Lyra Parish - Weak Without Him

"Raphael. Bring it to me," he said.

Another man handed Dickhead a vile with a clear liquid. He pulled a needle from his pocket, along with a rubber strap.

"Don't you dare," I said between clenched teeth. He grabbed the makeshift gag, and before he placed it in my mouth, I screamed.

Dickhead wrapped the rubber tight around my arm, placed the needle in the vile and pulled the syringe. The liquid filled the inside, then he lifted it toward the light and tapped.

"Be still or you'll be real fucking sorry."

I closed my eyes.

I needed Finn.

I needed Luke's pretty pictures.

I needed every happy moment that I had experienced in the past week to flood me. But most of all, I needed love to hold me, guide me, and to tell me everything would be okay. When I left Texas, I promised that I would tell the people I loved how I felt. One of my biggest regrets was not telling my parents how much I loved them. Now, in a situation like this, I realized that I had done the same fucking thing again. Did Finn know? Did he really know my true feelings? Sure, we fought like cats and dogs, played ridiculous mind games but... my vision swirled.

The needle broke skin. Finnley's smile was all I could think about when the liquid mixed with my blood and tainted my thoughts.

I wanted nothing more than to crawl out of my body, to slip into another place and time, but no such fucking luck. I didn't want to be in my own skin, which seemed to be melting from my body. I itched all over.

Before I lost all inhibitions, I thought I could hear Finn's laugh resonate in the plane, but that was just the demons that visited before everything faded into nothingness.

No one would keep me safe.

I truly was alone, just as we were when we sleep or die.

I woke in an empty room with a single light blaring down on me. As I came to, the pain of a swollen face accompanied by a horrible headache hit me full force. I tried to remember what had happened.

I tried to shield my eyes, but my arms were tied to the wooden chair I sat on.

I looked down and saw that I wore a slutty bra and panties.

What the hell?

Oh, God. That meant someone had… I couldn't think about it.

The ropes around my wrists caused sharp pains to shoot up my arms and through my back. My neck hurt, and my throat burned. I needed water.

I had been out long enough for dehydration to kick in. I tried to fully open my eyes but couldn't focus. My mind wasn't completely clear.

The room shifted, and I closed my eyes to steady the world.

When I opened my eyes, I saw movement in the corner. A person stood, waiting for me to wake. I tried to focus, to make sure it was real and not a figment of my fucked-up imagination. I licked my lips and tried talking, but couldn't.

I assessed what had happened: dinner with the parents. Cab ride. Oh God, kidnapping. Plane ride. Here.

I swallowed and forced out words. "Where…am…I?"

A broad shouldered man stepped from the shadows with an evil grin on his face.

"You should be worried about where you aren't."

He untied me and yanked me up by my arms. They were sore liked I had been jerked around like a ragdoll. There was no doubt in my mind that I had. I stood, unsteady, but still on my feet. He opened the door and led me down a hallway. I stumbled along the way. We passed rooms of caged women stoned out of their minds, wearing scandalous clothing that was worn to the seams. Some were even ripped in places.

They were whores. Real whores. And when some smiled at me, I saw nothing but gums. If screaming were possible, I would have.

The women reached out to grab me as I passed, and I thought I might fall. I was too lightheaded and kept fading in and out of reality.

"Oh, you got a new one, did you?" one woman screeched.

"She's pretty. Make Daddy a lot of money," her friend cackled.

He continued to drag me to the end of the hall, and slammed the door behind him. More women walked around this new hallway, but in big costumes. Some were completely naked with fake tans and tramp stamps. They all smelled of stale perfume, used to cover up the dirty stench.

We walked through a dressing room full of strippers and prostitutes. For all I knew, they were all prostitutes.

A woman cried in the corner, and others with bright pink cheeks and dark eye shadow consoled her. Then they strapped a rubber around her arm and shot her with liquid. Her face went slack and then filled with a smile. The drugs controlled them, and it sickened me.

"Where are we?" I mumbled. But he ignored me and dragged me up a flight of stairs that led to a stage. Smells of decay and mold hit my nose, as warm flashing spotlights beamed down on me. I stood half naked in the little bra and panties, and the room of people turned and stared.

It couldn't get any worst than this, could it?

I didn't want the answer to that question, because it could always get worse. I knew that as a fact.

I stood in a room full of dirty whistling perverts. My legs went slack, and I almost fell, but my bastard guide picked me up in his arms and carried me to the edge of the stage. He spoke to the crowd, and I only caught bits and pieces of his speech. Frustration covered me because I felt like I was slowly losing myself to whatever that asshole had shot into my arm.

Words like: "virgin," "twenty-two," "stage name: Butterfly Wings," "for sale," caught my attention. Then he walked me over to a cage in the middle of the room, pushed me inside, and locked the door to my own personal prison.

I lay on the ground completely numb and stared into the lights, as women stripped on the stage, and men begged for a taste of me. Bastards crowded around and reached their dirty hands inside to touch me. If my name were Butterfly Wings, they had ripped them completely off. For the first time, I felt helpless and broken.

That unforgettable night in Vegas when I pretended to be a whore to lash out against Finnley, I said dirty fucking things to the people in that club. I knew why Finnley was so upset with me now, because the profession could be dangerous. It had an ugly side to it, and I was in the middle of the cesspool. Reminders of that night stung, as the dirty words that I had once said to strangers were being spat back at me. Lady Luck hated me, and Karma was a bitch.

But what did I do to deserve this?

I couldn't think clearly.

I closed my eyes. I had been taken and brought to a sleazy underground prostitution ring somewhere in Europe.

But the accents. They weren't European. Right?

With all the strength I had, I stood. I grabbed onto a bar that hung from the top of the cage and steadied myself.

"Where am I? Where the hell am I?" I screamed. My throat was raw with pure hatred.

"Dance for us, virgin slut. Give us what we want." A man yelled and threw sweaty dollar bills at me. I couldn't hold my body upright any longer and slumped back to the floor. The shock of it all, and the drugs that swept through my body, were too much.

Virgin slut. Virgin. Vir–

Why did they keep calling me that? Wet dollars stuck to my skin as I lay there contemplating, and trying to calm myself and grasp onto some sort of reality.

I grabbed a fist of money and crumpled it in my fist. U.S. currency. As my vision faded in and out, I made up my mind to be the most uncooperative bitch in this place. Jennifer Downs did what she wanted, when she wanted.

I wasn't sure how much time passed or how many songs played. After several women danced, the perverted men became bored with me and left me to lie on the bottom of the cage like a filthy fucking animal. I would cry if I could muster the emotions to do it, but weak people cried. I wasn't weak or strong, but somewhere in the middle: numb and void of all emotions, other than hatred. But what was the opposite of hate? Love? It couldn't be that simple, could it? Stop it, Jennifer.