man was standing in front of me. I don't know what he saw, maybe the sheer terror on my part. "Should I finish her off, Boss?"
"How much do you charge for an hour of fucking?"
The fear vanished, giving way to a side of Verónica that I rarely show, one that comes out when I face the devil himself.
"I am no saint, and let me make it clear, I am not a whore! Tell the lapdog behind me that if he shoots, he'll kill you too because you're in the bullet's path. I have no price, and I don't give a damn who you are."
"Rata, bring them."
I didn't look away; I challenged him. A few minutes later, two stunning women were brought in, one fair-skinned, the other olive-toned; both had long hair and voluptuous curves. The man who had pointed the gun at me was the same one I had given my information to at the entrance.
"Thank you." Thank you? Is this guy going to lock me up with these women? "You have nowhere to go. You'll have to watch or join the private party."
My jaw dropped, I felt a sudden heat, my face must be red, my eyes stung. I pushed past him to get to the balcony. He walked slowly, leaning halfway out to talk to me.
"Verónica, it's going to rain, and I'll be busy." I ignored him. "Suit yourself!"
I didn't care. How did he know my name? And who did this man think he was? He was disrespectful, arrogant, and cold. It started to drizzle, and I felt a lump in my throat. I hate feeling cornered.
He closed the door. I turned my back to the balcony entrance, unable to hold back the tears. I covered my mouth, wanting to scream and throw a tantrum. What hell have I gotten myself into? The rain intensified, the cold water soaking my clothes completely. I started chattering my teeth from the cold. Minutes passed until I heard the door open. He stepped out onto the balcony.
"Now you feel like making love on the balcony?"
I spoke, my lips trembling. I looked at him for a few seconds, pleading for a bit of mercy from those cat-like eyes. The raindrops hid my tears. He let out a laugh.
"You're in the wrong place... and besides, little girl," he emphasized the last words, "I never make love. I fuck, screw, or to make it sound less crude, I have rough sex."
I looked down, not sure if I could feel more embarrassed. I don't remember ever feeling this way in my life, like I do now with this man. I don't know how he managed to intimidate me. I discreetly wiped my tears.
"Get inside." His voice was dry. I subtly shook my head. "Look, girl, get inside because I'm getting wet and you're delaying something very important. I won't do anything to you, I don't think you're a big deal." What's his problem with me? "Get inside, or I might regret doing a noble act."
"Thank you," I said.
For the first time since we started talking, he looked away. I went into the room, the two women were lying on the bed, at least they were still dressed. He walked to the closed door, took a key from his pants, and hesitated for a moment. Our eyes met, his face was perfect if you looked closely, he tensed his jaw, opened the door, stepping aside to let me through, and followed me in. I saw the women follow him, but the so-called gentleman slammed the door in their faces. What a jerk.
As he turned around, he pressed a button on a remote control in his hand and slipped it into his pants. The room was immense, with a giant bed in the center, also made of bamboo like almost everything else on the farm. To one side, there seemed to be a bathroom larger than the one in the room next door, and the balcony was much more spacious with rustic chairs. It started to pour, with lightning and thunder flashing through the curtains. There was a bar on one side, a television; it was the largest I had seen so far, and the bed was in front of it. He turned it on and handed me the remote.
The man who had been called "The Rat" a moment ago entered with some papers in his hand. He was surprised to see me. Meanwhile, I was dripping water and forming a puddle under my feet. He analyzed his Boss, who responded with a firm look. It was clear they understood each other very well. He left the papers on the living room table, then the young man headed to the bathroom and came out with a towel in his hand.
"Veronica." He offered me the towel, walked to the closet, and took out a sweatshirt and a T-shirt. "How much do you charge? Everyone has a price. Come on, tell me, what's yours?"
My blood boiled so much that, by some divine intervention, I held back the urge to slap him.
"Listen, Mister, whatever your name is, it's disappointing to hear an attractive man beg to stick his dick in a vagina."
He was taken aback by my response, and I didn't give him time to speak or decide to kill me. I attacked, and as my lovely mother used to say, one must die for their ideals. I spoke in a language I never thought I would use in my life.
"I don't like men who can't get it up and have to pay to feel like men." I challenged him, refusing to back down. "Know this, Mister, whatever your name is, I sleep with those who earn the right and have the balls to win me over."
His gaze was inscrutable; I couldn't tell what he thought of me. He half-smiled, raised one of his eyebrows; that movement managed to distract me. I never thought such manly men existed, thinking they were the imagination of writers or movie characters, never imagining seeing them in real life.
"Wrong answer, and everyone has a price, little girl, except that with you, I'm not sure if I'm interested anymore. You lack"—he looked me over again—"substantial attributes for my explicit taste."
My heart pounded frenetically; I held back a smile, hoping not to look fake. The truth was, I felt wounded in my feminine vanity.
"It's reassuring to hear that."
He left to go to the next room. The man who had nearly killed me a while ago hadn't moved while we spoke. It was as if he were in a trance, analyzing the scene. Then he smiled and left through the door he had entered. Shortly after, I heard the electronic lock. Fantastic! They had locked me in the room of one of the big shots of the drug trade, or rather the son of one of the big shots, because those men are already old creeps, whereas... he was young and way too attractive.
I took the clothes offered, went into the bathroom to change, spread out the jeans, and tried to wring out my underwear as much as possible. Using a towel, I tried to dry them. I was soaked to the bone, "as my mother used to say." I tried to leave as little mess as possible, then I sat on the giant bed. It was strange, I felt safe being there. If he wanted to harm me, he would have done it already.
I went to the table where "Rat" had left some papers. There was also a laptop. I took the documents from the folder; they were written in Mandarin. Looking at the laptop screen, I understood his attempt to translate them. I smiled. Out of gratitude for his kind gesture, I took paper and pencil to translate the page for him. They referred to the date and security methods requested for a convention meeting, which I assumed was the same one Lorena had mentioned. At the end of the translation, I wrote the words, "Thank you for protecting me."
I approached the fridge; there was milk and, in a small pantry beside it, I saw cereal. I took it, I was very hungry. While eating, I turned off the TV and turned on the stereo. I looked at a large music collection, especially salsa, and Marc Anthony won out in my judgment. I smiled; he was one of my favorite singers. I had others, especially romantic music, ballads; I had a good repertoire of famous ironing music, which was my favorite. I picked one of José José. When I got to the bed, I heard the screams from the next room.
"Oh! Oh!... Yes, yes, like that!" A scream, followed by a loud moan. "Don Roland, harder. Put it in hard!" I opened my mouth, my face felt hot with embarrassment.
I turned the music volume all the way up, still with my mouth open. What a filthy man! Was that the famous Roland Sandoval? He was a maniac, sick, deranged, and authoritarian. The screams continued. The music drowned out the activity on the other side. I finished eating and washed the bowl. I had to give credit to whoever had such good taste in choosing the decor of the place and the entire estate.
I approached the closet and was surprised by the order. I wished I had an employee to organize my clothes like he had. I opened a drawer, where he kept his boxers, one after the other in precise order, and closed it immediately. I opened another; it was for socks, all in earth tones, just like his underwear. The clothes he had given me were dark brown, and the T-shirt was cream-colored.
His wardrobe was dominated by four colors: olive green or maybe lighter—it was still raining. There were also clothes in brown in three shades, including beige. Is he always this methodical? I took one of his socks, put them on, my feet were freezing, and got into bed.
It was very cold. I had the volume at maximum, turned it down to check if they had finished, and smiled. As I finished adjusting my head on the pillow, the howling screams from the other room could be heard again, so I turned it back on. When did I fall asleep? I couldn't say for sure. I fell into a deep sleep, listening to the music at an unthinkable volume with the background echo of wild porn or, as he put it, a session of hard sex.