Page 149 of When the Dark Wins

“My father is the owner of a tech company in Mexico, but, I mean, he’s not a good person.” She sighs, the sound sad, but there’s also frustration clear in her tone. “Is this because of him? What am I doing here? Please, talk to me.” She looks at me as she questions me as if I should feel something for her.

I don’t.

My non-response is met with a gentle gaze. We’re not friends, we never will be, she won’t live long enough to be anything to me, but the way she regards me it’s as if I’ve known her my whole life.

A knock on the door has her shooting to the bed, the squeaky springs under the threadbare mattress echo in the room and I cringe. I don’t know who’s at the door, but all I can hope for is that it’s not my father.

When I pull it open, I find my best friend standing on the other side.

“Hey,” he says, his lopsided grin greeting me, and I exhale, allowing the tension in my shoulders to ease slightly.

“Does he know you’re here?” River shakes his head and glances over my shoulder. I know he can see her and I wonder if he’s jealous that I’m here and not in bed. “Did you want to head out?”

I shake my head no. I should want to go, but the thought of leaving Caia alone here only sets my nerves on edge.

“Hi.” Her voice is sweet behind me as she greets River.

He pushes by me, entering the small space and I grip the handle of the door in fear, hoping my father doesn’t decide to walk down to the girls’ cells to check up on them this morning. I glance at the time on my wristwatch and note that it’s almost five in the morning. He’ll be here soon.

“We can’t stay long.”

River nods in understanding. We both watch Caia for a moment as if she’s the show and we’re paid attendees.

; “Will I see you tomorrow?” Her question jars me. None of the other girls who have been in here have ever asked me that.

“Maybe.” I tug open the door leaving enough space for River to exit and I follow him out. I don’t look at her again when I click the door shut behind me.

“You like her,” he observes.

I shrug, not looking at him as I respond, “She’ll be dead tomorrow.”

Caia

Alone.

I’ve been alone for a long while. I can’t tell if it’s night or day. The space I’m in offers some artificial light, but I can’t see outside. The thick concrete walls have kept me prisoner. My back aches, it stings as I move, and I try my best to recall what happened when I was bound to the metal bed.

“You’re such a pretty little toy,” a gruff voice from behind me speaks. A small trolley is rolled closer, on it is a computer which is currently black. The screen is dead, and I wish I was.

I’m still sick from the images I saw earlier. From the girl being beheaded. There was a sick satisfaction on the man’s face as he did it, as if he found pleasure in doing what he did.

I don’t speak now. I know it’s pointless. A cold device is pressed against me and I feel my body opening, the object slipping inside my core.

“She’s a virgin,” the man says. I can’t tell the difference between the two anymore. There’s no distinct change in tone and I wonder if I’m losing my mind. A small sharp prick against my shoulder shoots something warm and languid through me. My muscles are limp, and I find that I can no longer move my limbs.

“There, there,” a voice coos. Then a large hairy hand reaches for the computer and the screen lights up with images. Scrolling from one to the next of similar scenes to earlier, it plays on a loop and I can’t move my eyes. They’re watering from tears, but I can’t close them.

That’s when a vibrating object is placed at my entrance. Against the spot of my body that sends pleasurable tingles through me.

“You’ll learn to play the game, little one,” the man tells me with confidence. A click sounds behind me, but I can’t move. Frozen. Captive. A prisoner.

When the screen changes, a video appears full screen and the tears I’d been blinking away burn a path down my cheeks and onto the cold metal.

Once more, a man walks on screen. As he undresses, something is pushed inside me, tearing through me so harshly, I cry out, the sound ricocheting off the walls.

The sound is turned up on the computer and I’m met with the old man grunting inside the throat of a girl who looks so familiar. A girl whom I’ve known my whole life. And I recall the moment the man moves to offer us a view of her pretty green eyes the image of my sister.