Chapter 2

Although I had nine more girls with me, none of them tried to soothe me or diminish my pain and fear as I sat there in that truck for what felt like a thousand years. I couldn't stop crying, and the sobs were making it more and more difficult for me to breathe in the dark. I would flinch away shivering whenever I touched a hand or a leg, my imagination haunting me, refusing to stop conjuring images in my mind. Throughout my eighteen years on this earth, I would imagine creatures and devils and ghosts in the dark, but today, in this truck, I couldn't stop imagining more men like the Stamp Men, grabbing at my parts without my permission.

Please, Universe, help me.

The truck, at last, came to a halt, and I raced to the door like a bird ready to fly. I didn't care if I knocked down a girl or two—or hurt them; all I cared about was reaching that door and getting out as quickly as possible.

As the door flew open, I jumped out without bothering to look down, and as I did, someone caught me, as if he knew I'd be the first one to jump at the sight of light. The hands set me down on the floor, though they didn't leave my arm, and I noticed it was Rover, smiling mercilessly at me. Of course, he knew.

"I knew you'd be dying to come out. Sorry about the dark, darling," he said, touching my cheeks, and I looked away. I wasn't his darling. Not anymore.

Other girls started to descend and walked silently away with the Stamp Men. They didn't make a single noise, just eyed me and Rover suspiciously. I couldn't believe it. The way he was holding me, the way I was struggling and shouting in his grip. Were they all dumb? Or were they all here by choice? If so, then was I the only one dragged forcibly to this place?

But then I saw the Indian girl with green eyes and silky hair who had told me where I was, who those men in black were, and who I had become. The girl who had been chosen instead of me to be raped by the Stamp Men. She was white with red eyes, a red nose, and puffed-up cheeks. It was evident that she, too, was crying, and my heart bled for her. If it hurt them as it did me, why weren't they saying anything? I couldn't help but wonder.

Before I knew it, Rover had begun dragging me away. I screamed. We were in a parking lot, and no one besides us was there. I screamed, hoping that somebody could hear me. But since Rover didn't try to cover my mouth or shush me, I concluded that no one was coming to help. I was all by myself.

We entered the elevator and arrived inside a hotel.

Good. 

I started screaming for help at the top of my lungs. There were men and women all around in the hotel, with a receptionist in her crisp, white shirt, yet no one even bothered to look at me.  

Were they all deaf? Was I inaudible?

Rover pushed me through the door and turned to wink at the receptionist, who blushed, puffing out her chest. It was then that I realized they weren't deaf, nor had I lost my voice. They were all Rover's people, his accomplices in this dirty work, his accomplices in the evil act of human trafficking.

Rover then dragged me out of the elevator, through a red-carpeted lobby, and into a room. It didn't matter how much I moved or struggled in his arms, he had caught me like a mouse in a trap. He pushed me onto the bed and left, locking the door behind him. I was scared out of my wits.

The room was way too beautiful, with serene white walls and delicate white curtains billowing in the wind through the window. There was a grand chandelier that created musical notes as its glass baubles touched each other in the wind. The sheets and the pillows were also dressed in white, with a white mattress beneath them. It was the softest bed I had ever touched.

On the nightstand, there was a note. I went to pick it up, wiping away my tears.

"Light up our customers' lives, Firecracker. You are doing a great job spreading happiness."

The words were scribbled on the paper. I felt so sick reading it. All those moments in my journey in that warehouse and truck that I had felt nauseated came rushing back to me, and I had to run to the bathroom to throw up.

As I retched out my fear and anxiety with last night's dinner—which now felt like a hundred years ago and was possibly the happiest dinner I'd ever have—I again prayed for the universe to save me.

As I stood up, I beheld the most beautiful and elegant bathroom I had ever seen. Not even the few movies I had watched had displayed such grandeur.

The bathtub was so huge that it could fit three girls like me, with eight showerheads at the other end of the room. Between the bathtub and showers sat the pot I had just thrown up into, next to which was a beautiful box basin. There was a cabinet above the basin, and when I opened it, numerous kinds of soaps and shampoos greeted me.

I closed the door to the bathroom, checking thrice to ensure it was properly locked, undressed, and sat in the bathtub, which was already filled with water, foam bubbles swimming at its top. The fragrance was so satisfying that I, at last, felt okay.

Firecracker. What kind of a stupid name was that? As if we were just some lifeless objects waiting to explode in the night sky for their amusement!

Wait. That was what we all were to Rover and his men. That was what I was now, just a female body with normal-sized parts, skinny legs, and minimal curves, waiting to be used as a sex toy, waiting for men to touch and grope in the night, waiting to be fucked.

I was already fucked.