Page 2 of Beaches

“That doesn’t matter. Men don’t care about that. They touch you anyway. They do whatever they want because we’re just women.”

The men didn’t know what to say to her. They weren’t sure what her story was, but tonight wasn’t the night to try and get it from her. She was frightened, in shock, and didn’t trust them at all. She might not know it, but she was safer on this stupid island with them than with the madman who dropped her off.

Calvin plated up the food, and they ate in silence as the storm raged outside. She only ate five or six bites, setting her plate down and curling into a ball near the fire. Damon took one of the dirty shirts from their clothesline and laid it over her body.

“What do you think he’s trying to do?” whispered Vic.

“Test us. Test her, maybe. I don’t know. She’s just a fucking kid,” he growled.

“I don’t know about you guys, but I haven’t had an erection in at least a decade. What is he thinking?” mumbled Vic.

“No clue. Just be careful around her. We don’t need her wandering off and getting hurt. We’ve lost enough people.”

By morning, the sun was bright and warm. The men combed the beach area for anything that was brought in by the storm. They were happy to find several suitcases with men’s clothing inside. Using the small lagoon of fresh water, they took their weekly bath and changed into whatever was clean and fit them.

Calvin caught three large fish and started to cook them up for dinner, this time using a fire they’d started on the beach. Their newest member was still quiet, not speaking to any of them. Standing at the water’s edge, they worried that she would try to move forward. Instead, she lowered her dress and sat in the water.

The men started to turn away, but Calvin gripped their arms.

“Holy mother of God,” he whispered. “She’s been whipped.”

The deep scars were fresh, no more than a year old, most likely less. They were jagged and crossed over her back in erratic patterns. Damon walked slowly toward her, not wanting to scare her.

“Honey? I won’t touch you or come closer, but are you okay?” he asked. She nodded, barely looking over one scarred shoulder.

“I had to pee and wanted to wash off. Is this okay?”

“It’s fine, honey. Who did that to your back?” he asked.

“Does it matter?” When Damon said nothing, she stood and pulled up the loose-fitting dress once again. It clung to her wet body, and the men said nothing, just seeing the pathetic figure before them. “I don’t know his name. He bought and paid for me for one night. This is all he wanted to do to me.”

“He bought you so that he could whip you?” frowned Calvin. She nodded.

“There were a lot of girls like me. We were all owned by that man who dropped me off. I tried to kill myself, but he wouldn’t let me. After what the customer did, he let me heal, then let his men use me. He said I wasn’t any good any longer.”

“God,” muttered Calvin. “We’re so sorry. Will you please tell us your name?”

“I don’t have one. I’ve never had a name. I was born to a woman just like me. A slave. She didn’t have a name, neither do I.”

“Can we give you a name?” asked Vic.

She shrugged, staring at the three older men. They didn’t look like the ones who had done this to her. So far, they’d been kind and patient, not pressuring her to do anything. She nodded at the sweet gray-haired man. He looked at the others with a grin.

“She looks like a Mary,” smiled Calvin.

“I don’t know,” grinned Vic. “I like April. Like the April rain.”

“April is pretty,” said Damon. “I like that.”

“April it is,” smiled Calvin. “That okay with you?” She nodded, not saying anything.

Tonight felt like a feast with the three large fish and the cans of vegetables the storm had washed ashore. April ate very little, only a few bites from her plate. Then she walked off toward the cave on the hill. Turning, she looked at the men.

“Thank you.”

“She breaks my fucking heart,” said Damon. “Who does that to a young girl? I can’t imagine what she’s been through.”

“He’s fucking evil,” said Vic. “Poor kid…” He turned to look toward the cave entrance, seeing her standing on the ledge. The surf below pounded against the rocks and side of the cliff, the wicked post-storm surge still frothing, angry, pulling debris back out into the ocean. If she fell, or worse, jumped, she would die instantly.

---