Something bad is going to happen.
I can feel it. The air tastes bitter, there’s a storm outside. A rough one. The wind screams and howls, begging for mercy for its unknown sins. Rain showers down like bullets; loud, destructive, uncaring, hitting the brothel over and over. It is almost as if the brothel is being cleanse, washed for being so sinful. A light shiver trickles down my spine. The night is angry, surly nothing good would come out of this.
Tonight there won’t be any business, no man is desperate enough to risk their life for used goods. A ghost of a smile grace my lips, he loves money, this will hurt him.
The door slams distracting me from my thoughts, I hear footsteps.
Perhaps I am wrong I muse as I hear men speak in low voices, men are that desperate
One would expect that a storm would keep them home, no goods are worth risking one’s life. But again I don’t care, I hope that they die. It’s wrong to wish death on others but everything they do is wrong. I’m not doing any harm, my opinions are worthless.
‘I want an entire night’ one of voices says. His voice makes me shiver. He is soft-spoken, but there is something deadly about the way he speaks. The voice reminds of a King Cobra, always watching, calculating and then when one least expect it, it strikes. I pray that they don’t pick me for him. He sounds dangerous, his voice is one of killers. I despise them.
‘I cannot do that, my girls only go for two hours. I cannot wear them out. They’re my livelihood’ Master Leeward says. He makes me sick, just the sound of his voice makes my chest burns.
Master Leeward is better than most owners he does not let us hurt too much, but he only does this for his best interest, he thinks long term. Most of the girls in brothels die before twenty-five. They contact deadly diseases from customers, die from failed abortions, or from fantasy punishments that these lewd men practice on them.
The oldest girl in our brothel is thirty-six. No one has died except from Casey who stabbed her own throat. I thought of doing the same but I am easily afraid.
‘2 bags for one girl’ the voice that I assume is a man says.
He makes an irresistible offer. Two bags of gold can pay all of Master Leeward debts. With the gold he can surpass all of the other brothel owners. I know him, he would love that.
‘I don’t believe you’ Master Leeward says suspiciously, ‘why will you pay so much for one night?’ I don’t blame him, I am weary myself.
Two heavy thuds.
‘Take it or leave it.’
‘It’s real, but why?’
‘Don’t question my motives. Yes or No?’
A heavy sigh and then..............
‘Fine. One night. Be out by 6am sharp.’
Master Leeward barks across the room ‘is there any girls available tonight?’
‘All the girls are taken Master’
‘Looks like you’re out of luck tonight’ Master Leeward says gleefully. He must really loathe this man. Master loves his money; maybe too much. It has been his source of joy and pain for the last twenty years.
‘What about the lady in yellow, is she not one of your girls?’ The voice drops even lower, it is deadly. He is demanding me. A new wave a fear rush over me. I cannot breathe, I feel sick.
‘She is special she has to be requested in advance.’ Master sounds cross again. It’s now obvious that he doesn’t want any business with this man. I pray the man take heed and leave. There are at least eight brothels in this area; they would love the service.
‘Then take three bags.’ It was a command, no room for argument. ‘Though I must say she is lacking in the looks department.’ I am slightly insulted. I am far from perfect but I am not ugly either. I bet he’s ugly, ugly men always demand the prettiest of girls. He must be ugly. I am glad I cannot see his face.
Footsteps edges closer towards me. They sound hard, purposeful, confident even. My heart beats a little faster.
Cool fingers trace my face. My heart beats wildly. I am screaming with fear in the inside, but I remain motionless. My practice has come to use.
The scent of mint and cigars fills my nose as he leans forward. I am aware; very aware of his presence. His lip hovers above my neck and he slowly brushes it against my pulse. My heart is a stallion. I am a heap of nerves. More importantly I am afraid.
Slowly he moves his lips away from my neck. Then softly he whispers in my ear ‘Let the Pain begin’
And so it does.
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