Page 7 of Chained

"Amora!" her voice calls out. I turn to look over my shoulder, his disgusting body leering over her. "Amora!"

"Rosa!" I scream, my body twisting to see her. No, don't take me from her—she needs me. No. I need her, I've always needed her.

"Stay strong, Rosa. I'll find you. I promise, I'll find you." I promise something I can't guarantee. I don't know if my death is what's waiting for me behind the door, but I make the promise anyway.

The fat man lets out a bellowing laugh at my promise as he turns to look at me, his tongue flicking against his lower lip with greed as he nods to Rosa.

"I think I'll keep that one."

No, no, no, no, no, no.

My gaze locks with my sister's, her body jerking with sobs. My heart is in my throat as the door slams shut.

"It's better not to fight, love," the woman beside me whispers. "It'll only end up with you dead, or worse." She edges me forward, despite my feet staying rooted in place. The walls around us are dirty, grim. The wallpaper folds at the corners of the hallway, filthy carpet sticking to my bare feet. I want to tell her how pathetic she is. How absolutely pathetic and how much of a coward she is for giving up so fast, but my eyes fall to the scars on her arms, and it makes me think twice. Maybe she did fight, and those are her punishment for trying.

"What happens now?" I ask, even though every part of me does not want the answer. She looks so small holding on to my arm that I know with one push I could break free, but then what? Where would I go?

"We get you ready for sale, but we have to go now." Her voice is as soft as velvet as she tugs at my arm, urging me to keep moving.

I turn to look back at the closed door once more, my chest empty and aching. My heart left behind the door. There's no other choice but to comply. Even though I hate it. Even though every second that ticks by, I want to throw myself against the wood. To slam my fists into the door until my knuckles bleed, until they give her back to me. But I know what will happen if I try. He'll kill us. Or worse, he'll kill me and keep her alive. If I die, no one will come for her. No one will save her. That's why I need to survive. It's all I can think about, the only thing that keeps my feet moving and the scream trapped in my throat.

We almost reach the end of the corridor when her scream tears through the air, landing directly in my chest and knocking the wind from my lungs. She doesn't stop, her pleas loud and every bit audible as she begs for him to stop. I drop to my knees as the sobs rack through my body, every ounce of me dying with the sound of her horror. I can't do this. I can't stand here and listen. I can't stand here whilst she's in there…with him. My body moves without me even thinking, hands prying at the woman's fingers to release me, but she only grips tighter.

"Let me go," I hiss, concentrating on the dark shadows at the end of the corridor. Rosa screams again; a long, painful scream that will haunt my every waking moment.

Biting my cheek to stop the words from spilling over, I almost scream back to kill her, to put her out of this misery and take her away from this hell. What the fuck is wrong with me?

"This isn't a fight you'll win," she mutters. I twist to face her, to tell her how absolutely fucking pathetic she is, but then I see the tears that cascade down her pink cheeks confirm every thought I've had. She knows my pain. She fought. She lost. The decision to run vanishes almost as fast as the spark of bravery in my chest that seeded it in the first place. My arms drop to my side, and my body already decides for me that I need to comply, feet rooted to the ground. For a second, it's like I'm still bound by chains.

She screams one last time, and then there's raw silence. I wait, and wait, and wait for her voice to follow, but nothing comes.

"Rosa…" I whisper. Oh God, he heard my thoughts. He heard them, and he killed her. "ROSA!" The screech of my voice vibrates in my throat as I fold into myself, every part of me breaking. "Rosa…" I sob her name over and over, like it's the last time I'll ever say it.

Chapter Five

Amora

We stand in a filthy bathroom for what feels like forever. The women wait impatiently as I stand there, feeling empty. The dirty floor is wet against my feet with a liquid I don't even want to think about, the pale green tiles surrounding us covered in a mould that you can almost taste.

I don't know what we're waiting for. I don't want to know, either. I just want this to be over.

"He should be here by now," an older woman whispers to another. "He doesn't normally last this long."

Rosa's scream floods into my ears. She's not dead. I don't care what they say or how their words drip with pity. I don't care that her scream still echoes around the room, forcing me to relive it with every breath. She's not dead. She's not. I'd know.

You know, growing up we'd always get asked if we could feel each other's pain or hear each other's thoughts. It used to be annoying, like people genuinely believed we didn't have our own identities and we were just one. I used to always say no, but after standing right here in this bathroom, after hearing her screams and tasting her fear in the air, I know with everything in my entire soul that I'd know if she was dead or not.

I'd feel it, just like I feel her pain.

The door flies open, the sight of him almost making me vomit. His hands fiddle with his crotch, a sticky, wet patch he doesn't bother to hide. I force myself to look away and try to convince myself not to think about what he'd done to my sister.

But it doesn't help, because how could I not think about it? Her scream circles in my head on repeat, sending waves of guilt and fear through me, forcing me into fight mode. I couldn't save her, I didn't do enough. I was supposed to be the strong one, the one who always protects her, but I'm not. I'm weak. I walked out of that door and left her behind.

"Shall we start arranging her for transport, sir?" the woman whose hand stays gripped against my arm asks softly.

"Change of plans." He bounds over to me, his step heavy and the smell of him—oh God, the smell is something I'll never be able to wash away. His grubby fingers grip my arm tight as he drags me from the room. I don't get the chance to fight, I don't get the chance to even breathe.

He pulls me through the corridor, but I dig my heels into the carpet, the friction burning against my skin and sending pain through the soles of my feet. He pulls me into a dark, damp room with no lights. A bed with a metal frame sits in the middle, the white sheets stained yellow. My eyes fall to the wooden coffin beside the bed, the lid sealed shut.