The Mistake That Broke Me

Chapter Twenty: He's Got Blue Eyes

Song: Far From Home (trailer version) By Tommee Profitt

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I could be free. That was the thought that gave me hope when I heard it was law enforcement banging at the front door. Maybe they were going to raid this old home and rescue the girls enslaved in this horrible ordeal.

Hope tasted sweet.

I thought maybe the police finally caught on. Maybe they were performing an operation of rescue, just like the ones I've seen on TV when I used to watch crime shows with my family.

In no time at all, officers came charging into my room, dragging me out of there. However, they didn't take me away. They didn't rescue me or show mercy upon me and the other girls.

Why?

Because they were not police officers at all.

They were merely wolves in sheep's clothing.

They threw me into a large room with bright lights and cameras. I recognized this room from one of the first days I had been here. I had to get my pictures taken for customers.

It was humiliating.

The officers were apparently undercover pimps, disguising themselves as law enforcement in order to deceive the public. And I watched in horror as they dragged little children, no older than maybe ten years old into the room with me.

There was many other women.

Young women of all ages, and it sickens me.

How can humanity be so perverted? I don't think I will ever know the answer to that question. They took pictures of all of us in inappropriate positions. Some of the girls were crying and they were mocked for their tears.

Nobody cared that they were minors, innocent children in the hands of vile monsters.

It broke my heart.

At night, when nobody is looking, I cry for the girls and women stuck in this hell with me. It's heart breaking and I know I have to find a way to not only save myself from this hell, but others also.

When it was my turn to have my pictures taken, I got disgusted looks. They mocked me for the bruises on my face and kicked down what was little left of my dignity.

"The whore is too ugly to have her pictures done. Customers prefer beautiful women and girls." One of the men mocks.

"Nah, some people dig that rough shit. Take her damn pictures, I'm sure it will be bound to please somebody out there." Another one replies.

I close my eyes and look down in shame as I'm forced in front of the camera. They force me to get in humiliating, degrading positions before the camera and they even make me strip a little more.

Just close your eyes, and you'll be okay. Just look at a blank spot on the wall, and you won't feel anything. Let yourself enter a mental state of nothingness.

And so that's what I did, and it made things easier. It was hell and I think I'd rather be dead than live any longer. This life hurts me so much I don't know how much longer of this I can take. Some of these women have been stuck in this situation for years.

How can they go on?

I don't think I could handle it for that long.

When they were done with taking pictures, we were ordered to get back to work. The pimps watched us carefully as we applied our makeup and styled our hair. I was still in so much pain from the night before, and walked with a very noticeable limp.