Ruthless for Ruth

DEBT

The inside of the building was cold.

Not just from the air, but the walls too gray, smooth concrete, like a prison that didn’t bother pretending. No windows. Just flickering ceiling lights, the kind that buzzed every few seconds. The sound crawled into my ears and stayed there, like a mosquito that wouldn't die.

I was pushed down a hallway.

The man in black walked behind me like he had all the time in the world. I didn’t ask questions. I didn’t scream. I didn’t fight anymore. My throat was sore from earlier, and my hands still shook from the fight in the apartment.

Every step I took echoed, sharp against the walls. It felt like the hallway was swallowing me whole.

At the end, there was a door.

He opened it.

“In,” he said.

I stepped inside slowly, afraid of what I’d see. But it wasn’t what I expected. It was just… a room. Small. Bare. A bed. A chair. A sink. No windows. One tiny lightbulb in the ceiling.

“Rest,” he said. “You’ll need it.”

Then he shut the door.

I turned, reached for the knob.

No handle inside.

They’d locked me in.

I stood there for a full minute, hand still hovering in the air. The silence around me was thick. Too thick. I walked to the bed and sat down slowly. The mattress was thin, but better than the floor.

It smelled like bleach.

I stared at the walls. Nothing to look at. No calendar, no posters, not even cracks. Just a room meant to erase you.

I leaned back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. My body ached. My mind felt numb. I didn’t know if this was a gang operation, some trafficking ring, or just some sick payback. I didn’t even know where I was.

But I knew one thing: I wasn’t safe.

And no one was coming for me.

I don’t know when I fell asleep.

But I woke up to a sound a metallic thud, like someone had dropped a chain.

I sat up fast. My heart immediately raced.

The light was still on.

The door was still locked.

But something was different.

There was a tray on the floor near the door. I hadn’t heard anyone slide it in.

On plain rice, a cup of water.

I didn’t eat the rice. Couldn’t trust it. My stomach growled, but fear was stronger than hunger. I sipped the water, just a little.

I lay back down, this time keeping my shoes on.

Sleep came in short waves.

Eyes open. Close. Open again.

Every sound made me sit up. A voice in the hallway. A buzz. A whisper that might’ve been in my head.

I didn’t cry.

I couldn’t.

Hours passed maybe.

There was no clock.

No sense of time.

Just lights that never turned off and silence that made my ears ring.

Eventually, I must’ve drifted off again.

But this time when I woke up

The door was open.

Not wide.

Just slightly cracked.

The tray was gone.

But there was something else in its place.

On the floor, just inside the door, was a box.

White.

No label.

No tape.

Just sitting there like a gift or a threat I didn’t know which.

And from the hallway…

I heard a soft humming sound.

Low.

Female.

Almost like a lullaby.

I didn’t move for a while. Just stared at the box. Something inside me twisted. I didn’t want to know what was inside, but I knew I had to look. I crawled toward it, heart thumping like a drum in my chest.

I opened it slowly.

Inside, folded neatly, was a short black dress.

Tight.

Lowcut.

There was also a pair of heels and a note:

"Your debt isn’t yours, but you will pay it. Get dressed."

I covered my mouth as the words sank in.

And then I remember why I was here.

This was about Dad.

The bets. The money he lost. The men who came. The shouting. The way he couldn’t look me in the eyes that morning.

I swallowed hard, blinking fast.

I got dressed.

The dress felt like punishment. Like shame. It clung to me in ways that made me feel naked even though I was covered. My hands shook as I slipped into the heels.

A few minutes later, the door opened fully.

A woman stood there.

Tall. Sharp cheekbones. Red lips. Her eyes scanned me like I was a product on a shelf.

"Come with me," she said.

I followed.

She didn’t speak again. Just walked, fast, heels clicking like a metronome on the cold floor.

We stopped at another door. She opened it.

Inside were five other girls.

All dressed the same.

All tired. Some are too thin.

They looked at me, not with judgment, but with knowing.

I was one of them now.

The woman turned to us.

"The rules are simple. Do what you're told, and you get food, warmth, and protection. Disobey, and you get the opposite. This is the real world now. Your body is your payment."

One of the girls, a redhead with a fading bruise on her jaw, looked at me. "What's your name?"

I hesitated.

"Ruth."

She smiled at me. "First night’s the hardest. After that, you get used to it. Or you don’t."

I sat on the edge of a mattress, feeling like my skin didn’t fit right.

The room smelled like cheap perfume and lost hope.

I leaned back, eyes burning, chest tight.

I wanted to scream, but my voice was trapped deep in my throat.

So I closed my eyes.

I just wanted to forget. Just for a second.

---

I woke up to voices.

Whispers. Urgent. Nervous.

One of the girls stood at the window the first window I’d seen in this place.

"Come look," she said.

I got up, walked over slowly.

Outside, across a tall chain-link fence, was another building.

Black.

Metal.

And the doors were opening.

Men in suits.

Waiting.

And from behind me, someone whispered:

"Tonight, we start.”