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ALEJANDRA
Please, not again.
My quaking legs knock and I almost stumble forward but find my balance by pressing my bruised toes onto the cold black tile floor beneath my feet. They still hurt from the last time Signor E had trampled on them repeatedly with his pointed shoes.
My eyes ignore the beeping green light at the top of booth number six directly in front of me and stay on the clouded glass masking the person I want so badly to see.
They have no right. No right to do this to anyone. No right to keep taking from me.
That person sitting in there just robbed me of my chance for freedom for an insanely high price. Not the type of freedom one is expected to hope for after living as I have for three years, butthe kind that utterly sets free with no care or worry for healing and the future.
The future they robbed me of. I had worked and studied so hard to get a chance at the future I had dreamt of constantly as a child. I felt the universe was beginning to hear me when I got a scholarship to Naples. I felt I could finally be an architect. I could build something that would not only capture the eyes but enthrall the heart as well, like the Alhambra with its stucco walls, intricate plasters, and honeycomb patterns.
But that was long gone now.
Three years gone.
“One million for Alessandra,” the auctioneer announces like anyone would dare to bid higher than that.
I hate them all, but there is one thing we can all agree on tonight. And that is the simple fact that there is a madman in booth six.
One million for Alessandra. Not Alejandra. Not the dreamer who wanted to become an architect.
One million for the naked whore on this stage, passed down to master after master, to be used and reduced to nothing.
Not Alejandra, who enjoys sketching in the evening sun, who loves to run her fingers across the walls of grand buildings toteleport herself to another era and daydream of being there when it was being built.
That person is kept safe, locked away until there may ever be freedom for her.
I stopped trying to correct them on the first day when they asked my name and the man named Caruso, who was sampling us, said Alessandra instead of Alejandra. I had corrected him and got a fist bumped into my face. I felt the ring for days after.
He took my name away to strip me of my power and identity. But he didn’t realize he was giving me the strength to face the brutality. Knowing Alejandra is safe and away from all of this gives me something to hold on to. Something to look forward to.
One million dollars.
Why would he pay that much when he could have gotten me for way less? Why would anyone pay that much for me? What does he hope to do with me? What will he expect me to do to give him his money’s worth?
I bite down on my chattering teeth, fighting back every tear that’s prickling my eyes as I keep them on the glittering booth, breaking the rules.
How dare he? How could any of them? When does this end? Will I ever find freedom?
I was pounded, bruised, my bones broken, to stop me from meeting the eyes of Signor E when he newly got me. I started to realize that what I had been told back when I had a life I took for granted was true.
Back when I had friends I didn’t want to hang out with but pretended to like so I wouldn’t appear vulnerable. Back when I would deliberately skip meals and spend my time scrolling on social media. When I would rather stay in my bedroom reading or writing than hang out with family and friends on special holidays. I had been told then, by friends, families, and even strangers that my eyes sold me out. That they give away every secret I try to hide.
My eyes gave him everything he needed to know. They gave away my fear even when I pretended to be strong. They told him how hungry I was when I fought to stay on my feet after going days without food. My eyes gave him satisfaction and I had to remove that power from him.
I started to keep them on the ground as a form of self-preservation. I would look anywhere but in his eyes, all their eyes. Men that could reduce a human to an object. Men who overstepped boundaries and violated. Men who brought doom to women like me. Men that are predators and prey on women like me for pleasure.
I bow, dipping my head and lowering my upper body, taking back my power. I cannot see him but I know he can see me. And what I do not want is for him to see all the things I don’t wantanyone to see. Those are mine. My thoughts are mine to keep and protect.
My body belongs to Alessandra and is for them to toil with. My thoughts are Alejandra’s and are hers to keep, hers to protect.
The point where my stomach meets my chest burns as my anxiety creeps through my veins, provoking another shaking fit that almost sends me falling on my face. I plant my feet on the floor with more firmness, straightening my back.
This will never end. No one is coming to save me.
When I was newly abducted, I fall asleep imagining a hero showing up to save me. I would imagine the police bursting through the place and saving me before they did any irreparable damage. But the days turned to weeks, the weeks turned to months, and the months to years. No police. No help. No hero.
