Page 104 of Kings & Queen

“Yes, ma’am,” I cried, clutching my cheek.

I tried to fix them on the wall ahead of me instead of X and what he was doing. But our instructor wasn’t having any of it and pushed the button on the intercom.

My stomach lurched, and a heavy weight settled on my chest as guilt set in. I knew from past experiences that whenever the button was pushed, whoever was on the other side of the glass paid the price of our rebellion. Me shutting my eyes and refusing to watch the horror would result in a worse time for X.

“Looks like we have someone who can’t seem to pay attention. Can you start over, please?” she exclaimed happily.

“With pleasure. I can always count on Spring, can’t I?” the Collector commented with a rueful laugh.

How did he know it was me? Probably because it was almost always me. X sobbed uncontrollably, and a piece of me died. Maybe I was as awful as the bad men said I was. I knew the rules, and yet I looked away. And now she was going to suffer because of me.

With a salute in the direction of us girls, the Collector removed his fingers and smacked X’s rear end hard. She stumbled and almostfell.

My heart pounded while my cheeks burned with shame. Our instructor wasn’t done with me, though. She pulled me by my hair roughly and repositioned me so I was standing right beside her. She slapped me several times, then shoved my face toward the glass.

“You will not look away,” she hissed.

And so, I was forced to watch as he once more put four fingers inside her. At some point, he had put a ball gag in her mouth to keep her quiet. It didn’t stop the muffled scream enough as he moved his thumb into his palm and gave a harsh shove.

This wasn’t possible. My adolescent brain couldn’t comprehend how or why. His entire hand was inside of her, and then he twisted around. With a sick grin, he fucked her hard, and the sound was obscene and disgusting as he mauled her.

Her knees scraped the ground, marking her skin even more. The cuts started bleeding, and every time she moved, I cried silent tears as he continued to hurt her privates. Then he pulled his hand out, and my gasp wasn’t the only one heard in the room.

Blood—so much it dripped from his closed fist. He happily took the gag off, shoved his hand in her face, and shouted, “Clean it.”

He only waited long enough for her to respond. But she wasn’t fast enough for him, so he wiped his hand over her face and breasts, painting her almost.Please, god, let him be done, I prayed. I knew Autumn was praying the same thing, even if I couldn’t hear her words. At night, sometimes I heard her small voice praying.

He wasn’t done, though, and he returned behind her. He paused for a moment and looked down at her bottom half and then at the mirror where, if we were visible, he would’ve seen four very young, frightened little girls who were in shock. Attaching the gag once more, he grinned sickeningly at us.

The Collector turned back to X and spit on her. She tensed, and even though we had never seen anything like this before, I knew somewhere in my brain what was coming.No, I screamed in my head, as if that would stop him. But this time, I stood as still as I could. I vowed not to cause her additional pain ever again.

I kept my gaze forward and focused on the floor by her hands instead of the view of her spread butt cheeks. The sound she made around the gag when he jammed his finger into her bottom was muffled but distinct enough I would never forget it. It hurt badly, by the sound of it. Our masters would want to do this to us one day—that was what the Collector said. The thought made me want to pass out.

“Ready, slave whore? I’ll try not to split your ass, but no guarantees,” he said.

With those words, her eyes closed, and he repeated the same process as he had done before, two, three, four fingers. Her fingernails dug into the groundand snapped.

My eyes whipped openas a surge of terror consumed me. Gasping for air, I stumbled out of bed on shaky legs and ran toward the bathroom. Pain radiated through my legs as I fell to the floor in front of the toilet. I surrendered to the waves of nausea. Minutes dragged on, each passing second better than the one before as the nightmare receded.

Slowly, I pushed myself away from the toilet, my body drained of all strength. I moved on autopilot, going through the motions of brushing my teeth while trying to stem the trembling of my hands and not get toothpaste all over me. Aching with desperation, I reached for my phone; the panic hadn’t left entirely, and I needed him.

“Sir,” I whimpered into the speaker, trying to calm myself.

“Kinsley, it’s okay. You’re safe. Tell me what happened,” Marcel said. Hearing his voice broke the dam.

“I hate the memories. Why do they have to be there? They’re always there, waiting for me to feel normal again, and then they return to remind me I’m not.”

“Which one was it this time?” His voice was soft and soothing.

“I can’t be a kajira. If he finds me, he’ll make me a slave whore. I know he will. I don’t want to be a slave whore.” I sobbed.

He spent twenty-five minutes on the phone with me, talking me down off the ledge. Then he promised to check in later and gave me specific homework to do. I spent thirty minutes journaling in my notebook, trying to capture the fragments of my thoughts, fears, and hopes. Each stroke of the pen was a cathartic release. I snapped a picture and sent it to him, letting him know I’d completed it.

Putting the journal inside my nightstand, I checked the time, noting I could squeeze in a quick shower. I always took one after a nightmare. Cool air washed over me as I stood and stretched, then stepped toward the bathroom, before a knock on my door stopped me in my tracks.

“Come in,” I called out, pushing my hair back from my face.

“Dear…” Sophia’s voice reached out, gentle and warm, enveloping my weary heart. “I know you said you wanted a rain check on shopping and dining out,” she continued, “but I have a fantastic plan that doesn’t involve going anywhere. What do you think? Join me?”