Week One

“No, please!” Jaybelle screams, bolting upright in bed.

I scurry from my burrth="2emed and I climb into hers, wrapping my arms around her. She’s been dreaming for the past two nights, and it’s been upsetting her. I don’t blame her; it’s been upsetting me, too. Slowly I’m remembering my life after my sister died, and before William got me.

I was a slave; not a sex slave, but a slave all the same. I was worked from morning until night by a cruel, relentless man who punished me far worse than William could have ever done. My pain never stopped. If I was sick, I worked. If I was sad, I worked. If I was broken, I worked. My master was a cruel man, and the more I remember my time with him, the more my heart aches for William

“It’s okay,” I soothe Jaybelle. “It’s going to be okay.”

“I want them to stop,” she hiccups. “They hurt, Emelyn.”

“I know honey,” I whisper. “I know.”

Keeping the house together hasn’t been easy. The girls are all dealing with a deep, heart-wrenching pain that is permanently lodged into their souls. There have been fights, there have been moments of agonizing silence, and there have been moments filled with breakdowns and crying sessions that never seem to end. We’re all trying to find our way, but without him, there seems to be no way.

We’re just empty.

“Don’t fuck with me, Reign,” Genevieve screams, slamming her coffee mug down.

“Me, fuck with you?” Reign bellows back. “You think you own this house, but you don’t.”

“If you don’t like it here, get lost. You know that no one is holding you back.”

“If that’s the case, you leave!” Reign yells, throwing her hands in the air.

“Girls,” I say, my voice broken. “Please stop.”

“Don’t get your bossy pants on now, Missy Prissy,” Genève snarls at me.

“God,” I yell, kicking a stool. “Can you just stop? You’re making us all miserable.”

“Ladies, come on,” Jaybelle says. “Let’s just stop this. Let’s all go to the pool and get out of this space.”

The girls all fall quiet, and we turn and stare outside at the pool.

“It’s a good idea,” I dare to say.

“I think so, too,” Ellie pipes up.

“Whatever,” Genevieve grunts.

We all stand and rush off to our rooms. We get changed and head out to the pool. We need fresh air; we need space. We’ve been fighting so much because we’re all so confused. We don’t know what to do, or where to go, and it’s scary. We feel like we have nothing left at the end of this tunnel. We don’t even know if William wants us back, or if we want to go back to him.

I want to go back to him. Everything inside me aches to be with him.

“Girls.”

We’re all lazing by the pool when Officer Greg walks in. He’s been visiting us daily, and he’s been kind enough to us, even though he’s trying to take away the one thing we love. He stops beside my lounge, and looks down at me, before letting his eyes fall on the other girls.

“We need to ask some more questions.”

I sigh. So do the other girls.

“I know you don’t like it,” he says, his voice stern. “But it’s protocol.”

“Get on w#82girls.

He gives her a warning look before dragging a seat out, and pulling out a piece of paper.

“I need to ask you about your time in the house.”

“You’ve already asked us,” I say, crossing my arms.

“Yes, but I only asked the very basics. Now I need more.”

“Fine.”

“Firstly, I need to know if you know what happened to the girl who jumped off the roof?”

My heart clenches, and I swallow my bile down.

“She killed herself,” I grind out.

“Why?” he questions.

“Because she was depressed,” Jaybelle snaps. “She had a hard life before William. She found it hard to cope.”

He raises his brows and studies us. “And you think that’s all it was? It wasn’t something he did?”

“Of course not,” I say, my tone defensive. “He would have never let her hurt herself.”

“Okay,” he says, writing something down. “Now, after a search of the house, we saw very basic things in the rooms. If you were there willingly, why didn’t you have normal clothes, and other such items?”

He’s trying to confuse us, to get us to admit something so he can get William. Well, I won’t let him. He has no idea what William is like, or why he did what he did.

“We only needed basic things. He was looking after a lot of us,” I say.

“And he couldn’t have given you nicer clothes?”

“Could you afford clothes for that many girls?”

He narrows his eyes, but chooses to change the subject. “Very well. What about the markings on your hands?”

I have nothing for that. I feel my heart beginning to pound as I struggle for an answer. It’s Genevieve who speaks, saving me before I breakdown.

“We did those.”

The officer turns to her. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me,” she snaps. “We did them. Before William, we were no more than numbers. It became somewhat of a meaningful thing to us. We decided to tattoo it on ourselves so we never forgot the lives we left behind.”