Trigger warnings. This chapter includes a flashback of a childhood trauma. Please read at your own risk.
April 4, 1985 - Alyssa
The young girl felt the strong grip of massive hands around her arm, which startled her awake. Even though she knew what was happening, the pain was excessive. Living in the dark with barely a stream from the daylight, it always felt like nighttime.
Because they didn’t allow speaking, most of the girls in the room did nothing but sleep. If they weren’t sleeping, they just sat on their mattresses waiting.
The young blonde, who stood out from all the others, slept most of the time when not in the company of a guest. It was a common occurrence for Rio to pull her out of a deep sleep—like at that instance. The strong hands tossed her onto the floor of the shower, where cold water pelted her body. They threw a bar of soap at her, which hit her in the leg. “Wash, you little slut.”
Not one to disobey an order, the young girl washed up quickly, making sure she scrubbed her private parts well.
Washing meant that she would visit Señor Rivera or one of his guests, whom they called friends. Once clean, the young girl dried off and dressed in a pristine white dress with laced sleeves. A woman named Maria blow-dried her hair, combed it, and then put in pigtails.
“You look just like one of my dolls I had when I was a little girl,” Maria said as she finished.
Another man took her down a gloomy series of tunnels beneath the building until she reached a very familiar door.
Señor Rivera’s door.
When it opened, the delivery man pushed her over the threshold into the room. Bright yellow tones filled the room. Windows were just high enough that she could not see the ground out of them, only the sky and the white fluffy clouds. Art graced the walls over the antique Cuban furniture.
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