by Sarah Sorana
“He told me I was pretty,” I said.
“What did he tell you about himself?” she asked conspiratorially. “I’ve never been on a date, they don’t let me out much.”
“He told me I was pretty,” I repeated. “He didn’t say a lot about himself. He talked about his bike. He likes his bike. I don’t like bikes. I never want to get on one again. I think I swallowed a bug.”
“He didn’t tell you anything else? Nothing about the money, or where they keep things?” she asked.
“No…” I said.
I thought about it.
“Oh!” I said.
“Yes? Si?” she asked, leaning forward.
“He has a handkerchief. He told me to blow my nose and said it was okay that I got it gross,” I said.
She sat back and shrugged.
“Nothing exciting,” she said, dismissively. “Sounds like he didn’t like you that much. Shame.”
“No, he liked me,” I insisted. “He must have. He came back. He sat through, like, the most awkward talk ever, with my parents.”
“So, your parents met him,” she murmured.
“Yeah,” I said. “Merle got them to let me go back out with him. He did like me. He did so.”
I had to think he did. I had to be sure that, if I were here, it was at least for a guy who liked me. To deal with all of this, to be trapped, to be so afraid, and not even to be rewarded with a kiss at the end, that was too hard to think about.
“Well, men like Merle, jefes, they tell women they like things,” she said. “That’s how you know.”
“Oh,” I said.
I tried to think of anything more interesting to tell her, she was so nice and so sad, but my head felt swimmy.
My eyelids were so heavy.
I yawned.
“I’m sorry,” I said. The world started to move.
“It’s okay,” she said.
El Jefe appeared in the doorway behind her. I flinched, but she didn’t, she just looked up at him and shook her head.
“Please,” I started. I was going to beg him to go away, but my heavy eyes fell shut and I knew no more.
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I woke up.
My body ached from being slumped in the concrete corner for… I didn’t know how long, but I hurt.
I was so tired of hurting.
At least I was alone, and the lights were on.
The door was shut. I didn’t know if it was locked. I didn’t bother trying to stand up.
The girl was gone, and the plate. I started to wonder if I’d imagined the whole visit, but when I lifted my hip, I saw a single grain of cooked rice, crushed and clinging to my flannel pajamas.
I hadn’t imagined it. She was there.
I hugged my knees again and tried to replay our conversation.
She seemed so frightened and sad, but then she teased me about Merle. I didn’t know what to think.
At least she fed me. I must have been more tired and sick if I thought, if I’d passed out after eating…
Passed out.
I did pass out.
She’d drugged me.
Or El Jefe had drugged me, and made her give me the food. Or El Jefe had told her to drug me. Or El Jefe had drugged us both.
She didn’t flinch, though, when El Jefe came in. I did. Was she not as afraid? Or was she so used to being afraid that she didn’t even flinch any more?
I went round and round, trying to figure her out, trying to figure out if I’d told her anything bad.
Fuck.
Oh, fuck, oh, no, fuck.
I told her Merle had met my parents, and she’d repeated that, with a funny little look on her face.
They were going to go find my parents. They knew where they lived, they definitely did, because that’s where they took me from. They were going to find my parents and take them and hurt them, all because Merle might have told them something about the dope he was selling.
I fucking hated Merle in that moment.
I wished I’d never met him.
A movie moment on prom night was not fucking worth being kidnapped and locked in some stinking room while you didn’t know if some gang was going to kill your parents.
Locked.
Maybe I wasn’t locked.
I didn’t know the waitress’s name and I didn’t know whether I could trust her, but I knew that I hadn’t tried the door.
I thought about what she said, about the men being allowed to rape any girl who tried to escape. The girl had implied that the last girl died, or at least was really badly hurt…
but she’d also said that, to these men, any girl was a whore or a wife, and I wasn’t a wife.
I believed her.
So, I was going to get raped either way, it was only a matter of time.
I might as well try to escape.
I stood up, and my gut heaved a little. I swallowed hard and clutched my belly.
If I were caught, I’d say I was sick and looking for the bathroom. I’d probably throw up all over whoever found me anyways.
I walked over to the door in tiny, quiet steps.
I put my handle on the cold metal doorknob, and turned.
The girl had been right. It wasn’t locked. I pushed it open, gently. It swung silently on old hinges that gleamed with grease.
I heard nothing.
Finally, I gathered my courage and stepped out of the room.
The hallway was long and mostly bare. There were no windows, and only a bare bulb, like the room I had been in, but it was clean, at least. I’d seen it before, and knew that the bathroom was at the far end, past a few more mysterious doors.
I crept along and saw nothing. I heard a hustle and bustle at one door, so I kept going, quickly, quietly.
I reached the bathroom and peeked in. It was as bare as ever. Nothing but toilet paper and a bar of grimy soap.
I thought about taking the toilet apart, finding a length of pipe, having a weapon to carry… but I’d have no fucking clue what to do with it even if I managed to get one, and if I met the Jefe or one of his goons, they’d know exactly how to take it away from me.
I moved on.
There was a staircase. Going up.
There were no windows in the hallway, so I’d figured I was in some sort of concrete basement.
I could take the staircase up, but then I might be heading straight into the lion’s den. I thought about walking right into a group of men who knew they could rape me if I was trying to escape and almost threw up on my bare feet.
Of course, I only had that thought from the girl who had given me drugged food…
But she wasn’t lying about the door being unlocked.
Maybe she was trying to help me escape?
Maybe she was trying to keep me in?
My head swam, and I went round and round.
After a few more deep breaths, I decided that I was already totally screwed if they caught me out of my cell, I might as well give escape a try.
I padded up the stairs one by one and eased the door open to find myself in a hallway that looked like a cheap hotel, with doors on either side.
I heard moaning coming from a few, grunting and rhythmic thumps.
At the end of the hallway, there was a closed door and I could hear the steady thump of club music coming through it.
She wasn’t lying about this being, well, a brothel… I thought.
I crept along the hallway, my heart in my throat. What the hell would I do if a door opened? I was wearing filthy pajamas and hadn’t brushed my hair in… since I got here. I didn’t know how long that had been, but it was a disgusting tangle around my head.
I looked crazy, I was sure of it. I couldn’t pretend I belonged.
Could I?
One of the doors I passed was silent. I paused. My hand shot out and I let myself in.
I was in a tiny, windowless bedroom.
It was pretty obvious that this bedroom was meant
for sex, not sleeping, but I raided the closet and found a slinky dress.
I swapped my pajamas for it, and found a discarded hair tie - and some discarded used condoms, gross - under the bed. I finger-combed my hair and put it in a ponytail.
The shoes wouldn’t fit me in a million years, and I’d probably break my ankle if I tried to walk in heels that high anyways, but I could work with that.
There was no makeup, but I pinched my cheeks and bit my lips to flush them, and hoped that I would stand up to a glance.
I hoped that I looked like I belonged.
I ducked out and kept going down the hallway, swaying my hips, holding the strappy sandals I’d found loosely in two fingers and letting them swing at my side.
A door opened behind me and shut, and I made myself keep walking.
A man passed me, pinched my ass, and kept walking.
I jumped, and let out a strained giggle, and he looked over his shoulder and blew me a kiss.
As he turned back to see where he was going, the door at the end of the hallway opened to a man staggering and clutching his arm, and noise exploded through the passage.
The club music was suddenly and rather horribly magnified, but I could also hear shouts and crashes, men yelling and women screaming.
I froze.
“Fuck!” the man who’d come through the door said.
He spotted me.
It was the man who’d hit my dog.
“Gringa puta,” he spat.
“No,” I said. “No…”
I backed up, but there was nowhere to go. I couldn’t go back down to the cell.
The man who had pinched my ass was staring between us.
“Grab her!” the other man ordered.
No time to think.
I ran.
I dove between them and through the door into the club - into chaos.
Someone grabbed my arm and yanked me down behind a couch.
“Shhhh,” a girl said - the girl! The girl who drugged me.
I tried to pull my arm out of her grip, but I had barely eaten and was dizzy and overwhelmed.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
Her tears were washing her makeup down her face.
“They said if I didn’t get you to tell about Merle, they’d beat my sister and they’d make her stop going to school and work here. She’s only thirteen. I’m so sorry.”
Someone bumped into the sofa we were cowering behind.
We both flinched.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“A raid,” she said. “The bikers got pissed.”
I turned and peered over the couch. It looked like she was right, now that I was looking, I could see burly men in leather jackets, with chains wrapped around their fists - and long guns. Shit.
“Merle?” I asked.
She shrugged.
“How do I get out of here?” I asked.
She opened her mouth, and then shut it again.
She shook her head.
“Please,” I whispered. “Please, I’m begging you, help me get out of here.”
“It’s too dangerous,” she insisted. “If the bikers win, it’s bad. If they lose, it’s bad. Just go back to your room and tell the Jefe what you know and he’ll forget about you soon. I’m not risking my sister for you.”
I grabbed her hand and squeezed it.
“Help me,” I repeated.
I heard the loud crack of a gunshot and a man’s scream.
My hand was shaking with fear, my whole body was, but the girl’s was too. I had to be stronger than her. I had to be less afraid. I had to win.
I had to win.
I shut my eyes and mouthed the words to the recipe she’d taught me, making sure I had the spices straight. That was the most relaxed she’d been, the most… honest.
“First, you take the onions, the type that make you cry,” I said.
She swallowed and turned away.
“Your Mama, would she want you to give up? Or would she want you to help me?” I asked.
She said nothing.
I took a deep breath and had to shut out the chaos around me. I couldn’t just hop up and run into the middle of a fucking gang war. I’d end up dead or taken back by the wrong side. Was there even a right side? I had to hope there was.
I had to get this girl to help me.
“My parents have money,” I said. “They’re not rich, but they do have money. If you help me, we’ll take your sister with us and my parents will give you money. You can get out of here.”
She shook her head.
“They’ll find us,” she said.
“So?” I exploded.
I wrenched my arm out of her grip, grabbed her shoulders, and shook her.
“You live in a fucking whorehouse and your sister is going to get raped every day as soon as they think she’s pretty enough,” I said.
I took a deep breath.
“How could it get any fucking worse? Give your sister half a goddamn chance, give yourself a chance, give me a chance, get off your fucking ass and get us all out of here,” I finished.
I didn’t know that I had that level of rage in me.
The girl stared at me. When my shaking fingers loosened their grip on her, she nodded, once. She turned and crawled away, hugging the wall, in the dark confusion.
I followed her.
What choice did I have?
She led me to a small dark door, and we stood up and fled through it into a deserted kitchen.
The girl said something in Spanish I didn’t understand.
Probably a curse - or a prayer.
She jerked her head at the doorway. “They’re probably out there. Good.”
“I am Catalina,” she said. “You are Megan?”
I nodded.
“My sister is Lupe. Come.”
I hesitated, but followed her down a maze of little hallways. I’d come this far, deciding to trust her.
If she’d wanted to turn me in, she could have just shoved me out into the melee.
Finally, she shooed me into a little room, even smaller than the bedroom I’d stolen the clothing from. There was a little cot on the floor, a high window letting in the first sunlight I’d seen in this terrifying place, and - a girl, clutching a backpack to herself.
Catalina had said that Lupe was thirteen, but she was so scrawny and big-eyed, she looked years younger.
My heart suddenly twisted, and some of my resentment of the other girl faded away.
“Hello, Lupe,” I said. “I’m Megan. We’re going to run for it, right, Catalina?”
The older girl hesitated, but nodded.
“Vamanos,” she said, leaning down and picking up a bag and sweeping the pictures on top of the small table in the room into it.
She zipped it up and threw it over her shoulder.
“Listen, both of you,” she said. “We need a car. We have to go get the keys, okay? I know where el Jefe keeps them, and he should be in the fight.”
I nodded.
“Can we just walk somewhere?” I asked. “Or call the cops?”
“No,” she said flatly. “No cops, and we’re five miles from town. They’d catch us before we made it.”
“Okay,” I said, meekly. Now that we had Lupe with us, I was a hell of a lot more inclined to trust her. The girl was looking at her older sister with trust and devotion, and I couldn’t imagine Catalina disappointing her.
Lupe and I followed Catalina back down the hallways to the kitchen, and darted into a better-kept door.
“Oh no oh no oh no,” Catalina breathed, “Run, run, Lupe, run!”
It was too late. El Jefe had slammed the door, trapping all three of us in the room with him.
He yelled something at Catalina in Spanish, flecks of angry spit flying at her.
“No,” she said. “No, no.”