PAYING DEBT
1139 Words
The humming in the hallway faded as the woman in red led us to another corridor, one darker, colder, and narrower than the rest. We walked in silence, our heels echoing sharply against the hard floors. The girls in front of me moved stiffly, like they were trying not to think. I copied them.
My skin itched under the tight dress. Every step reminded me that I didn’t belong in it. That this wasn’t who I was. But my name didn’t matter here. Only what they wanted.
We turned a corner, and that’s when I saw the room.
Large. Bright. Too bright. The white walls and silver floor reflected the light in a way that made everything feel exposed. Cold air blasted from a vent above, making goosebumps rise on my arms.
Men stood along one side of the room. Maybe ten. Maybe more. All in suits. Watches gleamed on their wrists. Some were older, others young. None looked kind.
In the middle of the room, a woman in a black dress stood with a clipboard. She looked up as we entered.
"Line up," she said.
We obeyed.
"Strip."
My heart dropped.
No one moved.
"Now," she barked.
The other girls began to undress. Like it was nothing. Like they'd done it a hundred times. Their hands moved mechanically, dropping dresses, stepping out of heels. Bare skin everywhere. Silent shame.
I stood frozen.
The woman’s eyes landed on me. "You deaf?"
I swallowed hard. My fingers trembled as I reached for the zipper on my dress. Every motion felt like betrayal. To myself. To the girl I used to be. To Ruth who still believed in safety.
I took it off slowly. I felt the cold air hit my back. My legs.
I was naked.
And I hated myself for it.
"Hands by your side. Chin up," the woman ordered. "Don’t waste their time."
The men stepped forward, one by one.
They walked past us. Studied us. Like we were art in a gallery or cattle at a market. Some tilted their heads. Some murmured to each other. One touched a girl’s chin. She flinched. He grinned.
I kept my eyes ahead. Blank. Empty. Gone.
Then one man stopped in front of me.
Tall. Dark hair. A faint scar under one eye. His gaze ran over me slowly. Not rushed. Not eager. Just calm. Cold.
He said nothing. Just pointed at me.
The woman with the clipboard nodded. "Ruth. You’re chosen."
My legs almost gave out.
She handed me my dress. "Put it on. Follow him."
I got dressed with shaking hands. The man didn’t wait. He turned and walked to the far door. I followed, heart thudding so loud it echoed in my ears.
We went down another hallway. This one is softer, Carpeted, and Quiet.
He opened the door and walked in. I hesitated, then followed.
A suite.
Big bed. Dim lights. A bar in the corner. Thick curtains drawn shut. The air smelled like leather and something expensive.
He sat on the edge of the bed and looked at me. "Take it off."
I froze.
"Now."
I didn’t move.
He stood, walked to the bar, and poured a drink. The ice clinked in the glass.
He didn’t shout.
He didn’t threaten.
He just watched me.
"You’re not what I expected," he said, sipping.
I stayed silent.
He walked back to me, slowly. Close.
His fingers brushed my cheek. "You’re afraid. But not broken. Not yet."
I blinked hard. My throat burned.
He tilted my chin up. "What’s your name?"
I hesitated. "Ruth."
His mouth twitched. Not quite a smile.
"Ruth," he repeated.
He stepped back. Took off his jacket. Rolled up his sleeves.
I stood there, frozen.
"I won’t force you," he said. "But don’t think that makes me kind."
I swallowed.
"Get in the bed. Or don’t, Your choice. But make it now."
I stood still.
Seconds passed. My body screamed to obey. My mind begged to disappear.
Finally, I moved.
To the corner.
Sat on the floor.
Curled my arms around my knees.
I couldn’t do it.
He said nothing for a long time.
Then he sat back on the bed, drink in hand.
"You’ll break," he said quietly. "They all do."
I didn’t answer.
But deep down, I wondered if he was right.
Because the girl I used to be, she was already fading.
But something else, something sharp and angry, rose in her place.
He stood, set the glass down, and moved toward me again.
“I said you had a choice,” he murmured. “But this silence… It’s getting on my nerves.”
I didn’t answer.
He reached down, grabbed my arm.
I jerked away. Hard.
“Don’t touch me!”
His eyes narrowed, but he didn't strike. Not yet.
“I’m trying to be patient,” he said through clenched teeth.
I stood, heart pounding, fists clenched. “Then stop trying. I won’t do it. I’d rather die than let you.
His hand shot out, grabbing my wrist. I twisted, adrenaline kicking in. My teeth found his shoulder and bit down, hard.
He growled in pain and shoved me back.
I stumbled, but my hand found the edge of the bar behind me. A bottle.
Before I could think, I grabbed it and smashed it against the side of his head.
Glass shattered. Liquid sprayed. He let out a guttural scream and dropped to one knee, blood trickling down his temple.
I backed away, panting, my own body trembling from the rush of fear and fight.
The door burst open.
Two guards stormed in, weapons drawn. Their eyes landed on him, bleeding, and then on me.
“She attacked him,” one said.
“I didn’t. My voice caught in my throat.
One of them rushed forward, grabbed me by the arm, and yanked me out of the room.
I fought. Kicked. Screamed.
“No! Let go of me!”
“Shut up,” he barked, slapping me across the face. My head snapped to the side, stars dancing in my vision.
They dragged me back down the hallway.
This time, the silence was gone, replaced with angry footsteps and muffled cursing.
We reached the corridor again. The cold one. The one with no name.
The woman with the clipboard was waiting. Her face, stone.
“She touched him?” she asked.
“She bit him. Smashed a bottle on his head,” one guard answered.
The woman didn’t flinch. Just opened the door.
They threw me in.
The door slammed shut behind me.
Dark. Alone.
My breath came in broken gasps. My cheek throbbed. My hands shook.
I pressed my back to the wall and slid down
to the floor.
I didn’t cry.
Not yet.
But my throat felt tight. My chest felt crushed.
But for how long?
- Writer
