Page 51 of Mex

“No,” I cry out, as Marek shoves me forward and one of the men takes hold of me. “Marek, I’m not lying. I swear I’m not.”

As if he doesn’t hear me, the door to the RV closes and the two men drag me out of the tent and toward another tent. It’s smaller, but I know the things that happen inside that tent are far worse than anything you could imagine in the main one. I squirm and fight, but it’s no use. These men will take me out without so much as a thought, and I know it.

The moment we step inside, the scent of blood and urine assaults my nose. I clench my eyes shut, not wanting to see the cages, not wanting to witness the torture of the poor girls they keep in here like dogs. As I’m thrown into a cage and the door slams, I let my body fall onto the lightly covered floor. They leave no trace of them behind when they move from town to town. The floors are entirely covered so that not a single drop of blood is left behind.

That doesn’t mean that they’re not unleashing hell behind these walls.

Slowly, I open my eyes, staring around in the bitter darkness. I can’t see anything, but I know I’m not alone here. Nobody dares make a sound, in fear of their lives, and I know better than to try and speak, either. Clenching my fists, I curse myself for coming here. I am failing with every step I take right now, and I’ve just gotten myself tangled into a mess that I’m struggling to get out of.

What was I thinking?

I curl into a ball on my side, clenching my eyes shut, trying desperately to think of a way out of this.

I know there is only one option, but if I say it out loud, this world is going to explode in my face.

I can’t do it.

I can’t.

If I tell the truth, everything will change.

If I break, it’s over for me.

Marek won’t let me go until he knows the truth.

Until he forces me to unleash my secret.

Until I am forced to tell him that ...I killed my mother.

11

The cattle prod hitsmy side, and I scream with wild agony as my back slams against the back of the cage. My head is pounding and I’m not certain the stitches will hold if I keep thrashing around the way I am, but if I don’t keep moving, the pain only comes harder and stronger. Like a wild animal, I’m caged and being tortured. Indeed, a circus is exactly what this place is.

Only instead of animals, Marek uses humans.

I don’t want to speak; I’m trying everything I can to keep it in. I can handle pain, I can. If I keep saying that I don’t know, over and over again, maybe eventually he’ll believe me. I know, deep down, that he won’t stop. He doesn’t believe me because he knows I’m lying. He always knows when I’m lying. At what point did I ever think I was going to get away with this?

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