The slave of Alvarez

Chapter2

The Darkness Deepens

I couldn't believe what my father had done. I could think of things he could have done, but selling was never part of my list. He had to be joking, my life was already a mess, and he was about to make it hell on earth for me.

Sold me? To Mr. Sanchez? I had heard of him, of course. Everyone in our town knew about the wealthy and proud Mr. Sanchez. He was a man who got what he wanted, no matter the cost, so what he wanted with me, he could have gone for someone else, at least someone older.

I stood there, shocked as tears rolled down my cheeks.

My mum, who wasn't ready to let me do it, tried to protest.

“Sir, I think you're going too far. After all, she's just a kid before you make such a decision. At least let her be 18. " Please don't sell any one of my daughters,” she said in tears as she went on her knees.

My father hissed and walked away, kicking her to the floor.

“Jeez mum, why do you always have to be so pathetic? If she's going, I'm here, and I'll always be here. " Others always put her first and, for once, I'm so glad she was picked and not me,” Camilla added.

Camilla was my older sister. She was three years older than me, and she had always been jealous of me because I was called prettier and, most of all, I had the best singing voice and all the praises I received seemed to make her despise me. She was like my dad. Quick to anger.

“Camilla, your sister is about to get sold, and you're busy talking rubbish,” she slammed at her, still crying.

Very early the next morning, my father woke me up with cold water directly on my face, and I was dragged away from my home. I caught a glimpse of my mother's tear-stained face. She tried to stop him, but he hit her with a metal bucket, rendering her unconscious. I saw my mother fall to the ground and this was going to be the last time I would ever set my eyes on her.

Mr. Sanchez's house was a grand, abundant mansion on the outskirts of town. But despite its beauty, the house felt soulless. I was thrown into a small, filthy room in the basement, with no windows and a single, dim light bulb.

The first few days were a blur of mistreatment and scandal. Mr. Sanchez's family and staff treated me like dirt, calling me a slave, rubbish, and worthless, and making me do endless chores. I was forced to clean the house from top to bottom every single day, cook meals for the family, and even do their laundry. Most times they always complain about the house not being neat enough, the food being salty and their clothes smelly, and most times the food I cook has to be tested by me, or it will be thrown in my face.

But it was the nights that were the worst. Mr. Sanchez would often come to my room, his eyes leering with lust. He would try to touch me, to kiss me, and I would have to fight him off. I was terrified, it felt like I was haunted and trapped in a living nightmare.

One night, things went too far. Mr. Sanchez had been drinking, and he stumbled into my room, his eyes blazing with desire. He grabbed me, pulling me towards him. I tried to fight back, but he was on drugs, and he was just too strong. He gave me scratches and some were bloody. He tore down my clothes, rendering me naked, and molested me. I screamed for help but no one wanted to come to my aid. He kept on touching every part of me and that was the day my whole world came crashing down, and I officially had nothing more in life. I was indeed worthless.

I stopped struggling and accepted my fate. All I could do was cry, but it was a dry cry and there were no tears. A loud noise came from outside the room. It was one of the maids, shouting for Mr Sanchez to come and deal with a problem in the kitchen.

Mr. Sanchez cursed, releasing me from his grasp. I collapsed onto the bed, gasping for breath and feeling like everything was completely over. I wondered to myself what I had done to suffer like this as I cried myself to sleep.

The next day, I was dragged out of the house and taken to the city. Mr. Sanchez owned a bar there, a huge place for the rich to enjoy themselves. He forced me to sing on stage, in front of a crowd of leering men.

I was terrified, but I had no choice. I sang, my voice trembling with fear as I sang like a person with no purpose. The men snarled and whistled. Mr. Sanchez watched from the corner, a cruel smile spreading across his face.

As the night wore on, I felt like I was losing myself, like I was being destroyed by the darkness surrounding me. But then, a man walked into the bar, his eyes inspecting the room until they got down on me.

He was tall, with lancing blue eyes and broad shoulders. I felt strange. He was the only one who looked at me with pity instead of lust. He looked into my eyes, not my body.

As our eyes met, I felt a spark of fear. A mere slave wasn't meant to stare at anyone for so long. She was meant to bow her head, I thought to myself as I slowly lowered my head, Mr. Sanchez spotted me.

“Her, I want her.” was the only word I heard.

I looked up slowly only to see that the finger was pointed at me as I stood there frozen.