Twenty Nine : Where?
My ears were ringing and there was a painful migraine expanding across my temples like someone was squeezing my head in the palms of their hands. My brain felt sluggish, moving at the pace of a snail. And I knew that this was from the effects of whatever drug was in my system.
With much force and will, I managed to open my eyes to look at my surroundings. At the first initial glance, I found myself at a loss for words.
My eyes trailed from the many signs, trying to piece together the image that I was seeing.
It was obvious that I was at the airport because most of the signs were directions for different terminals and gates. There was security at the checkpoints and people were dragging their luggage in through the front entrance.
Although my eyes were open, I didn’t have any control over my body. I couldn’t turn my head or speak. I could only sit upright while watching everyone move around me.
As I glanced down, I noticed that I was seated in a wheelchair and someone was pushing me forwards. Other than that, I also noted that someone had dressed me in a black trench coat, probably to cover everything that was underneath.
“My wife is very sick, she can’t stand or walk on her own,” the man behind me said as he wheeled me towards the security checkpoint.
If I can get out of this wheelchair, I will show him who’s the one that can’t stand or walk.
He continued to push the wheelchair forward until the airport security could thoroughly check me to make sure I didn’t carry any prohibited items with their scanners. The male behind me handed them 2 passports and some other documents to which they accepted after the luggage was pushed through the scanning equipment.
I prayed that whatever document he gave them would not work. But I knew that he wouldn’t have taken me here if he had any doubts about getting caught.
The staff quickly swiped the passports and typed something on their keyboards before tickets were easily printed. They didn’t ask any questions, most carrying this bland unemotional face as though they hated their job and couldn’t wait to get their day over with.
The man pushing my wheelchair took the documentation, pocketed them in his long trench coat and wheeled me away. Once done, they let him push me past so they could move on with the next passenger as the lines started to get longer.
Although I tried to look at them with a pleading look, my facial muscles remained the same. I was frozen into place and rather helpless. And the words ‘help me’ were stuck in my throat, laying tormented in the recesses of my lungs.
After that, I was in and out of consciousness a majority of the time that I was moved from destination to destination. He would give me sedatives every few hours through a syringe that he had in the luggage. He made sure never to miss a shot or get caught while giving it to me.
Throughout the travel, I was never given the opportunity to ask for help or escape because of the drugs in my system. It was obvious that he knew what he was doing and I couldn’t do anything about it.
The frustration was quick to turn to hopelessness.
And when the final shot came, I was put under for a very long time.
“Miss? Miss? The plane has landed,” a feminine voice called through the darkness, breaching past the bleary black that I was encased in to finally reach out to me.
I gasped sharply for breath, expected clean fresh air but was met with a rather sickening, yet familiar, stench of urine, sweat, and musk. It was almost like the feeling of being jolted back to life with a defibrillator.
My head hurt badly, a strong headache gnawing painfully at the initial intake of breath. My eyes were wide open, but my vision was still blurry. Other than that, there was also this loud buzzing in my ears when I tried to focus on the scenery before me.
I squinted my eyes from the bright light that nearly blinded me before closing them to get used to the brightness. After several seconds, I fully opened my eyes like a newborn baby and almost had to double take at the oddity of my current location.
The clean and neat rows of chairs and cabin walls told me all that I needed to know.
I was inside of an airplane, and a pretty flight attendant was crouched in front of me with her hand on her knee. She was calling out to me yet hesitant to touch me.
Even I didn’t want to touch myself right now.
The mess that I was currently coated in was just plain nasty, but no one would have really noticed unless they paid extremely close attention.
I was still wearing the black trench coat so she couldn’t see what was underneath, but the smell was a great deterrent. Those men certainly did a good job at covering me in their scent and concealing Eros’ since they had managed to put me on a plane and land me here without him noticing. It was obvious that they didn’t want to talk too much in case I would recognize their voices later on—if I managed to come back to the pack.
Just the thought of it make my blood riled and, for the first time, I had a hit list.
With only 2 names on it, but still.
One was Zanthos.
The other happened to be the dark voice of the male who had spoken while they all jerked off over my paralyzed body. I have that voice memorized to heart. And I am assured that I would be able to recognize it if I hear it again. If I manage to see Eros, I think he would be able to scent the rest of those men and possibly help me exact revenge.
Because, not only have they dug a grave for themselves, they were going to willingly climb in it after Eros is done with them.
Zanthos better pray to whatever God he believes in and keep watch because I will be outside his window waiting for the chance to give him a taste of what he gave me.
I am sure that he will enjoy it as much as I did.
I do remember a rather blurry memory of saying ‘yes’ to something in my drug-induced stupor and someone calling me ‘Emira’ to get past the airport security.
I also remember crying and saying something repeatedly against the lines of “I want to get out of here” and ”I want to go home”.
There was a really muggy conversation from someone next to me that I can’t recall along with some questions from airport security that was bypassed with my answers that I can’t remember either.
“Miss?” the flight attendant called again. Her voice immediately drags me from my morbid thoughts. I realized that I was probably wasting her time sitting here with my head in the clouds since all the other flight attendants were staring at us.
I’m sure they probably thought that I was either crazy or a prostitute. Notice how both options were rather grim.
“Where is this?” I asked after clearing my throat awkwardly. My lips were dry and cracked from lack of water ever since the whole kidnapping incident. And I don’t consider semen to be water.
Thank God that none of it got in my mouth.
“We are in Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan at Manas International Airport. Do you need help with that?” she politely asked with patience, that I clearly didn’t have, after noticing me fumble with the seat belt like an idiot. Please excuse the fact that my brain was currently on a leave of absence.
I shook my head, watching my dirty matted hair flap about in front of my face before I finally unbuckled the seat belt. I shakily got back onto my feet, almost stumbling onto my face because my legs were rather numb from sitting for so long.
Offhandedly, she made a move to catch me but pulled her hand back as quick as she had made that gesture. And I can’t really blame her for it.
Just one look at me and I bet that most people would shy away too.
My cheeks burned hot with embarrassment, probably 10 shades of red at my mortifying predicament.
“Ky...Kyr..Kyrgyz...” I stuttered, trying to repeat the word and failing rather miserably.
“It’s Kyrgyzstan,” she repeated before motioning towards the open door of the aircraft, where the other attendants were waiting patiently in an orderly manner.
Where the hell is that?
I wanted to ask again but I’m sure that I will still have no clue as to where this is anyways, so I didn’t say anything after that.
Geography was never my strong point. I forgot everything I didn’t use after I left school.
Glancing around at all the empty luggage storage compartments, I was unsure of how to proceed. Because it was obvious that Zanthos didn’t want to give me anything to work with.
There was nothing in my pockets after I dug through it in hopes of finding something—anything.
In the end, I don’t even know how I managed to walk off the airplane and into the airport.
My mind was still slightly buzzed from the after-effects of the drugs and thinking took more effort than I had thought. Shakily, I managed to seat myself on one of the waiting chairs. I noted how everyone at the other gates stared slightly before quickly diverting their gaze.
This made me wonder what the people sitting next to me said or did when they realized that I was their seating partner.
I sighed deeply, shaking my head to clear the drowsiness that just wouldn’t let me concentrate.
On top of everything, I had no passport. This means that it was impossible to get back on a plane and head back home unless I miraculously sneak in with the luggage. But that’s probably not going to work.
So in other words, I am stranded.
Now that I think about it, I should have just stayed on the plane and refused to leave until they take me back. But then again, they might just call security and drag me out like they did to that one guy on the news.
I was stranded in the middle of nowhere in a country whose name I can’t even pronounce!
What kind of cruel joke is this?
I was scared to leave the airport because I was afraid of the unknown. I felt like I had a better fighting chance inside the airport where I could find someone who spoke the English language. And I was afraid that my current physical attributes might give people the wrong impression.
I shivered at the thought.
After asking a couple of airport staff, I quickly figured that they did not have a public shower at this airport. There was only an airport lounge with showers, but it was only offered to those with a departure boarding pass. I would have to go through the security to get to it. Without any identification or money, I doubt that I can get very far if I decide to sneak in.
With a long sigh, I got back onto my feet and looked around at all the signs in search of the bathroom. Although there was a language barrier, the universal sign for bathrooms didn’t change. I didn’t have to worry much since the signs also came in English.
Everywhere I walked, people cleared the way, probably from my stench. I currently had the power of Moses and his staff. I was able to part the sea of people to create a path for myself to walk through.
It definitely wasn’t something to be proud of.
I lowered my head and quickly walked into the bathroom, ignoring everyone like they ignored me. Most of them were quick to leave and move on with their business.
I ignored all of their quick glances and stood in front of the hand sink, staring at the image replicated in the mirror.
I look terrible—even worse than when I packed thick layers of makeup onto my face to hide my true features.
My face looked pretty worse for wear but not as bad as I thought it would. I looked tired more than anything.
There was a giant bruised bump on my forehead from when the door slammed into my face, but it was easily hidden behind my hair.
I swept a patch of hair off of my forehead and flinched when I noticed the condition of my hands. The knuckles were all bloody red with open cuts and bruises. The skin felt extremely raw and painful. I guess I didn’t realize how hard I went about punching those bastards that kidnapped me.
Just the thought of what had happened and the stench that was emitting from my body, I couldn’t help the sour feeling in my throat.
Before I could stop myself, my stomach heaved painfully and I bent over the trash can full of used paper towels. I literally puked out everything that was left in my stomach, which was pretty much nothing except for yellow acidic liquid, until I was dry heaving with tears running down my face in messy streaks.
I felt extremely humiliated and ashamed. And it wasn’t even my fault.
An event this gross and cruel, I would never wish on anyone.
Although I didn’t get raped, I felt ultimately sickened by just the idea of something like that happening to women all around the world. Those who did these disgusting acts to women are sick bastards that all deserve to have their penis’ cut off, cooked, and fed to them.
Heaving one last time, I quickly washed my entire face with water and the antibacterial soap that was provided by the airport. The hand soap was really harsh on my face, but I am willing to take that over all the semen and piss on my body.
No one dared to approach to dry their hands.
People were still giving me weird looks when I washed my arms and neck with the hand soap. Since most of the people had a time crunch to get to their next destination, they didn’t watch me for too long.
After a moment of thinking, I decided that I will try to wash myself and my clothes later when there were fewer people because the scent in the bathroom became rather nauseating after someone had taken a dump in here. It smelled vicious.
And all I have to say is, if I ever see Zanthos again, I am going to strangle him with my bare hands.