My jaw went slack and the elation I’d felt seeped out of me. How had Josef known what I’d been thinking and the exact horrible thing to say to deflate me?
He smoothed his long fingers over the top of my hair, which Perla had fashioned into an elaborate bun.
“I don’t like this brown,” he said, looking at my hair. “You be blonde soon.”
I didn’t care about my hair. “I’m scared,” I whispered.
“Sí,” he said softly.
We waited there in the room until nightfall. Everything was so quiet.
“How many of us are there?” I whispered.
“Slaves? Three female y myself. Five now, with you.”
I shuddered. I could not include myself in those numbers. It was only a matter of time before the U.S. found a way to bust me out. They would trace my disappearance to Marco.
They had to.
When it was pitch black outside, Marco came for us. He blindfolded me and they each held one of my arms, which were cuffed in front of me. My ears and nose became sensitive. The boat smelled like new leather as we walked through it, and for a quick moment I felt warm night air on my skin and the smell of salt sea in my nose. Then it was quiet and echoey, like a tunnel. Damp. We took steps down and I smelled damp earth. Underground. Complete silence.
“Stay here with her tonight,” Marco told Josef in Spanish. “We will get you out tomorrow when the perimeter has been checked.”
“Sí, Amo.”
A puffy thwunk sounded beside us on the floor and I felt a rush of air on my legs. Then the door shut and clicked locked. Josef removed my blindfold.
We were in a tiny room without windows or vents. I wasn’t claustrophobic, but this room messed with my head, seeming to close in on us. It was lit by a single lightbulb in the ceiling, next to a small black dome which I supposed was a video camera. In the corner was a gray bucket. Was this some sort of holding cell or prison? My breathing hitched, and Josef took me by the shoulders.
“Relax, Angel. We no stay here long. You rest.”
A pile of blankets was at our feet. Josef bent and arranged them into a pallet. He pulled me down to lay on my side, and he spooned behind me.
“Close you eyes,” he said, pulling the bun from my hair and running his fingers through the strands.
My stomach cramped and I curled myself tight.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“My stomach hurts.”
I didn’t have the urge to go, which made it even worse, like my bowels had hardened. This was not good.
“You need the toilet? The bucket es there.”
“I…can’t,” I whispered.
“You can’t? Why?”
I didn’t respond.
“Ah…you afraid to shit in front of me?” He sounded amused. I cringed, horrified. Boys were so open about their bodily functions. I did not want to talk about crapping with anyone, much less do it in front of them.
“It’s gross,” I said. The smells, the sounds, all of it. Yuck.
He laughed. “Angel, you must get past this. We slaves have no secrets. No…what you say? Ah, privacy. We eat, we drink, we fuck, we shit where all can see.”
Emotion wracked my body and my chin began to quiver. How could he talk so nonchalantly and callously about things so serious? I couldn’t accept those words as my fate. As tears slid down my face, Josef shushed me.
“You no cry in front of Master, little Angel. He does not like.”
Well, the Master wasn’t there, so I let the tears fall, and the sobs heave in my chest, and I cried myself to sleep with Josef curled behind me.
Despite our location, I must have gotten a decent amount of sleep because I felt rested when I woke. I straightened, on my side, stretching, then relaxed. Josef muttered sleepily behind me and his arm came around my waist, hand splaying across my stomach. His face nuzzled into the crook of my neck and shoulder, and he pressed the rock hard length of himself against my ass.
“Josef!” I whisper-hissed.
He rubbed against me, gripping my thigh. I pushed back with my shoulder and elbow, making him snort and come awake.
“Ah, fuck,” he groaned, grabbing himself through his pants and rolling to his back. His forehead creased and he shut his eyes. I had to admit, yesterday he’d seemed kind of young and boyish to me, but this morning, with that hard-on and the serious look on his face, he was an attractive guy.
I rolled back over, feeling bad for some reason. With my back to him I said, “You can, you know, take care of yourself if you need to. I won’t care.” I’d never seen a guy do that, or been in the same room with someone masturbating, so the thought made my heart beat faster with nervousness.
“I cannot,” he said. “No without permission.”
“You need permission to masturbate?” I rolled toward him and he nodded. What was the point of a rule like that?
His breathing had become steadier, and his pants had gone down. I felt my cheeks heat when he caught me staring at his crotch.