Sequel: Manwell's Story ›
Nautica's Story
Chapter Two
With her hope almost obsolete, Nautica has fought off her customers for almost two weeks. Try as they might, Nautica’s will power was just too much to be demolished. Suddenly, she heard cars leave. There were no customers today. She knew this was her one chance to escape. She opens her window and walks on the roof of the three-story building. She desperately tries to find a way to escape
Out of the corner of her eye she spots a dry cleaning line, but it’s a story down. She hangs on the gutter of the building and tries to fall onto the line. Desperately she flings her arms out to catch the line. She grasps on with only minor rope burns on her palms. What she didn’t remember to check is how to get down from the dry cleaning line.
Feeling so weak she crept across the line to reach a window. She could feel her arms getting weaker and she kept getting closer.
“Your almost there Nautica, just a few more feet. Keep going, freedom is right on that balcony.”
What she saw next made her horrified. The cars were returning. She didn’t have enough time to think. She dropped down two stories and broke her ankle. She tried getting up but the pain was just too much. The men in suits carried her off and flung her back inside. Beating her senseless and cursing at her for trying to escape.
With her dreams crushed Nautica began giving up. She fought for so long just to break her ankle and get beat even more. Escape seemed farther away then ever. Customers started coming in more and Nautica had no choice but to smile and let them have their way with her. No matter what he asked, Nautica had to subject to every want and need of the customer. Soon it started to seem like a normal routine and Nautica lost all feeling. She could only feel the numbness of her heart. Ripped into shreds of black paper burnt from the fires of hopelessness and sorrow.
Nautica’s neighbor girls would always tell her to keep her head up and don’t give in. But how could she not with no hope left for her escape. The doors were locked, the windows bared, and no sharp objects or ropes to commit suicide with. Even though she lost all hope she could find no way to end herself. She could only sit in the corner and sneak a cry at night when everyone was asleep. Even then the men in suits would get up to beat her if she was too loud.
One customer came in but he wasn’t an ordinary customer. He had a book in his hand that was foreign to Nautica. He sat down on the bed with her and actually talked to her. He didn’t rip off her clothes, didn’t try to rape her. He didn’t even try to touch her breasts. All he did was sit there and talk
“Hello, My name is Manwell, I’m only here because I to, was captured and sold into slavery. I am not a prostitute like you though; I clean and cook for the masters. My only payment is a lash on my back if I burnt the food or I didn’t add enough salt.”
“Why are you talking to me? Then again, if you are a slave like me, why are you even here?” Nautica answered
“They asked me to lie with you to make sure you still were easy and open for the new customers.”
“Then why don’t you have your way with me?”
“I promised God I would not touch a women in any other way then a friendly hug until I was married.”
“God? What the hell has God done for you? He trapped you here, He sent you away from your parents, and He even made the men who whip you every day and night! Yet you are still worshiping the God that sent you to this hell?”
“God did not make these people act this way. They had to choose.”
“Don’t tell me your lies! I’ve heard nothing but lies for the past month! How am I supposed to believe in you? Just leave me or I’ll scream and they’ll beat you as well as beat me!”
“I don’t expect you to believe, but if you want me to leave the fine, I will leave. I hope we talk again Nautica”
Nautica never told Manwell her name. She didn’t even give any personal information to this boy. Questions started rushing in and anxiety soon followed. How does a complete stranger know about her? Does he know about her past as well? Does he know where we are and how I can get home? Nautica’s hope started flushing in again. Sadly she still had to be loose and let the men through her to stay good and not be beaten. The “masters,” as Manwell called them, were scarier then staying abstinent.
Out of the corner of her eye she spots a dry cleaning line, but it’s a story down. She hangs on the gutter of the building and tries to fall onto the line. Desperately she flings her arms out to catch the line. She grasps on with only minor rope burns on her palms. What she didn’t remember to check is how to get down from the dry cleaning line.
Feeling so weak she crept across the line to reach a window. She could feel her arms getting weaker and she kept getting closer.
“Your almost there Nautica, just a few more feet. Keep going, freedom is right on that balcony.”
What she saw next made her horrified. The cars were returning. She didn’t have enough time to think. She dropped down two stories and broke her ankle. She tried getting up but the pain was just too much. The men in suits carried her off and flung her back inside. Beating her senseless and cursing at her for trying to escape.
With her dreams crushed Nautica began giving up. She fought for so long just to break her ankle and get beat even more. Escape seemed farther away then ever. Customers started coming in more and Nautica had no choice but to smile and let them have their way with her. No matter what he asked, Nautica had to subject to every want and need of the customer. Soon it started to seem like a normal routine and Nautica lost all feeling. She could only feel the numbness of her heart. Ripped into shreds of black paper burnt from the fires of hopelessness and sorrow.
Nautica’s neighbor girls would always tell her to keep her head up and don’t give in. But how could she not with no hope left for her escape. The doors were locked, the windows bared, and no sharp objects or ropes to commit suicide with. Even though she lost all hope she could find no way to end herself. She could only sit in the corner and sneak a cry at night when everyone was asleep. Even then the men in suits would get up to beat her if she was too loud.
One customer came in but he wasn’t an ordinary customer. He had a book in his hand that was foreign to Nautica. He sat down on the bed with her and actually talked to her. He didn’t rip off her clothes, didn’t try to rape her. He didn’t even try to touch her breasts. All he did was sit there and talk
“Hello, My name is Manwell, I’m only here because I to, was captured and sold into slavery. I am not a prostitute like you though; I clean and cook for the masters. My only payment is a lash on my back if I burnt the food or I didn’t add enough salt.”
“Why are you talking to me? Then again, if you are a slave like me, why are you even here?” Nautica answered
“They asked me to lie with you to make sure you still were easy and open for the new customers.”
“Then why don’t you have your way with me?”
“I promised God I would not touch a women in any other way then a friendly hug until I was married.”
“God? What the hell has God done for you? He trapped you here, He sent you away from your parents, and He even made the men who whip you every day and night! Yet you are still worshiping the God that sent you to this hell?”
“God did not make these people act this way. They had to choose.”
“Don’t tell me your lies! I’ve heard nothing but lies for the past month! How am I supposed to believe in you? Just leave me or I’ll scream and they’ll beat you as well as beat me!”
“I don’t expect you to believe, but if you want me to leave the fine, I will leave. I hope we talk again Nautica”
Nautica never told Manwell her name. She didn’t even give any personal information to this boy. Questions started rushing in and anxiety soon followed. How does a complete stranger know about her? Does he know about her past as well? Does he know where we are and how I can get home? Nautica’s hope started flushing in again. Sadly she still had to be loose and let the men through her to stay good and not be beaten. The “masters,” as Manwell called them, were scarier then staying abstinent.