Sophia

Marc asked me to follow him to the dressing room again where he brought me earlier before the auction. Maria was still there preparing other girls for same. I feel an ache for the girl as she left the room in the same white lingerie I was wearing with the same man who took me. I know she was about to replace me in the auction because apparently I am sold already.

I am still not able to process that whether standing in that auction was more dreadful or being given as a gift to the Don. Either ways I am doomed for hell but maybe there was a slightest chance that a sane person would have bought me rather than the Devil himself.

"Get her dressed in something classy, Don wants her that way" Marc's voice brought me back to reality. Maria gave a simple nod and started shuffling the closet of this so white parlor room, I guess looking for a classy dress in a whorehouse must be a difficult job. Why is everything so white in this room? It is said that white depicts purity... Ughhh, it just made me hate Marc even more. And why classy, for someone who is picking a girl from an auction, what does it matter. But I was too scared to think about that. My irritation raised as I heard Marc's voice laced with smug "While you dress her up feel free to share some tips, afterall you too have creamed his sheets." He said to Maria with a smirk implying that she has slept with Don. "What can I say, he always has the eyes for my most precious ones" he gave me a once over with a wink. "Trust me the tremble in her walk the next morning proved that she got to know him pretty well that night." He whispered coming closer to me as he passed me towards the door. "Anyways friendly advise for you know old times sake" he spoke over the shoulder before closing the door behind him "Don't disrespect him and you will live. Don't push him, you know they say calling him Satan is an insult to Satan, so try to be on his good side". He said while closing the door as he left. Wow, he just increased my fear 10times by his lame attempt.

"He is an aggressive man, he will be less rough if you obey him" I heard Maria speaking for the first time as she lay down a black dress on the white dressing stool. She was a red head her eyes were dark brown in color and always have this blank expression. She was dressed in a long white gown and she spoke in a low graceful voice. Too modest for someone whose job is to dress whores, but guess that the picture they portray, like the white in this room, hypocrites, I mentally rolled my eyes. "You look too innocent to get trapped in this mafia shit but you are...different...with this innocent beauty, I could see why Don wants you." she spoke again with pity in her eyes, before I could even ask her to help me not that she would have, her eyes masked again her usual blank stare.

All I could think that she had sex with Don. A part of me wanted to ask who he is. I mean I never saw him, I don't know how he looks, for all I know he could be a 40year old man. I don't know why but whenever I heard about him in Marc's conversations I always pictured a George Clooney sitting in grey suit in some upper east side buildings. I mean he rules the underworld he can't be younger. But right now more than his age, I am scared of how long I am alive considering his impatient temper. I wanted to ask Maria is he actually that dangerous but before I could ever get over my agony to form a sentence she said "Also I have heard that Don has a thing for brunettes" she commented and there goes the pity "You should get changed, why keep them waiting". She said while handing over the dress to me.

She left after doing her job and I stared at my reflection in the mirror. She had dolled me up as per Don's preferences. The dress was a simple yet elegant. It is a sleeveless fitted black lace dress that is sensual without revealing too much. It ends just above my knees paired with blood red pumps which I think is 6 inches because they have started killing my feet as soon as I wore them, she straightened my hair, makeup was subtle with light blush and nude lip gloss. Thankfully she has not put on the whorish red lip color in which she has dressed me earlier this evening but then I guess this is "something classy".

She said I am beautiful, "beautiful" a word every girl wants to hear, the same word which has became a curse for me. Though, I do looked beautiful but yet empty. The girl staring back at me has empty eyes and a broken soul. Long gone the 5year old who was playing carelessly with the hem of her princess dress planning a new prank on her younger brother.

The sound of a whistle made me turn from the mirror and the memory lane I was strolling in and I saw Marc standing at the door frame lusting over my body. "You have no idea how painful it is to stop myself from tearing that dress off and fuck your sexy ass right here my dove". His cheap and poisonous words tore the silence of the room. I rolled my eyes with utmost disgust. He acknowledged my eye roll with his irritating laughter and said "You seem ready" he commented. "You don't forget your promise" I retorted. "Ah... c'mon dove. You can trust me" he said with a fake smile and by crossing his heart. "Let's go then". He said winking at me.

Let's go then, I wish I would go back to being that little girl in that mirror who was laughing with her dad at her brother drenched in mud whining to mom in the playground. I wonder if I could laugh like that again. I looked back to the mirror one last time and I could still see and still hear the echo of laughter on a Sunday morning, dad joking around, mom complaining over my tantrums over breakfast cereals, my little weirdo playing with his basket ball. Every step that I take towards Marc and away from that mirror, the sounds, the laughter, the figures everything is becoming blur, like I am loosing my life like the sand from my fist. As Marc close the door of that white room it felt like the last strand of sand fell too no matter how strongly I hold on to.

How loosing someone makes you loose yourself?