Daddy, as he wants to be called, has friends. Men that love to come by for drinks and a little playtime before going home to their wives. I’m untied when they come but after my nightly “scrubdown”, daddy ties me again. I wear a chain around my throat, locked with a large padlock. Every morning I’m raped then made to fix his breakfast. He allows me no clothes and makes me kneel when I’m not working. Chores every day, washing the floors with horse brushes and water. He does allow me to eat, twice a day and only after he eats, never at the table. My knees begin to get calloused and my fingernails are ragged, I’ve lost weight and he’s pleased with me. He gets drunk often and beats me if there’s no one there to keep me “occupied” For a while that’s not very often. One day leads to the next and I’m not sure how long I’ve been here.
It’s snowing and he leaves me alone while he “goes to town” in his truck. The silence is deafening out here in the country as the flakes of snow begin to cling to the trees outside. I pace the floor and think about escape. I search the drawers and cabinets of the house, looking for keys. I’m in the wash room when I find the gun. It’s a tiny gun, just right for a womans hands. I hold it for a moment before checking it for bullets. Theres only one but I think it will come in handy soon so I take it to the kitchen and put it in the top shelf of the pantry. It was dusty and I wipe it to a shine before slipping it into the dark recesses of the shelves. I make some tea for myself and sit at the table, hands trembling. I listen for his truck as the steam from my cup wafts up and tickles my nose. I’m glad for this small respite from my daily grind and I look at my hands, frowning at the callouses on my palms. I decide to take a long hot bath to soak my aching body so I pick up my cup and head to the master bath.
I settle into the bath, the water steaming and hot enough to make my flesh cringe as I slowly slip under the surface. I stay submerged till the air runs out of my lungs then just raise enough for my lips and nose to break the surface. I’m content in my silent underwater world. I have to lay cross-legged for all of me to fit in the smallish tub and the water sloshes over the sides when I get me all submerged. I lay there for what feels like ages, in a meditation I suppose. The water cooling around me, feeling like a womb, warm and safe except for the heavy chain about my throat. It was the only thing keeping me awake I think. I was at the point then that I didn’t really care if I lived or died. I was existing and that was all.
His hand slipped under the collar and pulled me up violently from the water. I gasped and coughed, looking at him wide-eyed as he asked me if I was ok. I didn’t recognize him from any of my captors friends but he was mildly familiar. I couldn’t speak as he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around me. “You must be the one he was talking about” he says. “w…who?” I stammered. “George. He talked about you when he was in town. He’ll be away for a bit longer than expected and asked me to come check on you, make sure you was ok and all.” This he said as he led me out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. “Where’s your clothes?” he asks, looking around the room. I looked at him, silently assessing him as he searched drawers and the closet for something for me to wear. He talked a lot, asking questions yet not waiting for answers. He was acting nervous, frequently looking out the window. Finally he stopped and stared at me, his voice soft “if you want to leave here, I have the key to that lock. I suggest you stop standing there and find something to wear, damn it” “did you kill him?” I asked softly. He laughed and shook his head “Naw, I bought you” He walked from the room headed toward the other bedroom, the one George slept in. I stood there, shivering yet numb, scarcely able to breathe. I was sold… like a… a slave… or worse, an animal.
He returned to the room carrying a dress that he forced over my head then unlocked the lock and replaced the chain with a slip collar, locking that in place with the same lock. He attached a leash and, numbly I was taken from the house, barefoot and shivering in the cold winter air. He helped me into the truck, a semi with no trailer and climbed in behind me, pushing me into the sleeper. He attached the collar to a chain which was attached to the cab itself. “Now, you’ll be a good girl and do anything I tell you to. I’ll take care of you and keep you safe and fed. Just think, you’ll get to see the whole country and only have to do as you’re told. Sound fair?” Still numb, I nodded and said “anything better than being locked in a house all the time.” He chuckled and sipped into the driver’s seat, started the engine and drove away from that hated house. My spirits were lifting even though I was still a captive.
Collared and enslaved to someone I just met, sold to him like a piece of prized stock. Who’d have thought that, in this day and age, there was still stuff like this going on? I lay down on the bed and felt the bouncing and jolting of the truck as he got it onto the highway. It was quiet for a while and he spoke into the CB mic, trucker talk and jargon I remembered from my childhood. I dozed off to the sound of his voice and the hum of the tires on the road, my hair still damp from the bath.