Waiting.
Knowing I have no choice.
I swallow hard against the bile rising in my throat.
For Yara, I would do anything.
"What do you want from me?" The words taste of ash and defeat.
A slow, sinister smile creeps across his face.
"That's better. I knew you'd come around."
He straightens his cuffs, the picture of nonchalance.
"You'll be working for me now. Doing as I say, when I say it. And the first order of business..."
His gaze turns hungry, raking over me in a way that makes my skin crawl.
"You're going to help me acquire some new...merchandise. Pretty little things, just like yourself… just like Yara."
Revulsion and horror twist my gut.
He wants me to lure other women into his web, like a spider feasting on flies. Girls, too.
I shake my head in mute denial.
"Don't shake your head at me. It makes perfect sense. Yara will also be assisting us. Having someone around her age will help us to more effectively lure new meat."
My stomach seizes and I feel bile rising in my throat.
My sweet Yara, being used to help capture other girls, luring them into a life of sex slavery.
"No, you wouldn't—"
Gerald tsks. "Come now, Alina. Did you really think you were that special and I really just wanted you to come here to be my wife?"
His mouth contorts into a cruel sneer.
"You know what's at stake here. Or shall I call immigration to come collect you and your daughter right now? Those cages I've seen on the news look less than comfortable… and the violence and rapes… I wouldn't wish that on my children. Not when they could be staying in a place like this in exchange for a few small favors."
He gestures at our sumptuous surroundings.
A different kind of cage.
Bile rises higher in my throat, acid and unstoppable. I turn just in time, retching onto the polished marble floor.
Gerald makes a noise of disgust. "Clean that up, you messy creature. And then we'll talk about your new job responsibilities."
He leaves me here, crumpled on the floor in a pool of my own sick. Broken. Beaten. With no way out and nowhere left to run.
I stay here for a long time, unable to move. Unable to think past the horror of what's being asked of me.
Finally I drag myself upright, my limbs as heavy as lead.
There are cleaning supplies under the sink in the adjacent bathroom, and I scrub at the floor until no trace of vomit remains.
As if I could erase the memory so easily.