Escape From Paradise

by Gwendolyn Field

  But then I realized it wasn’t just me. The whole house had a nervous ring to it. The workers were all quieter than normal. I heard someone whisper in Spanish about policía and news reporters. At the sound of those words, I dug my bare heels against the floor, a rush of exalted longing to escape rushing through me. Someone is here! They’re here for me! A scream ripped from me, its glory muffled by the cloth in my mouth. Luis grasped me harder and another man grabbed me from the other side. I went into full freakout mode.

  The men lifted me by the arms and rushed forward despite my kicking and thrashing. I didn’t care if I was punished; all I knew was this was my chance.

  I heard some sort of latch creak open and then smelled dank damp air as we descended. I fought with renewed passion, knowing they were taking me back into the confinement room I’d been in with Josef. Underground. Probably soundproof. My fighting earned me a ringing slap on the side of the head. They threw me on the dirt floor and the door slammed. I ripped off my blindfold and gag.

  In that moment I felt like a deranged animal. I attacked the door, yanking on the handle and yelling as loudly as I could. I kicked the door with my bare feet, punched it, clawed at it, beat it with everything I had, all the while screaming like a banshee. When my whole body was thrumming with self-inflicted injuries and my throat was hoarse, I dropped to the ground and cried deep, heaving sobs. Screw Marco and his no crying rule. I didn’t care about belts or cuffs or anything except who was at the villa looking for me and what, if anything, they’d find.

  Please, God… I prayed. I begged, pleaded, and tried to make deals with that invisible entity I’d never given much thought to before. If you get me out of here I swear I’ll be good. I won’t even question why You let this happen. I’ll do anything You want.

  I crawled to the door and pressed my ear to it. Nothing. Not a single sound.

  “Hello?” I banged my open palm against it. “I’m down here!”

  Silence. I sat down with my back against the door and closed my eyes.

  It didn’t take long for me to start to feel crazy in the compact room with no stimulation. With no way to mark the passage of time I just sat there and listened, my auditory sense becoming so acute in the silence I could hear my own heart beating and the movement of air into and out of my lungs, but nothing else.

  Twice that day the door was opened. Each time I would scream and try to fight my way out, but all that got me were painfully ringing ears from smacks to the head, bruised appendages, and plates of spilled food at my feet.

  “Fuuuck!” I screamed in frustration the second time and kicked my plate of grilled chicken and steamed vegetables. It splattered against the wall and I didn’t care because I couldn’t even think of eating. Nobody was going to find me down here. A bleak feeling of despair settled over me like nettles.

  “Why?” I cried. “Why are you doing this to me?” I didn’t even know who I was talking to. Marco. God. That bitch, Karma. All of them. Why?

  Hours later I lay curled against the door and sheer exhaustion took me.

  The next day they brought me nothing. In my hunger I thought about eating the dirty food that I’d thrown, but angry pride kept me from it. And just to ensure I wouldn’t give in and eat it, I picked up each piece and threw it in the crap bucket.

  Okay, so I was cutting off my own nose to spite my face, as my mom used to say, but my mind had gone to a dark and cloudy place. The kind of place where, for the first time ever, death began to hold some appeal. I spent the day dreaming about the least painful ways I could go—begging Marco to drug me or gas me. I wasn’t above using his guilt about Fernando as leverage.

  But, no. In the end, I knew I wouldn’t do it. Because even in that scary, shadowy place of my mind, a feather of hope floated along, stark white and bright.

  Someone would save me. Someday.

  On the third day I lay on my back and began chanting the silly name song from when I was a kid.

  “Marco, Marco, bo-barco, banana fana fo farco, e-i-o, -arco… Marco!”

  I busted into giggles and did a round with everyone’s name: Josef, Mia, Jin, Perla, and Luis. I ended with yelling, “I fuckin’ love the banana fana song! Everybody sing!” More giggles.

  After a long while of singing childhood songs the door opened. I looked up from my position on my back, expecting to see Luis, but it was Marco’s stern face looking down at me. I knew at once that nobody was there to save me.

  My body and mind moved in harmony without thought. I rolled to my stomach and pushed to my knees, kneeling with my head down, palms flat against my thighs, breathing hard.

  Oh, my God. I was his slave. A prostitute. I wouldn’t allow myself to acknowledge it until that moment when it felt very, very real. There was no more hiding from what my life had become. This man owned me.

  My heart pounded. Was he mad at me for freaking out? For being stubborn and not eating?

  “Bueno chica,” he whispered. He bent enough to lift my chin. In his eyes I saw disappointment and I had to look down again. He tsked.

  “Mírate…” Look at yourself.

  My nails were broken. I was dirty all over. My knuckles were scabbed and scraped, my legs and arms covered in bruises.

  What punishment was I in for? I started shaking from the inside.

  “I’m sorry, Master.”

  “Shh.” He patted my head. “Do you want to leave so badly, Angel? Is it so bad here for you?”

  I bit my lip and kept my head down, not answering. He sounded so…sad. I didn’t get it. Why did he care whether or not I wanted to be here? He knew he was forcing me against my will. Did he think I’d get here and be so smitten by the fanciness that I’d forget about my old life? Was he crazy, or just extremely out of touch with reality?

  Luis came in, blindfolded me, and guided me to my feet. They walked me out, through the house, and back to the slave quarters where I was told to shower. I awaited my punishment with a strange numbness, but it never came.

  Instead I was pampered the next three days. The other slaves were not allowed in the room during these times. I was so confused. Was Marco trying to buy my loyalty and happiness? Did he really think spa treatments and gifts would make me okay with a life of sexual slavery?

  Women who spoke broken English were sent into the slave quarters to do my nails and hair—making me bright platinum. I’d never been quite so blonde, and it was a stunning difference. I admitted to myself with reluctance that I liked the new color and layered style.

  Boxes of clothing in my size showed up. Expensive bras and sexy dresses. Skimpy bathing suits. Satin camisole sets and a white, silk robe.

  I was given a laser hair removal treatment and told I’d have to have several treatments for the hair to stop growing. Never having to shave or wax again? That was kind of cool, but I couldn’t help wondering when the bomb was going to drop. Why was Marco spoiling me? I tried to enjoy the kindness and not constantly worry, but it was hard. Marco was the kind of man whose every action had an ulterior motive.

  He came in that afternoon and I dropped to my knees.

  “Siéntate, Angel. Sit.”

  I sat at the table and he sat across from me. I tightened the robe around myself.

  He looked me over admiringly, then pulled out a newspaper article and set it on the table.

  I held my breath as I read the title: Missing American Girl Thought To Be Dead.

  Dead? No!

  My heart went wild as I scanned the article, which must’ve been cut from an American paper. It talked about how Fernando and I had left the club together and neither of us was seen again. Friends of Fernando saw us heading toward the boat docks, and Fernando’s boat was found sunk the next day—structural integrity of the boat and its engine were being investigated. No signs of our bodies were found. Probably eaten by sharks, a local said. Señor Marco Ruiz, a respected business owner, was reported to be mourning his only son, and spending his own funds for a private investigation of the two young people. My stomach
twisted.

  Don’t cry, Angela. Don’t you dare cry.

  Marco was celebrating his win—beautifying his latest acquisition. And by showing me this article he was making it clear I was his. Message received. Time to stop hoping. Stop fighting. To the world, I was dead.

  I swallowed hard, and with a shaking hand pushed the article back toward him.

  My parents…did they believe this? Did they have nightmares about me drowning or being eaten by a shark? Were there any other leads or was this it? Was nobody looking for me anymore?

  No. No. I tried to reach for my feather of hope, but it drifted deeper and farther into that cloudy mess of my mind.

  I knew Marco was waiting for a response, but all I could do was stare at the table and nod, biting the inside of my lip to keep from showing emotion. He reached over and patted my hand, leaving his on top of mine.

  “What can I get you, Angel, hm? Te gusta…ah, you like books?”

  I nodded. He patted my hand again and left me.

  The following day a box of American books arrived. Bestselling fiction and romances. Even a few books of how to learn other languages, which he probably thought was useful since he has so many international patrons. The sight of the books actually cheered me a little. I could lose myself in them, however briefly. When the other slaves came in that evening and Jin took a look at my box and my makeover with astonishment, I knew I’d been given a gift and a luxury. I felt kind of guilty.

  Perla and Josef nosed through my new stuff and of course I let them, telling them they could borrow anything they wanted. I didn’t really consider anything at the villa “mine.” Perla was excited to see the new shoes. Even Mia walked over and checked me out. She felt my hair and said brusquely, “I like.” Then went to remove her makeup.

  I tried to smile at Jin, but she looked away. I hated the animosity there, so I made a vow to myself that I’d try to get to the bottom of it and not let it get any worse. The way I saw, it the five of us needed to have each other’s backs, and not for purposes of knifing. These four people were all I had now.

  I lay down and closed my eyes, thinking of my sorority sisters. My dorm room. My mom and dad and their constant love. My life that seemed like a distant dream now. Had it ever been real? Thinking of them hurt too much. Imagining the pain they were feeling…it wrecked me that I was putting them through that. But it was probably better that they thought I was dead as opposed to what my life had actually become.

  I curled tighter and thought about crying. I could hide my face. Nobody would know. It could help relief my stress if I allowed myself to mourn.

  But when I tried to cry, Marco’s face filled my mind, and the tears wouldn’t come. Even my tear ducts were afraid of Marco. I was his now. Really and truly.

  Mia couldn’t have been more of my opposite, but we took to one another right away. I loved listening to her talk. She spoke Spanish with a European accent, an exotic sound. She sat me down one morning at our small table and said, “I teach you Español.” It wasn’t a question, or even an offer, it was a command. And being the submissive I was, I complied.

  I felt guilty that she was going to waste her time teaching me something I already knew. Mia was nice and I didn’t want to lie to her, but the cameras were always watching and listening. I expected her to start with the basics—the items around us like “table” and “chair,” but she didn’t.

  “Culo is ass.” She stared at me, matter-of-fact, as if she wanted me to repeat after her.

  “Oh. Um, okay. Culo.”

  She nodded, then proceeded to teach me every dirty Spanish word and phrase in the book. She taught me a ton of words I didn’t know, all the things patrons might say to me, or I could say to them. It was very helpful.

  “You are fast learner, yes?”

  I blushed. “Yeah...thank you. I mean, gracias.”

  “Ah, bueno mi putita hermosa.” She called me her beautiful little whore, but she said it so nicely. Words ceased to offend me the way they did when I first met Fernando. Actions were all that mattered now.

  Time was a funny thing. Small changes over a long course of time could go easily unnoticed, until one day you look up and realize you’re not the same person anymore. At all. And all those small changes added up to something big.

  After six months in the villa I had changed. Others might call it “giving in” or “caving,” but I called it adaptation. Survival. In my early weeks I mourned every small change I noticed in myself. It started with my body. For months I’d been hungry all the time. I longed for food almost obsessively.

  Without pizza and fast food, eating only fruits, vegetables, and whatever small morsels fed to me at the table, I lost weight quickly. My stomach, thighs, and arms tightened. My hair grew. I looked different. Felt different. In my old life I would have loved to have this body, but the physical transformation was not my doing. It was Marco’s, for his purposes, and so it was hard to love it.

  And then there were the bigger changes—the mental changes. Like how comfortable I began to feel in my own skin, walking or crawling around naked. But it was worse than just feeling comfortable…I began to feel sexy, and I craved eyes on me. Marco was right when he said some patrons would treat me like a goddess. I still hated having sex with the strange men, and I hadn’t had an orgasm since that first time, but I was aware of my body in a way I’d never been before. Every breeze that blew in from the veranda was a caress across my skin.

  My clit was overly sensitive. I found myself in an almost constant state of arousal, until it was time to have sex, and then my body felt cold and stiff all over. I’d gotten good at faking enjoyment. The other slaves often gave me pointers about what certain patrons liked, so I played it up. Even Jin was helpful. She’d warmed to me slightly after realizing Josef and I weren’t after one another. I still hated my life there, but I kept going.

  I had no freedom. I hadn’t left the inside of the villa since I’d been there. I wasn’t allowed near the windows, and I was the only slave not permitted at the outdoor pool. I took this to mean people were still searching for me. Anyone traveling by on a boat could zoom in with their cameras on certain parts of the villa. That aspect gnawed at me daily as I longed for the outdoors.

  But as far as slavery went, I knew I had it good. Besides the obvious creature comforts, Marco seemed to treat my differently. Like his favorite puppy. Maybe he felt guilty still for Fernando’s actions against me, leading to my acquisition. Whatever the reason, he generally only allowed his more docile patrons to have me. That’s not to say they weren’t freaks. I’d seen, done, and had done to me more strange things than I’d ever thought possible—there was no end to the fetishes—but I knew there were worst patrons, the sadists, who were handled by the others. And while anal sex seemed to be a hot commodity at the villa, Marco never allowed it for me. I’d been fingered there, but never fucked. Perhaps he knew how scared I was, or that all things regarding asses was sort of a taboo phobia of mine.

  Or maybe he was saving my anal virginity for a special reason. That thought made me shiver as I knelt by the wall after lunch one fall afternoon.

  There was discussion of a festival in one of the big cities, and Marco needing to tend to some business there with one of his nightclubs. He mentioned taking Perla away with him for the night. I got excited about the prospect of a night off, only to have Marco snap his fingers and say, “Angel, aquí.”

  Yes, he snapped his fingers at me like a dog all the time. I’d long since stopped being offended.

  I crawled to his side. He tipped my chin up to look at him.

  “Señor Acosta will oversee the villa tonight. You and Josef will care for him well, sí?”

  Me…and Josef? As in together? At the same time? My mouth went dry, and I swallowed.

  “Sí, Master.”

  Marco nodded toward Mr. Acosta, my signal to look at the man. He looked a few years younger and trimmer than Marco, his mustache flecked with more brown than gray. He gave me a lazy side gr
in, his eyes traveling down my naked body, and I smiled back politely before dropping my eyes.

  “Bueno.” Marco waved his hand sideways, my dismissal, and I crawled to the doorway where I met Luis. I was allowed to stand once we were out of the men’s sight, and walk to the slave quarters.

  I’d come to think of Luis as my personal escort. He took me to and from everywhere I went in the villa. And maybe it was wrong of me, but I sometimes taunted him. An “accidental” brush of my ass against his hand, or my fingers against his crotch. I never met his eye and he never said anything, but he’d sometimes growl and have to adjust himself. It was fun to fluster him when he had work to do and couldn’t take care of his arousal. I considered it payback for when he raped me that first day on the boat.

  When I got back to the quarters Jin was the only one gone. Perla was packing a bag, Josef was eating an apple, and Mia was reading one of my romance novels, her spike heels on the seat cushion across from her.

  “Um, Josef?” I said.

  He raised his eyebrows at me, his long hair fanning across his cheeks.

  “You and I are supposed to entertain Mr. Acosta tonight?”

  I let the question trail off.

  He took a loud, crisp bite and waggled his eyebrows.

  Oh, God. My stomach wobbled. Were we having a threesome? I’d never done that. And though I’d seen Josef with Jin, Perla, other slaves, and patrons, doing their business publicly, I’d never actually done anything with Josef myself.

  My next question came out almost a whisper. “What do I have to do?”

  It was a common question from me, and nobody was shy about answering. But at that moment Josef seemed keen on screwing with me. He crossed his arms and chewed thoughtfully before answering.