𝙈𝙤𝙧𝙜𝙖𝙣
⊱ ─────────── ⊰

"Wakey wakey," Jake chimes as he enters the room I've been kept in for the past however many hours.

There's no tv, they've taken my phone, I don't even have a podcast to listen to. Hell, I couldn't even fall asleep.

"What time is it?" I croak, barely lifting my head.

"Showtime!" Jake taunts, ripping the covers off of my body.

I squeeze my legs together so he won't see between them.

"I'm going to uncuff you now and if you try anything, I'll use the letter opener on you, how about that?" He grins maniacally at my feet.

"Is it true?" I sniffle as he unties me. "Is Chris dead?"

"Sage did what we all wanted to do." Jake jeers.

He limps around the frame of the bed to release my wrists from the cuffs.

As he does this, he gives me a look of warning.

With nothing left in me to fight, I let him go on.

"Do whatever you want." I lament, eyes fallen to the plain wall on my left.

Jake pulls me out of the bed and yells for Marco's assistance.

He comes in quickly.

"Take her to Mim so she can get ready." Jake passes along the orders.

"Come on." Marco grunts, manhandling me.

I don't resist, I don't struggle.

Marco, surprised by my cooperation, loosens up his grip.

"I liked you better when you put up a fight," he growls.

I only look up at him and then keep walking down the dark hall.

"I knew you'd be back." Mim smiles at me, taking me from Marco.

Mute, I strip out of the t-shirt and dip into the warm water filling the tub.

"You know the routine already?" Mim sounds impressed.

"Bitch, stop talking to me." I deadpan, throwing the lavender bath bomb out of the water.

She drops her weight onto a wooden stool and offers me a brush for my hair.

"They broke you quick," she says, standing.

Eyebrows furrowed, I look at her, about to object, when she leaves the bathroom.

✕

After my bath I'm sat down and pampered. One lady gives me a pedicure while another does my nails. Meanwhile, Mim styles my hair in a Pamela Anderson inspired updo. I'm left to do my makeup myself, instructed to "get dolled up" but still look like myself. Under pressure, I do my normal makeup routine and present myself to Mim and Marco who wait for me outside of the bathroom doors.

"That's why they call you Darling." She tries to joke but I don't crack a smile.

I push her out of my way, making Marco laugh.
This prompts him to not even touch me. Instead, now he lets me walk down the dark corridor to our next location.

Men dressed like caterers scurry around, tidying up the place. Others light candles, and some hang portraits on the walls.

I stop and stare as they remove the curtain from one of the larger pieces of wall art.

Would you believe me if I said what I see doesn't even phase me? A lifesize portrait of me encapsulated by flashing yellow lights and a marquee that says, "Darling!"

The rest of the coverings come off to reveal a whole hallway full of pictures of my face and body, and a few other girls fully nude or in masks.

A yawn drifts out of my mouth and I proceed forward without Marco having to tell me so.

Music starts to pickup. It's coming from beneath me, I find.

I start to follow it, curiously, thinking that must be where the big event will be held.

After braving a tunnel, I reach the end of it. I'm rather confused to find a common area, almost like one of a library or den.

The room is rather old fashioned. The walls are brick and the furniture reminds me of that from the prohibition era.

"May I help you?" Asks a tall, thin man in a butler's tuxedo.

He doesn't wear a mask but I still don't trust him.

"No, you may not." I reply.

He bends over so that our heights are equal, and smiles in my face under a thick, grey handlebar mustache.

"Are you inquiring about entry?" He questions.

"Yes." I answer with some confidence.

"Surely you know the password," he waits to hear it.

His beady eyes test me. And I fail.

"I must've forgotten it." I exhale, frustrated.

He stands upright and assumes a stiff position guarding a floor-to-ceiling length art piece.

"Then you cannot get in." He simpers.

"Darling," Marco calls for me from some feet away.

He whistles.

"There you are, I've been looking for you everywhere. It's time." He rushes me.

"Was she any trouble to you?" He asks the doorkeeper.

The man shakes his small, bald head. "No, she was quite lovely. It was I who was rude, unaware that she is the Darling."

"I suppose that's why you didn't need a password," he hums.

Winking at me, the man says, "I'll see you on the other side."

Marco takes me away, hurrying me to the next room.

Men and women pass us, walking towards the guard, dawning masks and cloaks.

They tip their heads to Marco and stare at me.

My eyes follow them, too. I watch as the artwork opens up, and the man welcomes them inside.

Prohibition era, I knew it! It must be some sort of speakeasy or something, I talk in my head.

"Where are you taking me, don't I need to be in there?" I ask just so I can see what's on the other side.

"Later," he grunts, "for now, you have to wait here."

"Wait?! For what?!" I yell as he pushes me into a room.

I bang my fists on it until I hear chatter behind my back.

I turn and see a large amount of women in various shades, ages, heights, and weights.

Mirrors and clothes racks decorate the room.

It's busy, like a beehive, half-naked women fly around, readying themselves for who knows what. Some of them actually are naked.

"New meat." Someone calls out.

I stand with good posture at the head of the room, eyes wandering curiously. The last thing I want is to look scared or intimidated but I'm both.

This feels like jail, but there's lingerie and glitter everywhere. So, stripper jail.

They all resume back to what they were doing, paying me no mind.
That would be good except I have no idea what I'm supposed to be doing.

Noticing a redhead alone at a vanity, I decide to befriend her.

"Please tell me you know who I am and how to get out of here." I whisper.

She pauses doing her winged eyeliner to look at me from the corner of her blue eyes.

"Oh I know who you are, Darling." She scoffs.

"Okay, what about the second part of what I said?"

She laughs in my face, throwing her pencil down. "Listen, cupcake, I'm not about to show you the ropes around here, you're already taking money away from the rest of us."

I'm taken aback.

"Taking money? What, no. I haven't taken anything from you guys ever." I stammer, completely baffled.

A broader woman with brown hair stomps over and slams down a flyer, the same one from before with my image.

"Wanted for pleasure, seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars." She reads the flyer before spitting on it.

A group of rougher looking women start to laugh at me and then turn their backs.

I roll my eyes, walking in the opposite direction.

Bitches.

If I'm the so-called main event of the night, why am I in here with these women? So much for Marilyn Monroe.

I find a seat in the corner and help myself.

Though the mirror is cracked, I can still see my reflection in between stickers and photographs stuck to the vanity.

I pick my head up to observe some of the pictures.

There's a picture of me. I'm no longer surprised, seems like my portfolio is easily accessible around here. Except I remember that picture, Jasmine was in it.

I take the picture off of the mirror and unfold it only to see the full image of Jasmine and I. It's the first night we met at the wedding. She was so pretty, that was one of her and Jabari's first dates as an exclusive couple. That was three years ago, I reminisce.

I see the other photos and look at them too.

There's one of Jabari, and then a group picture with me, Chris, Izzy, Lee, Jabari, and Jasmine at La Olla - Lucia's Spanish outdoor bar in Port Ember.

Only Jasmine would have these, I figure.

I look around the vanity some more until I see, etched into the mantle, the name:

J A S M I N E

I gasp excitedly.

"You're in my spot." The same voice that I used to hate nagging me, appears in my ear.

My neck whips so fast, I almost give myself whiplash to turn around.

I spring to my feet. "Jasmine?!"

"Morgan!" She wonders if it's really me.

We clash into each other's bodies, entangling each other in our arms.

I pull away to get a good look at her face.

It is her! What relief.

"Jazzy, it's really you?" I cry.

She nods her head at me. "Morgan, what are you doing here?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." I laugh, wiping her tears.

She sniffs. "I can't believe I'm looking at you right now. How did you find me?"

"Tate," I lament.

Jasmine's bright face turns to a frown without me having to elaborate.

"I'm so sorry, Morgan," she starts apologizing immediately, "this is all my fault."

"No, no, it's not!" I assure her. "Tate was working with Malcolm, this was a plan all along."

"I should've known." She worries, holding my hands.

I sit down with her on the bench and hug her once again.

"Are you okay?" I ask her, seeing how thin she is.

"I'm fine," she claims, pushing my hands away from her face. "Are you okay?"

I start to cry. "Chris is dead."

She gasps. "No he's not."

Unable to say anything, I just bob my head.

"No...." She starts to bawl.

We hold each other, crying, but I run out of tears.

"Morgan— I am so sorry. I know I was mean but I loved him like a brother."

I nod my head, sniffling. "No, I know."

I try to smile and be strong as Jasmine continues breaking down.

"He, uh, he was looking for you before I got put in here. Him and Jabari."

Her eyes light up. "Jabari? Oh. How is he?"

I pop my shoulders. "Worried sick about you."

"You don't think he's still coming, do you?" She frets.

"I don't think there's anything stopping him, Jasmine. Why, don't you want to get out?"

She looks scared. "He can't just roll up in here, they'll hurt him!"

"Chris had a plan," I tell her.

Jasmine smiles softly, rubbing my hand. "He always did," she says.

Changing the subject, I ask, "What are we doing here, are you getting ready for something?"

"Yes, and you should be, too."

I shake my head, frantically. "No. Jasmine, I can't go out there. What are they going to do to me?"

"Well, I heard Tate has his sights set on you."

I watch her eyes deepen with sadness. "I want you to know that I don't want him. I never wanted him, I wouldn't do that to you."

"I know," she assures me. "Tate has had a lot women since we've been together."

"What? Wait, if you're with him, then why are you down here?"

"I tried to leave him after what happened at the lake house, but he demanded I give him back everything he ever gave me - the cocaine, too. When I couldn't pay him back, he said he knew a way I could. It started off with me just sleeping with one of his friends, but then more people asked for me. Eventually I was hooked, and in too deep. Mim got me clean, though, if I wanted to keep working here to be able to pay off my debt."

"This isn't like you."

She shrugs, accepting it. "I didn't know what else to do. When I tried to leave, he threatened me. He never hit me, but he might as well have. I still haven't paid him back, yet. I might not ever be able to. I owe him."

Earlier, I was going to give up. No, I did give up. All day I had been letting them do whatever to me with no hope left, but now that Jasmine is alive, I can't let her stay here like this.

I quickly rise to my feet. "We have to get out of here!"

"Morgan, I don't think you understand, there is no way out."

"Come on, you haven't tried to escape, I know you know how to get out of here?"

"I do," she says, turning to face her reflection in the mirror.

"But I'm not going anywhere."

I tilt my head at her, hearing this bullshit.

"Jasmine, what are you talking about? Are you high right now? We can get out of here! Is this how you want to spend the rest of your life, sleeping with these guys, letting them use you?" I yell at her.

"Morgan, you're in it now, too so don't use that condescending tone with me, and stop prying. You always pry."

Tears leak from my eyes as hope starts to slip through the cracks again.

"Jas," I beg. "Please? I need you. It's been so hard without you. I miss you."

She just continues doing her makeup.

"You're my best friend." I plead.

KNOCK. KNOCK.

"Attention, ladies!" A woman's strict voice demands all attention.

Footsteps stampede to the middle of the room and I follow only because Jasmine does first.

We get in a horizontal line, appeasing the mistress.

She's as thin as piece of paper with a platinum blonde side part bob.

I've seen her somewhere before. . .

"Chin's up, chest out." She strikes.

Her mature voice is so familiar to me that it's bothering me since I can't remember where I know this lady from.

I do as I'm told only so I won't stick out like a sore thumb. The last thing I need is to ruffle more feathers around here, I'm already the "new meat" who's taking peoples money.

"Monica, the guests are all here, waiting." Marco pops in to announce.

I look down the line at some of the girls, most of them are naked, but all of them have on masks.

Wait— Monica? That's where I know this woman - Penshaw!
She had dinner with Malcolm and I once. I remember how she said I was pretty and she found it interesting that I was so quiet, saying how most women with personality are ugly and that's why she was delighted by my looks and charm.

This shit is wild.

"Trixie and Mercedes, you'll go to the Diamond room," she assigns tasks to the girls.

"Harper and Sugar, to the bar."

"Katya, you have been requested by FeetWorshipper69. He's a big tipper, so don't disappoint."

Tipper? These girls are actually getting paid?

"Jasmine, is this legal?" I whisper.

"Mostly. I mean, some of the girls fuck the guys, but that's up to them." She says.

"Well, I didn't choose to be here!"

She whispers back, "Relax, we don't know what she'll have you do. You're a first-timer."

"Jasmine, please tell me I'm not going to get raped, or something, I—"

"Ah. Darling," Monica calls my name.

"Oooo." The girls on the line start to murmur.

"Don't worry, I won't let anything happen to you." Jasmine quickly assures me.

Her red bottom heels make their way to me at the end of the line.

She stops and stares at me.

Nervously, I grab Jasmine's hand and she locks fingers with me.

There's an argument about man or a bear and I argue that there is something slightly more sinister about a woman being in control of something so evil like this. It's more disheartening. That's why I'm freaking out about what is this bitch going to do to me?

"There's been a lot of buzz about you," she smirks. "Let's see what you're really worth. To the pole."

"The pole?" I reply, dumbfounded.

Monica looks amused by my ignorance.

"Mistress, she's new, she doesn't know what she's doing. Let me go on the pole for her." Jasmine takes up for me.

Gasps come from down the line, challenging Monica's authority.

"You don't go on the pole." Monica reminds Jasmine.

"Well, let me teach her."

Monica narrows her icy blue daggers on me, and then on Jasmine.

"She'll go on the pole as an opener, and then shadow you for the night before the auction."

"But—"

She cuts Jasmine off. "Not another word, or you'll have to take it up with Ray. Go."

"Yes, Mistress."

"And get her a mask; if they know it's her before the auction, they won't spend on anyone else...."