Page 44 of Stripped

Chapter 22

Someone was petting her. Their strokes, soft and gentle, reminded her of when she was a little girl and her mom would run her fingers through her hair. Though, this was wrong, something bad sat just out of reach, something dark. She tried opening her eyes, but she couldn't. In fact, she couldn't move at all. She didn't want to panic, so she focused on the touch of the small hand that continued to rub her until she fell back into the light. She was safe in the light.

A pounding in her chest woke her up. Something was amiss; she was not where she should be, not in the cottage. Wraith would be mad. She felt hung over and her head hurt like it was going to crack in half. She didn't want to open her eyes, but somewhere in the fog and miasma of her mind, she knew she needed to. The blue and white ticking on the mattress was the first thing she saw. The smell of stale urine and sweat, pungent and musty, wafted through the air. She was going to be sick. She pulled herself to the edge of the mattress and threw up, her throat burning from the taste of bile. The small hand returned, wiping her mouth with an old cloth. She rolled on her back and stared into deep brown eyes.

"Zdravstvuyte," a young girl said.

Pim shook her head, not understanding.

"H-h-hello," the girl tried again, a dimple appearing on her cheek when she spoke. Her face was made up with cheap makeup—blue eyeshadow, bright pink blush and red lipstick, reminding Pim of a plastic doll.

"Where am I?" She looked around. Two other girls sat huddled in the corner of the room, staring at her.

The young girl shook her head. Her blonde hair was in two pigtails; she couldn't be older than twelve.

"How long have I been here?"

"You come today." Her English was broken. "You okay?"

She pushed herself up on an elbow, her head screaming in protest. "I don't know." A wet spot stained the crotch of her sweatpants, the feeling dank between her legs. Dear God, she must have wet herself at some point.

The door slammed open, startling all of them. A large man entered, his muscles straining against his tight shirt. "Vstavay," he yelled to one of the girls in the corner.

She started to cry. "Net, pozhaluysta, net."

The man went over and grabbed her by the hair, pulling her up. She was wearing a red negligee. One of the straps was torn and it hung off her thin, pointed shoulder. Tears streamed down her face. "Net, net."

"Molchi." He slapped her across her face and dragged her out of the room.

"Sasha—" the other girl called out. The young girl ran to her, putting her arms around her in an embrace. "Shh," she said. "Shh."

"What's happening?" Pim asked, sitting up all the way. "Where are they taking her?"

"To other room," the young girl answered. A single lightbulb hung on a chain from the ceiling. Pim stared at it, willing herself not to be sick again, saliva pooling in her mouth.

"What other room? What's in the other room?"

"Men."

They could hear screaming coming from down the hall, then silence, followed by the squeaking of a mattress as it moved up and down. Her insides clenched, and nausea filled her empty stomach, rising like a tidal wave. She threw up.

The young girl continued to console her friend, rocking her gently in her arms. "Shh," she whispered.

"What's your name?" Pim asked, regaining her composure.

"Annika. This is Ivanna, and Sasha is sister."

"How long have you been here?"

She held up her hand, counting her fingers silently. "Five days. There eight of us, but the others not come back."

Something akin to hysteria filled her and she stifled the scream that threatened, willing herself to calm down. She needed to think if she were going to survive. This must have been what happened to Natasha. It was some kind of sick sex trafficking ring. She stood up on shaky legs, her body still reeling from whatever she was drugged with, and made her way over to the one window. A dirty sheet hung over it. She pulled it to the side and looked out on a narrow close and another gray tenement, giving her no clue to her location. The sun was hidden behind the buildings of the concrete slum, and it would be night soon.

The door opened again, and the same man entered. His square, shaved head looked in as he threw a plastic grocery bag on the ground. "Odevat'sya," he said, before shutting the door.

Annaika stood and picked up the bag, and pulling out a black satin slip, she handed it to Pim. "Change."

"I'm not putting that on," she said, backing up and sitting down on the mattress.

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