Trafficked -- Beaten -- Trapped
When eighteen-year-old Stacy Degray sets off to visit Felipe, a charming guy she met on the internet, she has no idea that she is being lured to his home country Malaguay to be auctioned off as a soldier's bride. All...
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The medicine the doctor gave me puts me into a comatose sleep. I miss the wake-up siren at six and the commotion that usually rocks the compound in the morning, sleeping soundly until almost noon. It's the first time since my arrival that I truly feel refreshed. Too bad it's on the day I'm going home. With a newfound spirit, I jump out of bed. It proves to be a big mistake. The soreness almost splits my head in half.
When I observe myself in the mirror, my eyes widen in shock. The whole right side of my face is swollen from Charo's slap and my lip is split. Dark circles underline my red, puffy eyes. No way I'll step outside looking like this. With utter care, I apply makeup to the spots until most of the damage is hidden, but it still gives me an artificial appearance. Only the burning thirst in my throat convinces me not to crawl back into bed and cry under the covers.
When I open the bedroom door, the two soldiers, who have been dozing in front of my room, jump up, saluting.
"Buenos días, señorita," one of them mutters while the other stares at a spot in front of his feet without flinching.
I recall this means good morning. "Buenos días."
He gives me a good once-over and I want to close the door in his face. By now, everyone will know what happened last night. Heat stings my cheeks; it's so embarrassing, even if none of it was my fault.
He signals me to follow him. I hesitate for a moment, reluctant to leave the safety of my dorm room with two strange men. It's stupid. Miguel put them there for my protection. They would never harm me. When I take a tentative step forward, a dizzy spell hits me and only my palm pressing against the wall allows me to keep my balance.
Shaking my head, I get rid of the fuzzy feeling surrounding my brain like a layer of fog. "Where are you taking me?"
"Perdóname, pero no hablo inglés."
I give him a feeble smile; so much for communication. When he keeps signaling that I should follow him, I finally give in. He probably has orders to take me to Miguel.
Pointing at the bathroom door across the hall, I raise my index finger. "Uno minuto." My Spanish is probably wrong, but they still seem to understand me.
After I relieve myself and wash my hands, they lead me out of the building. We cross the yard and I'm conscious that all eyes are upon me. Conversations halt and people openly stare at me. My face burns hot and I battle the rising tears.
Why can't I be invisible?
The soldier opens the door to the training center and ushers me inside. The air- conditioning is like a freezing wall, yet the gazes of the soldiers we pass still burn holes in my back. When we reach a deserted corridor, I let out a sigh of relief. At least for a moment, my torture has halted. We end up in front of a white-washed door and the soldier knocks.
