NOT MY CHOICE, I did it for my siblings

Back from the Dead

Six days had passed since anyone had last seen Anna. Her sudden disappearance from student accommodation left an eerie silence in the air. Refilwe had reported her missing to the police as soon as it became clear that Anna hadn't simply gone away for the weekend. She had tried to explain, tried to make them see how unlike Anna it was to just vanish without a word. But the officers didn’t seem to take her seriously.

"She’s probably out drinking again," one officer said with a shrug.

The university management hadn’t helped much either. Instead, they handed over a report stating that Anna had lost her bursary due to poor attendance and repeated warnings. They painted her as someone unreliable, a girl who’d thrown away her future for parties and cheap thrills. Witnesses claimed to have seen her leave with a man in a sleek, dark car. No signs of struggle. “Willingly,” they said. That one word ruled out the possibility of abduction. The case was quickly closed. Another “waste of resources.”

Refilwe didn’t buy it. She couldn’t. She knew Anna better than anyone else on campus. Yes, her friend had her flaws—she could be selfish, wild even—but she would never leave without telling someone. Not when her baby sister depended on her. Refilwe kept looking, even when no one else cared to. But exams were fast approaching, and the pressure to perform weighed heavily on her shoulders. With a heavy heart, she started preparing herself to accept the worst.

One afternoon, Refilwe found herself sitting on Anna’s bed, staring at the neat pile of unfolded laundry in the corner. A thought occurred to her. She rummaged through the clothes, searching pockets, and checking under the bed. That’s when she found Anna’s phone buried in the laundry basket. It had probably been left in the pocket of her pyjama pants.

She charged it, and once powered on, the lock screen popped up. She typed in “Asanda”—Anna's beloved little sister. The screen unlocked instantly.

A stream of desperate text messages flooded the screen. All from Asanda.

Asanda (3 days ago):

Sis, please answer. I don’t know what to feed the kids anymore.

Asanda (Yesterday):

Lungy is sick, I tried to take her to the clinic but gogo’s phone is off. I’m scared.

The texts cut through Refilwe like a blade. She wiped a tear from her cheek and whispered, “Anna, where the hell are you?”

---

Anna, meanwhile, was living a nightmare that she couldn’t wake up from.

She had spent two weeks trapped in a world so dark it stripped her of her dignity and identity. It started slowly—with free drinks, free rides, and the promise of forgetting everything. She’d needed to forget. About her mother’s death. The responsibilities waiting back home. The way life kept beating her down.

She joined Billy’s cocaine circle after a couple of nights spent numb and laughing. But the laughter never lasted. Billy became her provider. Her captor. Her dealer. Her pimp.

The rules were simple: do what you're told, and you’ll get your fix.

Billy kept them all locked in the rooms of a worn-down building—barely a motel anymore. There were no windows, only barred doors, and rusted locks. Girls came and went. Some returned limping. Others never returned at all.

Anna started sleeping with men. First, she hated it. Then she numbed herself. And eventually, it became the only currency she had to survive.

One night, exhausted and drugged out, she had a migraine that wouldn't subside. She decided to stay sober for a day. Her body revolted. Her hands trembled, her stomach turned, and she could hardly stand. She opened an old metal cupboard, trying to distract herself, and found a dusty pile of magazines. One had a familiar logo: Brown Motel.

She froze.

The pictures showed the exact layout of the rooms she had been dragged into. The cracked ceilings. The same faded curtains.

Her heart pounded. This used to belong to her father.

Billy hadn’t just stolen her freedom. He had stolen her inheritance—her past.

---

That evening, Billy came into the room holding his phone. “Call your sister. Let her know you’re alive.”

Anna's fingers trembled as she dialled. It rang twice.

Asanda: “Hello?”

Anna: “Asanda... it’s Anna. How are you? How are the kids? I love you, okay?”

There was a pause, then a rush of words from her sister, filled with emotion. “Sister! We love you! We miss you so much. Refilwe said you were kidnapped by Billy. I sent you so many messages. Why didn’t you reply?”

Before Anna could speak, Billy snatched the phone. “That’s enough.”

Later, he sat beside her, voice low but threatening. “Tomorrow, you’ll visit your sister. I want you clean, dressed up, like the classy girl you used to be. Understand?”

That night, Anna tried to sleep, but the withdrawal symptoms tore through her like knives. Her body screamed for a fix. She moaned in pain, shaking uncontrollably.

Billy leaned over her. “You want it?” he whispered. “Then earn it.”

By midnight, she was dressed and ready. “Bring the client,” she muttered.

Billy smirked. “Not tonight, princess. You’re going out to work for real. Street money. Bring every cent back.”

He drove her to one of Cape Town’s busiest corners. The cold air hit her skin as she stepped out, her red lace top and miniskirt clinging tightly. Her heels clicked on the sidewalk like a slow drumbeat.

A black Jaguar pulled up.

“How much?” the man inside asked.

“R300,” she replied, voice dull.

He lit a cigarette, handed it to her, and drove toward a shadowy forest. He touched her without permission. She didn’t stop him. What was the point?

She had five clients that night.

One took her to a cheap motel. Two kept her in the car. One at the back of a building reeking of urine and desperation. By 5 a.m., Billy returned.

She handed him the cash—R1,500 in total.

He handed her a small packet. Her prize. Her poison.

She fell asleep for one hour.

---

Billy handed her a plane ticket in the morning.

"You’ll go see your family. Spend a day. Come back tomorrow."

He handed her R2,000. “For food. Transport. Whatever.”

He knew she’d be back. She needed him.

Anna walked through the airport like a ghost. Her make-up was flawless. Billy made sure of that. But beneath the foundation was a frail girl barely hanging on.

When her taxi pulled up at the gate of their home in KwaZulu-Natal, her legs could barely carry her. But when she saw Asanda running toward her, she felt something stir inside. Love. Memory. Guilt.

“Sister!” Asanda flung her arms around Anna, who bent down to hold her tightly.

Refilwe came outside slowly, eyes wide with disbelief. “You came back.”

Anna gave a faint smile. “Of course I did.”

But she looked like death. She had lost so much weight her bones poked through her clothes. Her once-glowing caramel skin was now pale beneath the make-up. Her lips cracked. She smelled of cheap perfume.

“Sister, what happened?” Asanda asked softly.

“I’m fine,” Anna lied. “Billy and I just had a misunderstanding. That’s all. He didn’t mean to scare anyone.”

“But... people say Billy runs brothels,” Asanda said, worry lining her face. “He’s dangerous. Mama Jane said—”

“I’m not discussing this,” Anna snapped. “Let’s just go inside.”

---

They walked into the house hand-in-hand. Anna’s eyes scanned the room. She called out, “Sipho?”

A young boy peeked from the bedroom. “Anna!”

She hugged him tightly, tears prickling her eyes.

Then she asked, “Where’s Lungy?”

Asanda’s face fell. “She’s in the hospital. Two nights ago. Asthma attack.”

Anna’s knees buckled.

She sat down quickly. “Oh my God. How bad is it?”

“She’s okay now,” Asanda said. “They’re keeping her under observation. The doctor said we need to get her medication... but... we don’t have the money.”

Anna stared at the ground. This was why she came back. This was what she had been running from. Not Billy. Not the drugs. But this crushing sense of responsibility.

She pulled out R1,000 from the money Billy gave her. “Take this. Get what she needs.”

Asanda stared at the cash in disbelief.

“Where did you get this, Anna?”

“From a friend,” Anna replied quickly.

---

That night, as she lay in her childhood bed, Anna stared at the ceiling. The room smelled like dust and childhood memories. The withdrawals had already started again. Her fingers twitched. Her bones ached.

She didn’t know if she’d survive the night without a fix.

But for now, she was home.

And that was enough.

For now.