Page 6 of Sheltering Hollis

“You could have asked. Young people are so rude these days. So entitled,” she sniffed.

“Sorry,” I murmured as I passed her, keeping my eyes down. I wasn’t sorry and wished I dared to tell her so, but that wasn’t my style.

I grabbed a jar of marinara sauce and tossed it into my cart, rechecking the brand to ensure it matched my coupon. Next up was pasta and garlic bread, quick and easy for a weeknight dinner. With a determined sigh, I navigated the labyrinth of shoppers and made my way to the pasta aisle. There, I encountered a young couple arguing about pasta brands. What a luxury to be able to choose brands, I thought to myself. My shopping choices were dictated solely by my prices and coupons. The thought of filling a cart was a lofty dream to me. Sometimes, I’d see people pushing carts stuffed to the brim with snacks and expensive brands, things I’d never buy in a million paychecks, and be so jealous. I’d have to remind myself sternly that I had other blessings.

“Excuse me,” I said softly, easing my cart past them. They barely noticed, too engrossed in their debate. My phone buzzed in my pocket as I reached for a box of spaghetti. It was a text from Olive’s after-school program reminding me of the parent-teacher conference. I quickly replied with a thumbs-up emoji and shoved the phone back into my pocket.

Finally, I headed towards the bakery section with my items checked off. The smell of fresh bread was a welcome distraction from the chaos. I grabbed a loaf of garlic bread and started for the checkout lanes, which were unsurprisingly all crowded. I picked the shortest line, behind a man with a full cart and a toddler in the middle of a meltdown.

As I waited, I thought about Olive. Nine years old and already so independent, she always had her nose in a book or was busy with her art projects. She’d been asking for spaghetti and garlic bread all week, her favorite meal. I couldn’t wait to see her face light up when I entered the door.

The toddler in front of me continued to scream, the father frantically trying to soothe him with a lollipop. I glanced at my watch, growing more impatient.

“Next, please!” the cashier called. Finally, it was my turn. I quickly unloaded my items onto the conveyor belt, swiping my loyalty card and rummaging for my coupons. The cashier, a young woman with tired eyes and a warm smile, scanned my items efficiently.

I handed over the cash and gathered my bags, grateful to be almost done. As I exited the store, the sky was already dark. I hurried to my car with my bag of groceries, scanning the lot casually, my mind on dinner and my little girl who’d gotten home hours ahead of me. There were times that I worried that she’d have been better off with someone else if I’d bowed to my mother’s wishes and given her up for adoption, but I couldn’t believe that it would have been the right choice. I loved her so much. That had to be enough.

As I bent to load the groceries into the car, I never knew who plunged the syringe into my neck. I never saw them coming.

The bag was yanked off my head, and its static left my long hair crackling with electricity. I blinked against the harsh light flooding the room, struggling to get my bearings. Groggy from whatever drug they had used on me, my head lolled on my neck, heavy and unsteady. It felt like my mind was wrapped in cotton, leaving me disoriented and confused.

“Get on the table,” the man yanked me forward.

“What?” I asked, confused. The man had me by an arm as he pushed me forward.

Glancing around the small room, I saw it was set up like a clinic, with an exam table front and center. The stirrups came into focus as I struggled against his hold, my feet scrabbling against the tile.

“No, no, no… Please. No!” I screamed. I threw myself into action, thrashing against his hold as my mind spun round and round, trying to consider the possibilities of what was happening but only coming up with terrifying outcomes. What would happen to Olive? She was going to be so scared.

“Shut the fuck up. Get on the table, or I’ll just kill you now,” he said. His voice was bored, his eyes dull as if he had seen a thousand scared girls kidnapped.

Immediately, I stopped struggling. Maybe that threat would have thrown someone else into action and wouldn’t deter another person, but I had Olive to think about. There was nothing I wouldn’t do for her, and I needed to find a way back to her. Looking at the man’s face, I could tell he wasn’t joking. He had a gun jammed into his belt, and he didn’t seem overly concerned about me. Scrambling up onto the table, I ceased fighting.

My head turned as the door opened, and for a moment, I thought about making a run for it, but there was no way I’d make it. Maybe someone would help me. Whoever this was? The person who entered wore a doctor’s coat, but I doubted he was one. He looked far from interested in the sight of a tear-stained woman restrained on the examining table in front of him. I knew immediately that he wouldn’t raise a finger to help me.

“Let’s make this quick. I have dinner reservations,” he said to the other man. “Take off your underwear and put your feet in the stirrups.” He could have been narrating a Jungle Boat cruise or telling me my next bus stop for all the emotion he had in his voice, although there was too much interest in his beady eyes for what was happening.

The man who brought me in shifted momentarily, his hand going to his belt where his gun was tucked. He was slightly overweight, his belly straining against the buttons of his shirt. Sweat glistened on his face, yet his gaze remained fixed on me. ‘Let’s go. We don’t have all day.’

Gulping, I looked at the door and the men. There would be a chance to escape, I promised myself. I would find it. Closing my eyes, I shimmied out of my panties and pressed my heels into the cold metal stirrups. My knees touched each other still, and I could feel the quiver in them, the fear.

“Open your legs so I can conduct the exam. This will be the only chance you have, or I will have Gregor do it for you,” the doctor’s voice was matter-of-fact, but he smirked. “He’d like that.”

Staring up at the ceiling, I forced myself to let my legs fall open. There was a water stain on the ceiling. The edges faded beige. They feathered away from the center. I felt like that. Like I was breaking away from my body, barely holding the particles of me together.

“You’ll need to have her groomed. The girl looks like she hasn’t had any action for a while.” His voice was thoughtful, and then suddenly, he shoved a finger into me, making me recoil at the violation.

Tears welled in my eyes, and I concentrated intently on the stain on the ceiling. Light brown, dark brown, chestnut, cocoa, nut, beige—how many words for brown could I think of? Anything to divert my thoughts. Cinnamon was brown, coffee, walnuts. I winced.

“Tight though, that’s good,” Gregor grunted next to him in agreement. “She’ll make you a mint. Pretty. Good pick. Not a virgin, though,” the doctor said as I whimpered in pain as he moved his finger with intent.

Mahogany… I sniffed, blinking. My mind blanking. Come on, Hollis. I could feel his finger inside me and wanted to vomit. Toast, amber, bronze. The list went on, and I congratulated myself for my focus.

“That’s too bad,” Gregor said. “But, not necessary. They’ll still pay a lot for this one.”

“True enough.” The doctor removed his finger. “She’ll need to pee in a cup for me.”

He rolled away and handed Gregor the specimen cup. I went to close my legs, the shame and the burning overwhelming, but Gregor put a hand on my knee. “You belong to me now. You do as I say. When I say.”

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