Traded

I was sixteen when my uncle first used me as a stake in the Game. Shortly before that, my parents had died in a car accident; I was sent to live with my uncle and his girlfriend. They hated me from day one, regardless of the fact that they didn’t know me or had only seen me once in their lives. To them, I was nothing more than an annoying “thing” they were forced to look after.

In this world, if you have enough money, you are allowed to participate in gambling that transcends all boundaries. Naturally, I was put up as a prize at the very next opportunity. December 18th is the only day of the year I fear, because until now—nine years after that first game—it never got better. Except once.

When I was twenty-two, I ended up with a kind, elderly lady named Luise, who had won me and was actually happy to have me. She treated me like a daughter. I was so happy to finally have someone who wanted me, someone who didn’t treat me like a maid or like dirt. With her, I didn’t have to be afraid; I was protected, even from her disgusting and devious grandson.

Sadly, Luise died suddenly after less than six months. Of course, I had to move in with her grandson, Desmond. I was so terrified at night, listening to him pace up and down outside my room, that I usually fell asleep trembling from exhaustion. He and his wife barely gave me anything to eat because they considered it a waste. I received just enough to survive and have the strength to do the housework.

One day, his stares became more intense, and I realized that December 18th had to come soon—or else he would take my virginity. It was the only thing I still owned, and I didn’t want to lose it under any circumstances. I thought I was almost safe when he locked me in my room on the night of December 15th.

Flashback:

I heard the creaking of the door. “Please don’t let it be him…” Beads of sweat dripped from my forehead. I felt a movement behind me on the bed and knew by that intrusive scent that it was Desmond. I knew he was the only one who wanted to take my virginity; it couldn’t be anyone else.

Desmond whispered into my ear, “You’re going to listen to me now, you little bitch! You’ve been insolent and useless these past few months, and I’ve had to feed you. I think it’s time you showed some gratitude. Don’t you?” My breath hitched. I didn’t know how to get out of this. Not a sound escaped my lips. I wanted to scream, to run away, but my body was no longer under my control.

I felt his sickeningly warm breath on my ear and something cool and sharp against my neck—he had a knife. Desmond began to groan as he roughly grabbed my breast under the blanket, which I was clutching as if my life depended on it. He whispered again, “I’ll make sure you wish you were never born if you make a single sound, do you understand?” I could only nod. How was I supposed to escape with a damn knife at my throat?

He flipped me onto my back and pulled the blanket away. I stared at him as he leered at me, grinning and drooling. I prayed that someone would walk into the room at any moment, but no one came. I was going to lose my virginity to this stinking, disgusting, salivating man who had stripped me of every ounce of will to live over the past months. Now, he was going to take the rest.

His hand slid between my legs, rubbing so callously that it hurt. Tears streamed down my face, and I tried to turn away from him. He pressed the knife harder against my throat; I think it was already bleeding, as I felt something warm trickling down my neck. He continued to groan and suddenly struck me across the face, moving between my legs—which I had tried to keep closed, but I stood no chance. He rubbed against me, and I felt his erection, which disgusted me even more. I didn’t want to feel it, but what could I do?

He slid the knife toward my nipples and whispered in my ear, “Your tits are magnificent. Too bad they won’t be after tonight.” He laughed and pressed the blade into my nipple until it began to bleed. I screamed, unable to endure the pain any longer. Everything seemed to collapse within my body; it just burned. He hit me again because I couldn’t stop screaming. He tried to cover my mouth, but I was too loud—then the door flew open, and Evelin, his wife, stumbled into the room in horror.

“You damn whore, I knew you were seducing my husband!” she shrieked. I shook my head, wanting to get up and show her the injuries on my body, but I never got the chance: he took his knife and slashed it across my stomach. I collapsed instantly, and everything went black… perhaps, thank God.

I woke up in a side room and knew I had been put up for the Game again. I didn’t know who would win me next, but I wondered if it could get any worse. I thought of Luise and missed that kind, old lady. In the last three years, things hadn’t gotten worse, but they hadn’t exactly gotten better either. New scars appeared, and I had bruises every single day. The people who owned me always found reasons to hurt me—all I really had to do was breathe.

Now I am twenty-five, and here I am again: sitting in that damn side room, waiting for whoever is coming to collect me. It takes four hours before the door finally opens and a man with salt-and-pepper hair enters the room where I sit on a chair. There is nothing here but white walls, a chair, and a toilet in the corner.

The man approaches me and reaches out his hand. With a grin, he introduces himself as Mike. I stand up, hesitantly placing my hand in his, and notice that he holds it gently. None of my owners had ever touched me like this; it was always rough and tight, meant to cause pain. But I try not to get my hopes up too soon; in the end, my luck will surely run out again. I whisper, “Thank you, I’m Savannah.”

He leads me to the exit, where two men in black suits wait by the door. One of them opens the rear door and gestures for me to get into the SUV. I sit in the back seat; Mike sits beside me, looking at me reassuringly. I feel strangely safe—something that hasn’t happened often in my life.

Once everyone is in the car and we pull away, Mike asks, “Why are you shaking, Savannah?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t even notice. I’ll try to stop,” I reply. “Savannah, you don’t need to be afraid of me. I don’t know what you’ve been through, but here with me and my son, nothing bad will happen to you,” he says, taking my hand. Tears roll down my face, and I begin to sob. Could I really be lucky for once? Was someone actually going to care for me?

“Thank you, Mike,” I say. He immediately raises his hand, and I flinch. “Oh no, stop, I didn’t mean to… I won’t hurt you, I promise. I just wanted to say: please, just call me Mike and use my first name.” It’s so confusing that someone is being this nice, and I immediately think of Luise, who had always been so careful with me.

“Would you mind answering a few questions?” he asks. I nod, and he begins to ask about my age and my parents. Then he mentions that he wants to give me time to settle in first.

Then I see us driving through a massive gate where even more men in black suits are stationed. There are cameras everywhere, and men are walking around with dogs. I admire the house we are approaching; it’s huge, with beautiful flowers on both sides of the driveway. The entrance is reached via a long staircase. I look around and am impressed that everything looks so bright and friendly; I had expected something more sterile when he spoke of himself and his son.

“Miss Lorenz will show you to your room shortly. I hope you like it and that you have a good first night,” Mike says. “We can have breakfast tomorrow and discuss what we expect during your time with us. But don’t be afraid—it won’t be anything bad, I promise.”

“Thank you,” I reply, stepping out of the car as my door is opened. Mike escorts me up the stairs and opens the door for me. I step into a reception area that nearly takes my breath away: everything is decorated in light cream tones with plenty of flowers, and sunlight streams through the ceiling. I look up and discover a beautiful glass dome.

In front of me stands a small, somewhat plump woman, beaming at me; I can’t help but smile back. “I am Miss Lorenz. I’m so happy to meet you,” she introduces herself, pulling me right into an embrace. At first, my whole body goes rigid, but then I feel her warmth, just like my mother’s used to be. She whispers in my ear, “You can call me Olivia, and if you need anything at all, come to me, no matter what it is.”

Taking my hand, she leads me up a grand spiral staircase, past several doors. We stop in front of two double doors, one on the left and one on the right. “This is your room, and I hope everything is to your satisfaction,” she says, giving me a squeeze. I am just about to open the door when someone flings it open and crashes into me—with such force that I fall to the floor.

“Shit,” I hear a dark, deep voice say. I look up, and I can’t believe my eyes.