Page 98 of Salvatore

We weren’t supposed to snoop around the property.

We were told not to leave the house yard or go anywhere near my uncle’s sheds

But we were young girls who’d recently reached teenager status, and that came with a dose of reckless defiance.

I couldn’t have known we’d stumble upon a small warehouse full of drugged girls waiting to be processed and sold as sex slaves. I’d thought my family was normal. Just like any other.

Yet after the discovery, I never saw my best friend again.

Neither did her parents.

I fling back the covers, distracting myself from the memory that must have broken out of the chained box I keep it in as I pad to the door in my robe.

I open it a crack and search for guards. But there’s no one and nothing in sight except for a perfect row of paper gift bags a few inches from my feet—four of them,no,five—all neatly placed in a line like it’s Christmas.

I drag them into my room and sit on the carpeted floor to go through them.

The first bag is clothes, the items neatly folded, their tags removed and placed at the bottom of the bag, the fabric smelling of the same sweet scent that coats my pillows.

Whatever they’re paying Catarina isn’t enough.

I grab a sports bra that’s surprisingly close to my size, cotton panties, a long-sleeve linen blouse, and a pair of denim shorts, and quickly pull them on. It’s ridiculous how good new clothes feel. Howcleanclothes feel.

I open the next bag, finding every toiletry and feminine hygiene product under the sun—moisturizer, soaps, cleanser, tampons, pads—things I haven’t been afforded or even thought about in what seems like a lifetime.

I lunge for the third bag. It’s more clothes—pajamas, T-shirts, skirts, shorts. The forth is the same. But the last bag has a brand-new cell phone in a box with a Post-It on the front with both Salvatore and Catarina’s numbers.

I quickly claw at the shrink wrap covering the package and turn on the phone. I rush through the set-up instructions, the device in my palm making me feel like I’ve gained more freedom than last night’s escape.

Now, I could call for help. I could report Gabriel.

Instead, the first thing I do is text my unholy savior.

Ivy

Hey Sally, this is my new number.

Then I text my personal Santa Claus.

Ivy

Good morning, Catarina. Thank you so much for everything you left at my door. I really appreciate it.

I’m about to go on an app-downloading spree, my fingers frantically typing to get back into my Instagram account so I can find Liv’s profile and send her a DM, when an unconscionably loud beep notification blurts from the phone.

Salvatore

I appreciate how openly you attempt to make me think about fucking you. But to be clear, you don’t need to try so hard.

I fight a grin as another beep sounds.

Salvatore

I hope you slept well. You’re safe.

The happiness fades from my features, the reminder of my safety making me more keenly aware of how I amnotin fact safe, anywhere, let alone here.

“I see you got the phone working.” Catarina steps into the doorway, a serving tray in hand. “Surely now you must be ready to eat.”

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