Hotel Liberty

Chapter 2 - Olivia

April 13th, 2020

Today is my birthday. I know this because the man I was with last night mentioned that in a month, it would be his birthday, May 12th. I am 17 today.

On a normal birthday, my dad would have woken me up with breakfast in bed. Bacon, egg, toast and a cup of tea. He would have sung to me and kissed me on the cheek before handing me whatever spectacular gifts he had gotten me that year. When I turned 13, he bought me a vintage typewriter because I had shown an interest in writing poems earlier that year.

“I know what my girl’s passions are” he had said, holding the waist of his girlfriend at the time with one hand and touching my new typewriter with the other, “my Liv is going to be a famous poet one day!”

His gifts were always amazing and well thought-out, but also extremely expensive. We lived quite a luxurious life, thanks to his overflowing wealth. He used to tell me that all the riches, all the hard work, all the blood, sweat and tears, was for me, so that I could want for nothing and be happy. My dad loved me so much it looked as if it was almost painful to try and contain the amount of love within him. He would come up to my room and give me a hug at the most random times of the day. He’d always make sure I felt safe and comfortable. My safety was his top priority, and he would remind me daily never to leave the house without him, or to answer the door to a stranger, or even to talk to strangers at all. I never quite understood his worry though, because from my little bubble, the world I knew was the safest, most comfortable place. I had the easiest childhood anyone could ever wish for. And I never knew the suffering that the rest of the world experienced, until I was taken here.

I feel uneasily sick today. I am usually able to contain my nausea and stop myself from vomiting, but this week, it has been nearly impossible to keep it in. My initial fear is that I have fallen pregnant, but Boss makes me take “the pill” every morning, and always tells me that the men are to use protection every time, so pregnancy will never be a problem.

I lift my hand up to my head to feel its temperature. I don’t seem to have a fever.

Boss and other men will soon burst through the door and take me to a new hotel room, I can feel the time approaching. In anticipation, I nervously scratch any itches on my body and nibble on my nails. Boss and the men don’t like to see my nerves, it agitates them and often results in me being hurt.

“You’re up, kid” Boss yells as he barges in with the other men just behind him.

I stand up as quickly as I can and go with them to the hotel room. Sometimes the conformity with which I politely follow them disgusts and shames me. Walking behind them without protest or argument makes me feel as if I am willing in this situation, as if I have chosen this life.

The metal door which I am dragged out from has the number 15 spray painted on it, and dents from all the times I have tried to kick my way out of the room where I am forced to reside. I once caused such a ruckus that one of Boss’ men burst in and angrily hit my head into the wall, so hard that I fell to the ground and could not move for a while. Boss ran in and shouted at the man.

“Jesus Christ! We need these damn girls alive, or else they’re bloody useless to us! Useless!” Boss shouted so hard that I could see his tiny veins popping through his neck as his face turned red. He bent down to check my pulse. I realised that I had not been able to move or blink in a while, and that my eyes were stinging as blood from my head dripped into them.

Boss usually handles me himself these days. I suppose he doesn’t find it necessary to have back-up now that I act so compliently. Or perhaps he really is worried that his men will accidentally kill one of the women in a rage.

Today, however, Boss came with his entourage. The heavily armed men watch me closely as we walk, they are ready to jump in case I suddenly decide to put up a fight. We get to the door of a hotel room, and Boss unlocks it. I walk in and he immediately shuts it and locks it again. I now have an hour to myself before today’s man arrives.

The hour I have alone in the hotel room is meant for eating, washing, and grooming. I’m supposed to look my best for the men that walk through the hotel doors. I’m supposed to do anything they say, although I try to keep talking to a minimum, as per Boss’ instruction.

Sometimes I am lucky and the man who walks in only wants to chat, or to cuddle, or just have some company for a while. Sometimes all I have to do is kiss them or build up their ego. I used to be terribly awkward, but I started to realise that my life quite literally depended on me pleasing these men, so I quickly learnt to do my job better.

I stare at my naked body in the bathroom mirror after my shower. Where I once had little fat rolls, my ribcage now pierces through. My cheeks are almost non-existent, and my hair is much thinner and longer than it was when I was first brought here. I want to lie on the cold floor and cry until I have no tears left, but I know that I only have about 20 minutes left until a man walks in and tells me what he wants me to do. So, I put the hotel robe on, brush my teeth and tie my hair up into a bun. Had this situation not been so dire, I might’ve been able to appreciate my own beauty in the reflection.

The door opens. A man walks in.
I look up at the camera, acknowledging to whoever is watching that I know what to do next, and that I will not try to escape.

"Hi" the man says softly, "I'm Alistair."