Page 12 of The Tourist

“La niña, ¿estará bien? Quería ayudar, pero no pude. El me asusto,” she cries.

I am fluent in Spanish and understand she’s asking about Chloe and telling me she wanted to help her, but she was too scared. The woman pulls up the T-shirt she’s wearing, and turning her back to me, bile forms in my throat as I see marks, old and new, of a whip. It seems she’s also been the victim of the drug lord’s cruelty.

“Esta bien. Le conseguiremos ayuda. Nosotros también te ayudaremos. Ve con mi amigo. Él te cuidará.” I reassure her, explaining we will get help for both her and Chloe while motioning for her to go with Eaton.

The medics inform me they are taking Chloe to hospital, and I tell them I’ll follow behind.

As dawn appears on the horizon, exhaustion starts to hit me, and my thoughts turn to Serena. I’m back at step one with no idea where she’s being held, and having seen how frail and damaged Chloe is, I can’t bear to think what state my sister will be in when I eventually find her.

CHAPTER7

Chloe

I’m lying on a mattress, but it’s not the threadbare one in my prison cell. The springs aren’t poking into my body like accusing fingers, with each sharp jab reminding of my grim reality.

As my eyes flicker open, I notice the clinically clean walls and the sound of machines beeping around me. I’m caught between consciousness and the murky depths of oblivion where the horrors of my recent past haunt me with vivid, unrelenting flashes.

Am I still a prisoner?

I recall the feel of Diego's strong arms around me. It’s a memory that, for a brief moment, replaces the pain.

But then I feel the cold grip of metal handcuffs securing me to the bed, and I’m catapulted back to the early days of my captivity—locked in a cell with the stench of decay surrounding me.

The memory is so vivid and acutely painful that it wrenches a whimper from my throat. I’m locked in a nightmare with no hope of escape as the memories continue to haunt me.

"Stay still, and it'll be over soon," a gruff voice commands, heavy with malice.

My heart races, pounding loudly against my ribs. In my mind's eye, I see Serena’s face, bruised and swollen, and her eyes wide with fear yet blazing with an unquenchable fire.

Everything has become so confused in my head. Now it’s my own bruised face I’m seeing, as if in a mirror, but the determination in Serena’s eyes remains as she tells me to live.

Reality and nightmare blur, and the room spins as the heroin leaves my body and withdrawal pulls at my senses. My master controlled me with a simple injection, and now my body is fighting back.

Images crash over me in waves— the sharp sting of a slap to the face, the harsh grip on my hair, pulling my head back, and the feel of the cold hard floor against my cheek as I struggle for breath.

I vividly recall the metallic taste of blood in my mouth as I bite down on my lip to stifle my screams.

I remember the feel and taste of their cum, sticky and warm, as it covers and enter my body.

In this space between reality and the horror-filled nightmares crowding my drug-addled mind, I hear Serena’s voice, a ghostly echo in my delirium.

"We have to get out of here, Chloe," she pleads. "We can't let them break us."

The dialogue shifts. My own voice pierces the darkness. It’s a faint whisper in my fractured mind.

"I'm so sorry, Serena. I should have done more,” I apologize.

Guilt is my constant companion, along with the constant fear of not knowing whether she is alive or dead.

I don’t know how long this dreamworld persists. It feels like a lifetime, but eventually, the drugs’ influence wanes, and my surroundings come into sharper focus. I’m no longer in a sterile hospital room. No, this is someone’s bedroom with pictures on the walls. There’s a closet and a dresser with brushes and hair ties. I can see blankets in a heap on the floor that have been kicked from the bed I’m lying in.

I try to concentrate, needing to understand where I am, but the physical pain of withdrawal still claws at me and scatters my thoughts.

Then I remember.

Diego came for me. He saved me.

A shudder racks through me as a sob escapes my lips, and I curl into a tight ball, seeking solace in the cocoon of my emaciated body. But whatever I do, there’s no respite from the memories. I don’t think there ever will be.

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