In The Devil’s Keeping

Golden Cage

The room reeked of sweat and misery.

My bare feet stuck to the floor as I stepped inside. My legs also ached, but I didn't dare stumble. The man behind me, the one with the crooked nose and the iron grip nudged me forward with the butt of a taser. I didn't flinch. Not anymore.

It was cold. Not the kind of cold that bit your skin, but the kind that sat deep in your bones and made you know you'd never be warm again.

There were other girls.

Some huddled in the corner, some sat on the rusted bunk beds, some stared at the ceiling like they were trying to climb into it with their eyes. None of them looked up when I entered. Like they'd seen too many new faces, and hope had become a luxury no one could afford.

Then door slammed shut behind me.

That sound. Final. Like a sentence.

I didn't know how long I stood there. Eventually, someone moved and it was a thin girl, with coppery skin and faded braids. She looked nineteen, maybe. Maybe older, maybe younger. It was hard to tell from all the dark circles under her eyes.

"You new?" the girl asked, her voice dry and raspy.

I nodded slowly.

She sniffed. "They'll break you. Try not to fight too hard. You'll just make it worse."

Then she turned back to the corner like she hadn't said anything at all.

That first night, I didn't sleep. The mattress was a strip of cloth over springs. My back screamed and my mind was all over the place.

I kept thinking of Andrea, how would she be doing now?

Would she still be looking for me?

Her face kept floating up. Her screams, her worry, I imagined how she would have torn everything down to look for me.

I curled into myself and stared at the peeling paint on the wall.

Time was nonexistent in this place.

There were no windows. No clocks. The lights turned on and off whenever the guards felt like it. Sometimes they'd leave them on for days. Sometimes they'd cut the power and let the dark chew on you.

Our meals came in metal trays. Rice that tasted like sawdust. Meat that looked like it had already been chewed. A cup of murky water if they remembered.

I ate anyway. Hunger was louder than disgust.

On the third day, or maybe the fourth, I talked to someone.

Her name was Marlene. She was twenty-seven. Or had been. Now she didn't count years. Only losses.

"Three years," Marlene whispered, her fingers tracing a line in the dust on the floor. "That's how long I've been here."

I blinked. "Three years?"

Marlene smiled without her eyes. "They rotate us. Move us around. Sometimes upstairs. Sometimes out to clients. Sometimes... they keep you here. Until you stop being pretty enough to sell."

I wanted to vomit. But there was nothing left to bring up.

"Why don't you escape?" I asked, almost laughing at myself.

Marlene gave me a look. "Escape?" she repeated, like it was a foreign word. "You think we haven't tried?"

She turned her back.

A thick scar ran down her spine.

"They make examples of escape attempts."

A week passed...

Then two.

I learned the routine.

Wake up. Strip. Inspection. Sometimes a camera. Sometimes hands.

Then the guards picked girls out. Sent them to rooms upstairs. They came back quieter. Sometimes with bruises. Sometimes with nothing left in their eyes.

I watched. Waited. Memorized faces, voices, habits.

I noticed who the guards spoke to kindly. Who they hurt for fun. Who disappeared and who came back different.

I started folding my blanket like they wanted. Ate without complaining. Learned when to avoid eye contact, when to keep my head high. Survival was an equation, and I was learning how to solve it.

But every night, I dreamt of fire.

Of Andrea's lifeless eyes.

Of Dante's betrayal.

And of the man who bought me like a goddamn trophy, I wondered how he looked like, was he an old man? Or someone young?

One evening, the door opened. Two girls were brought in. New ones.

They were shaking. One was sobbing into her hands.

I didn't move. But my chest cracked open watching it.

Because I saw myself in them. A month ago. Fresh. Screaming. Not yet hollowed out.

I waited until the sobbing one sat on the floor, alone.

Then I knelt beside her.

"What's your name?" I asked softly.

The girl flinched. "S-Sasha."

I nodded. "I'm Estelle."

Sasha looked up, eyes rimmed red. "Are we gonna die here?"

I didn't answer right away.

I thought of Marlene's scar. Of the girl with braids who didn't speak anymore and of the guards with the crooked smiles who liked to hit without warning.

"No," I whispered finally. "We're gonna survive it."

Sasha started crying again, but this time it was softer.

She leaned into me. I let her.

In a place like this, kindness was rebellion.

Later that week, they called me upstairs.

Two guards. No words. Just that grip on my arm and the familiar pull of dread in my stomach.

My knees wobbled, but I walked.

They shoved me into a clean room. White walls. A chair. A mirror.

And a man.

Not Antonio. This one wore glasses. A lab coat. He looked me over like I was livestock.

"Good. She's healthy," he muttered.

He scribbled something on a clipboard.

"She'll be in phase two by the end of the month. Get her acclimated."

"Phase two?" I asked.

The man didn't answer. Just left.

The guards laughed as they dragged me back.

One of them leaned down as we walked. "Better start praying, sweetheart. Phase two means private use."

Back in the room, I sat in silence. The others didn't ask. They knew that look.

That blankness. That stunned disbelief. That final, quiet break.

That night, I stared at the ceiling and made a promise to myself.

If I got out of here, I wouldn't just survive.

I'd burn this identity and come out with a new one.

I'd leave all this behind.

Later that night, I felt a chill down my spine on the way from the bathroom I'd been assigned since I was in phase two now.

It felt like I was being watched, and at that moment with the guards by my side, a figure emerged from the dark.

I didn't need to be told who it was, the way the guards straightened up and the power he emanated was enough.

It was him.