Chapter 3: Life in Captivity

There were twelve girls sold along with me, all from our town or nearby, all about my age. Even though the traffickers had bought us, at least we got to eat every day. The families that could bring themselves to sell their daughters never had it easy.

You could see it in the way we moved—shoulders hunched, eyes darting. Most of us hadn’t had enough to eat in months. We’d lie awake, whispering stories about our families, trying to remember better times.

We talked every day, still able to laugh and joke. I mostly listened, not sure where we’d end up next.

Sometimes, when the nights dragged on, one girl would tell a joke so bad we’d all end up giggling under our blankets, desperate for any bit of normalcy.

The road was rough and the trip long—over a month passed before we reached the city, and by then, spring had come.

The truck rattled over potholes, the radio playing static and old country songs. When we finally got a glimpse of the city skyline, the trees were starting to bud and the air smelled like wet earth and gasoline.

The traffickers locked us in a cramped apartment. On the first day, they took away the five prettiest girls. After a few more days, the rest were picked off.

The apartment had a busted TV that only got three channels, all static, and the wallpaper peeled in yellowed strips. We huddled on thin mattresses, counting heads every morning, never knowing whose turn it would be next. The air always smelled like old soup and fear.