Page 10 of The Female

“Oh, great!” The woman across from me, Leslie, snorts. “I hear he’s a real dick.”

The sarcasm in her voice is thick, and I agree to her sentiment with a jerky nod. Some poor female is about to go home with the ruler of the most feared demon kingdom. I feel bad for her.

“I’m glad I don’t have to worry about that,” she continues. “Demons hate my kind.”

Leslie is quiet about her bloodline, but it’s clear she’s human mixed with some sort of fairy. Her pointed ears and tall stature give her away.

I chuckle, faking humor in a desperate attempt to hide my nerves. I’m sure anybody who looks hard enough will notice my shaking hands or tapping feet, both clear signs of the anxiety that flows through every pore of my body.

The ringing of the announcement bell quiets us, the entire room stilling until a pin drop can be heard.

One of the men—Anthony, I believe his name is—clears his throat and steps to the front of the room. He looks human, short with dark hair and blue eyes, and he fidgets as he looks over our frightened faces. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he almost appears a bit sad, but I refuse to acknowledge that.

“The auction begins in under an hour, and it’s time for you to shower and ready yourselves,” he announces. “Remain unclothed when you finish.”

Nobody moves, everybody probably struggling to wrap their minds around the fact that this is really happening. That’s how I feel, at least. Why does he want us to remain unclothed? The auction horror stories I’ve overheard these past few weeks flash through my mind, and I set my sandwich down with a shaky breath.

“Now!” Anthony’s voice rises to a shout.

A part of me wishes we‘d rebel, seizing the last opportunity we have to fight for our freedom. I wish, but I know there’s no point. There is no real freedom left for us to have.

I watch as a few females stand and leave. Their actions spur a few more to follow, and before I know it, we’re all silently complying with the orders. The guards may keep them hidden, but they carry weapons. We wouldn’t get far even if we tried to fight back.

I join the crowd of women heading to the showers. It took me a long time to get used to them, but now it hardly fazes me. I don’t love the guards who stand inside and stare, but at the end of the day, there isn’t any point in getting upset about something I can’t control.

When I step inside the large room, I strip and search the rows of shower heads until I find one that’s unoccupied. Small barrier walls separate each shower area, but they go no higher than my waist and offer no privacy. They only serve as a ledge to set our soap bars on.

My body feels weak as I mindlessly scrub yesterday’s grime off myself. The always-on mentality has run me thin, and I can see its effects in my lack of appetite and shrinking fat deposits. I’m practically a skeleton.

I doubt I’ll ever experience the happiness I felt at home with my parents.

The only upside I can find is that there’ll be no more what-ifs. No more worrying about what will happen to me if and when I’m caught. I’ll finally have my answers.

The women on either side of me hide their tears in the shower water, sticking their faces under the spray and letting their mouths open in silent wails. I feel their pain. It penetrates every inch of my body until I fear I’m nothing more than it.

My father would have cursed me for even thinking it, but I’ve decided I’ll end my life if the man or men who buy me are cruel. It’s not a decision I’ve made lightly, but I refuse to spend the rest of my life in pain.

I will not be owned, and if that means dying to preserve my dignity, so be it.

The guards order us to hurry, their eyes raking across our forms as they take one final look at our bodies. I resist the urge to cover myself as I leave my stall and am ushered into the hallway with the other women.

I stare at the ground and follow the feet in front of me, more than a little humiliated as I’m paraded naked in front of all the guards. They lead us to a large waiting room just outside the auditorium where I assume the auction is to take place.

A part of me breaks as I cross the threshold of the room. My body moves forward, but a chunk of my soul remains behind. Everybody finds a bench to sit on or a wall to lean against, and I follow suit and head to a small seat left open between two pointed eared, black haired women I haven’t had the opportunity to speak with during my time here.

They offer closed-lip smiles as I approach, and I respond with one of my own. Now’s not the time for pleasantries and chatter.

Besides the occasional sniffle, the room is silent, the atmosphere so thick, it feels suffocating. We wait patiently as women continue to pour in, each one still wet from their showers. They cover their bodies in a sad attempt for modesty, tiny goosebumps pebbling up along their skin as it’s exposed to the cold air.

Anthony enters only once we’ve all settled, his attention cast downward at the clipboard in his arms. I want to break that fucking clipboard.

“Andrea Laurent, you’re up first. Come with me,” he says.

I turn toward Andrea, watching her face pale. She and I have become close, well, as close as you can become when stuck in a place like this. She’s a full human like me, and with her large chest and giant brown eyes, I have a feeling she’ll be sold at a high price.

She remains frozen as all of us turn toward her and wait to see what she does. I can’t imagine how horrifying it must be to go first, to be the first piece of meat offered to the vultures who sit waiting.

Eventually, she manages to stand on shaky legs, the muscles quivering beneath her weight as she approaches Anthony. He seems to take pity as he curls a hand around her elbow and leads her from the room.

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