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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My head is ready to explode from the humming sound that vibrates through every fiber of my bones. Uncomfortable pressure irritates my eardrums. I've flown enough times in my life by now to be certain I'm on an airplane. Prying my eyes open, I find nothing but a bare metal ceiling. Add the hard cot I'm resting on and I'm not on a commercial airliner.
When I turn my head, nausea overcomes me. Two hands hold a bucket under my nose as vomit spills from my mouth. Choking up air, I drop my head back onto the jacket that functions as a pillow. The cramps in my stomach ease. I inhale deeply to slow my breath, even though my lungs wheeze and burn every time I fill them to the brim.
Pushing my upper torso up, I get myself into a vertical position after some struggle. Dizziness overcomes me and I press my palms into my temples to stop the spinning in my head. My stomach is still tight, but the nausea is manageable.
Three sets of eyes observe me from across a small aisle, their expressions indifferent. One guy is chewing gum while another is cleaning the dirt from underneath his fingernails with a knife. Why do men do that? They could as easily carry some type of nail file on them. Maybe they think it's cool.
My gaze scans over the last guy in the row; he has a few years on the rest. Stubble covers most of the lower part of his face and the rest of him is also unkempt. My inspection pauses on a purple ribbon with a small heart that is pinned to the front pocket of his uniform just under the words US Marines. I'm still uncertain if that signals "friendly." The three faces are grim. For all I know, I'm their prisoner and they are taking me to Guantanamo.
A water bottle is held up in front of my nose. "Here. You should stay hydrated so that the tranquilizer can get flushed out of your system."
I divert my head in the direction of the voice. A young guy smiles at me. His eyes are so dark that his pupils almost blend with his irises, a thin layer of sweat pearling on his upper lip. Hair cropped closely to his head, he almost appears bald.
With a little bit of effort, I twist the cap off the bottle. The water is warm but manages to soothe my burning throat. The pressure on my head eases. He watches me with a goofy grin while the others look as if they're pondering whether to shoot me.
I gulp down a few more mouthfuls and focus on Smiles. "Where're you taking me?"
"Fort Eustis."
I've never heard of it. "Where's that?"
He's about to answer when the older guy cuts into him. "That's enough, Staff Sergeant. It's not your job to brief the package."
"Aye, Sergeant Major." Smiles grimaces as he gives me a shrug, mouthing "sorry."
Silence falls over the plane. I sip my water with blank eyes, Miguel's dead face taking over my mind. It hurts that he's gone just as much as his death is liberating. Yet I have no doubt that a piece of me was left behind, a small part of my heart he took to his grave. It'll take a long while before I'll give love another chance; too much heartache and too many complications are associated with it. I'm better off alone than going through all that pain.
