“Mmm-mmm, there’s nothing like seeing a girl down on her hands and knees. How about you flip that dress up over your waist and give Daddy a lil’ peek of that fat ass, Ella?”
A long, spine-seizing shiver tenses up my back muscles and shakes me back into the present. I don’t need to glance over my shoulder to know the obnoxious man standing behind me is Raymond. At twenty-eight, he’s much closer to my age than to Sylvia’s. However, that’s the whole point of having him around, I suppose. He’s her little boy toy. Although most days she treats him more like a pet than a man.
“You’re not my ‘daddy,’ Raymond. Please let me be. I need to get this done for Miss Sylvia.” I don’t take my eyes off the floor as I urge him to drop his swinging-dick swagger routine.
“I might not be your daddy, but you can call me Daddy,” he muses. “Wouldn’t you like that? I know I would. One of these days I’m gonna have you bent over just like that and have you begging me for this cock.”
I shake my head in disgust and glare at him over my shoulder as he tilts his head and contorts his voice to a higher pitch.
“Ohhh, Daddy, fuck me harder,” he mocks me.
Anger spreads like wildfire over my cheeks as heat burns up my back. This is how my father saved me. He had me smuggled over the United States border to a woman he only vaguely knew. She had a lot of experience bringing immigrant girls to America. It has only been her weak loyalty to my father that has kept her from selling me the same way she’s sold the other girls over the years. Although she reminds me almost every day that I can easily be taken off her hands, bought by strangers who would own me as a sex slave. Sylvia brought me into her house and into safety when I was only fifteen years old. Now, at twenty-one, I’ve been her unpaid servant for six years.
I already dealt with her last boy-toy. Raymond is the second one I’ve had the misfortune of meeting. “Go away.” I shoo him off, but he doesn’t budge. His stupid smirk is pasted to his overly tanned face.
“What’s going on in here?”
I watch with satisfaction as Raymond jumps guiltily about a mile high. His shaggy blond hair falls across his forehead and he tries to push it back casually as Sylvia storms in across the bedroom toward him.
“I was, uh, just coming in here to take a shit, but this one”—he points down at me—“is washing up.” He shrugs as the foul lies pour off his even fouler mouth.
“Raymond! I don’t have time for this.” Sylvia swats him with the handful of paperwork she’s holding in one of her hands. “We’re meeting our new ‘human interest’ liaison in San Diego and I don’t have a single thing to wear. Especially since this fucking idiot picked up my dress in the wrong size.” She holds up the exact Dolce and Gabbana dress she ordered me to get for her and flings it around angrily before tossing it at me. It lands over my head and Raymond bursts out laughing as I slowly tug it off.
“Look, Ella, I know English isn’t your first fucking language, but I would expect you to understand me by now! You were supposed to get this dress in a size eight, not off the fucking rack. So, throw this in the back closet with the other crap you’ve messed up. You’re such a pain in the ass. I swear, I should just get whatever money I can for your pathetic ass. If I’d known you’d be this fucking stupid, I would’ve never helped your father out.” She rolls her eyes as her words deliver the slap to my face I know she wants to.
“Yes, ma’am,” I answer passively. I know she’s the one who messed up the size, but I will never say that out loud. She has an entire closet of shoes and clothes that she’s deluded herself into thinking she could fit into. And yet, she always manages to put that blame on me when they don’t fit.
I stand up and gingerly pick up the dress, avoiding eye contact with her. I know better than to push her buttons. Sylvia really wouldn’t think twice about getting rid of me. She’s told me that for years. I bite my tongue and remind myself that my life could be worse. I know that. I’ve seen some of the girls who have stopped in here, children really. They spend a few nights only to disappear into the seedy underbelly of sex slavery.
I step past them and make my way out of the room, keeping my eyes downcast onto the floor. I know my father sent me off so I wouldn’t be killed like the rest of my family, but there have been so many days, so many years now, that I can’t help but wonder if I wouldn’t have been better off dying with them.
2 | Jackson
“Chloe, we have to pack it up, sweetheart. It’s almost time for lunch and then my friend Ryan is coming to visit us, remember?” I look down into her sparkling blue eyes and see the big clouds of disappointment starting to move over them.
“But, but, Daddy, it’s my special princess tea party.” She pouts and her crown slides sideways on her wispy, red curls.
“I know, honey.” I can’t help but smile at the adorably frowny face she’s putting on. I remember what this place looked like only a year ago. Back then, I was using this entire room for storage. Mostly I had my old military gear in here, stuffed in around an old treadmill I never used and a bunch of tools I had collected over the years.
I remember distinctly the gripping terror of bringing Chloe home for the first time. The realization that washed over me as I walked her into the house and realized I didn’t know the first thing about being a father. My house was about as far from child-proof as you could get. With a fridge full of beer and leftover takeout food, I didn’t even know what to feed her.
I tilt my head and smile as I gaze over the small bed I put together for her covered in a My Little Pony blanket. Her toy box is overflowing with toys and her costume rack is almost buried in every kind of princess dress you can imagine. I remember changing the electrical sockets around the bottom half of the wall to the child-safe ones that are in there now. The learning curve was steep, but making this house a home for Chloe was worth it.
She saved my life.
“All right, how about this? I’ll have a tea party with you, but only for fifteen minutes, got it? Then it’s time to tidy up and get on with the rest of the day. Understand?”
Chloe nods enthusiastically as she bounces around the room overjoyed that she doesn’t have to cut her princess party short.
“Okay, okay! You can wear this crown.” She rushes across the floor and tugs a sparkly, pink plastic tiara from a pile and rushes back over to me.
I sigh and lift it up, placing it delicately on my head. I’m glad Ryan isn’t going to be here for a few hours. This is an image I could live without him seeing.
“Oh, Daddy! You look so bee-you-tiful.” Chloe claps her hands together as she grabs my hand and leads me to the foam mat on her floor.
Spread out in front of me is a half circle of stuffed animals and her tea set has been carefully placed in the center of the action. “Do I sit here?”
She sports a big, toothy grin as she leads me to my spot and nods. I ease down onto the floor and marvel at how effortlessly she flops down beside me.
“You can be Princess Sophia,” she exclaims and shakily picks up the teapot from the floor. “Hold up your cup, Daddy. I am giving you some tea,” she explains.
“I mean, can’t I even be a prince or something? How about Prince Jackson? I think that’s got a nice ring to it.” I hold up my tiny, flower encrusted mug.
“No, you are Princess Sophia. I am Princess Belle.” She pouts as she helps me get this straight.
“Okay, fine.” I sigh. “Princess Belle, can I have some tea, please?” I hold out my cup and watch as she pretends to pour me some of the imaginary liquid. The small tiara on my head stays in place as I sip at the air, slurping loudly while Chloe squeals happily.
Honestly, when she laughs like that, I would gladly be a princess any day. Just hearing her giggle makes it all worth it.
“Daddy, we forgot cheers.”
“We forgot what?” I can see that I messed up the rules in her pretend world somehow as she scrunches up her nose.
“Cheers. Do this.” She lifts up her tea cup gingerly.
I follow her lead and she smashes her mug into mine with enough force that if there was real tea in there it would be all over the floor.
“Cheers!” she squeals.
“Okay, cheers, honey.” I shake my head and try not to laugh.
Tap-tapitty-tap-tap.
“Who’s that?” Chloe’s eyes go wide.
Tap-tap.
I’m not entirely sure, but I stand up to go find out. My daughter is hot on my heels as I walk down the stairs to the front door. As I circle my hand around the knob, I remember I’m still wearing a crown and I try to tug it free from my hair as I swing the door open. I didn’t realize when I put it on that it had a little prickly comb on the bottom, so the tiara digs into my hair and hangs off the side of my head as Ryan’s familiar face stares in disbelief.
“Well, don’t you look pretty.” Ryan smiles smugly and I pull on the plastic until it’s freed from the tangled mess it made of my hair.
“Thank you,” Chloe answers in a sing-song, not knowing that the ‘compliment’ was meant for me.
“You’re early.” I lift up my daughter and step back, letting Ryan inside.
“And I’m so glad I was. It would’ve been a real shame to miss that.” He laughs.
“Nice ride.” I glance out at the gleaming Harley, shimmering like unbridled freedom itself in my driveway.
“Thanks, man, I love it. It’s been nice to see the country on her.” He smiles wistfully at his hog.
“I bet.” I remember when I drove my own bike out on the open roads a lifetime ago. That was before Chloe came into my life and I traded in my Honda Rebel for nursery furnishings. Sometimes I miss it, but as my daughter likes to say ‘no trade backs!’
“Let’s stop talking, Daddy,” Chloe helpfully suggests like she always does when she’s bored with the conversation. She turns her attention to one of the men I consider a brother, my fellow SEAL Ryan. “I have a great idea.”
“Oh, what’s that?” he answers her cheerfully.
“How about we all play princesses?” She giggles and Ryan gives me a look. If I know my little girl, and I do, she’ll have us all throwing back imaginary teas like frat boys with beer.
“Come on in, man.” I lead Ryan into the house. “Make yourself at home.”
3 | Ella
“Venti macchiato made with soy milk and no foam, extra shot of espresso, extra drizzle, and extra hot, order up,” Julianna calls out theatrically. We both laugh at the ridiculous coffee order I collect daily for Sylvia. “Oh, and here’s a little something-something for you.” She gives me a dramatic wink like she’s letting an audience full of people in on a plot twist coming up in a Shakespeare in the Park play. “On the house, of course.” She pushes a cup with a double shot of espresso toward me, looking over her shoulders like the chain owner could come creeping out of the shadows at any moment to give her shit for her kindness.
“Thank you.” I smile. The fact that she makes me my cup of ‘something special’ every day doesn’t take away my gratitude. Julianna doesn’t have to go out of her way to make me anything, especially not for free. Yet, she always does. It’s little moments like this, these small and seemingly insignificant instances of kindness that keep my faith in humanity. I might be grasping onto threads, but after the life I’ve led, I’ll take all the threads I can cling onto.
“Don’t mention it.” She grins and takes my cash for the elaborate latte, or the ‘bitch special’ as she likes to call it. “Sooo, I’m having a party this weekend and it’s going to be completely legendary.” She leans on the counter, resting her chin in her hands as she threads her fingers through her punky, electric blue hair.
I open my mouth to politely decline, but Julianna holds up her hand, shushing me. My gaze falls to her silver skull ring she wears over one of many brightly-colored knuckle tattoos and wait for her to finish talking.
“Before you even think of saying no, just listen, okay?” She doesn’t wait, steamrolling onward, “When I say it’s going to be legendary, I mean it. My band, The Blazing Pocket Rockets, is going to be doing a set near the end of the night, so you can’t miss this one, Ella.” What started out as a strong pitch turns into a pathetic whine. Her shoulders hunch over in defeat as she reads my face.
“I’m sorry.” I wince at her disappointment. “I can’t go. It’s not that I don’t want to.” I try to soften the blow.
“Then go. If you want to go, go!” She tries another feeble attempt. There’s just no way I can say yes, though.
Julianna is probably the closest thing to a real friend I have in this entire world. For years, she’s been taking my order at this coffee shop. At first we just had very casual conversations. She was trying to learn Spanish and my English was about as broken as a child’s back then. Somehow, we managed to communicate. I doubt she even knows how much those early conversations meant to me. After losing my family and being shipped off to America like a piece of freight, the few minutes of kindness and compassion she showed me were enough to keep me going. Enough to give me hope.
Over the years, we’ve developed a real bond. Although I’ve never confessed to her that I’m an illegal, she knows my situation isn’t normal. However, Julianna has never pried into that side of my life. The only time she’s made much mention of it is to try to inspire me to rebel against Sylvia like I’m some kind of overprotected teen who needs to lash out at their parents.
“I just can’t,” I confess and gulp back the rest of the strong, flavorful espresso she gave me.
“I just wish we could hang out sometime, you know? Like, for longer than it takes to fill a bitch special.” She laughs and taps her painted orange fingernail against the coffee order for Sylvia.
“I would like that,” I answer honestly.
Inside, my stomach sinks as I realize this is probably the way our entire friendship will go. Something begins to stir up in my chest at the realization that in six years I’ve never had a single minute outside that wasn’t to run errands for Sylvia. She’s kept me almost under lock and key all this time and I’ve never even thought to protest against it.
Sylvia has even left me alone before, like she will be this weekend, and the biggest rule I broke in her absence was that I sat on the furniture. An anger I’ve never felt before billows up inside me. Any moment that I’ve been awake for over half a decade has been in service of her. Well, I’m tired of living like her slave.
“Wait a minute,” I think out loud and Julianna leans in toward me, her eyes sparkling bright under the florescent lights. “My boss is going out of town on Sunday,” I say the words slowly, like they’re completely scandalous thoughts I’m spilling. “I’m going to have the house to myself for a couple nights, so why don’t you come over?” I bite down on my lip, uncertain if I should have even spoken the words.
Julianna smiles broadly, her lip piercing pushing out prominently as her lips pull tight. “Now that sounds like a plan I can get behind.” She nods. “How about I bring some wine and we have a girl’s night?”
Before I have a chance to overthink it, I find myself agreeing. I know it’s probably the worst idea I’ve ever had, but right now, I don’t care. Since Sylvia took me in, I’ve done nothing but toe her hard lines like a prisoner trying to get out early for good behavior. It’s time I realized this isn’t something I can walk away from. This is a life sentence. So, I can start learning to have some fun despite my circumstances, or I can live a life that makes me wonder if I might as well have died back in Colombia.
I choose freedom. Sure, they might be sporadic moments of freedom that only exist when she goes out of town. But to me, it’s still freedom.
4 | Ella
When there’s a knock at the front door, I instinctively rush over to answer it. Not because I’m excited about my forbidden girl’s night. I am, I’m excited, nervous and, at times, downright scared.
But none of those are the reason I run to the door. It’s because of how ingrained it’s become to answer everything right away around here.
A knock at the door sends me sprinting. A ring of the phone has me frantically searching for the receiver. Even getting a text message from Sylvia is enough to make me stop everything I’m doing and check to see what she wants. What can I say, after six years she has me well-trained.
Maybe Raymond isn’t her only lap dog.
I push the depressing thought from my mind. Tonight isn’t about any of that. They’re gone for a couple days and I have this entire sprawling place to myself. I’m not going to waste it wallowing in self-pity about things I can’t change. I yank the front door open and Julianna is standing on the step in a long, dark dress that reminds me of a sorceress. She holds up a bottle of wine in each hand like an Olympian holds up their gold medal up on the stand.
“That’s way too much.” I immediately balk at all the booze, but she just rolls her eyes and brushes past me.
“Maybe for you, Miss-Goody-Two-Shoes, but this ain’t nothing for me.” She kicks off her shoes at the door and darts her gaze around the house as she walks inside. Her head rolls back as her eyes travel over all the expensive decor and art. “Holy crap, what’s your boss’s job again? This place is like an art gallery.” She whistles low at the expensive paintings and sculptures.
“She works in finance.” It’s not a lie. Selling people is technically working with finances. Just disgusting and morally repugnant finances.
“Wow, guess I should’ve gone to college after all. This place is swanky. And all this time I was feeling sorry for you, thinking you were holed up in some kind of homemade Git-mo. Turns out you’ve been living the high life the whole time,” she teases me.
I know she doesn’t mean anything by it, she’s just making her usual jokes, but I’m already on edge from my bold decision to even have her over. So a smile is the furthest thing from my lips right now. Taking a deep breath, I push down the wave of panic that just swelled up inside me.
“Looks can be deceiving.” I shrug, not really wanting to get into it much more than that.
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