Chapter 5

FIVE

Hollis - age 26 - Present Day

The soft glow of the early morning sun seeped through the thin curtains, casting a warm light across our tiny apartment. I stretched, and the stiffness in my muscles reminded me of the late night I'd spent balancing bills and paperwork. My eyes drifted to the clock on the nightstand—time to wake Olive.

I padded down the narrow hallway, my bare feet making soft thuds on the worn carpet. Pushing open her bedroom door, I found her exactly as I did every morning—sprawled out like a starfish, her curly blonde hair a wild halo around her head .

"Olive," I called gently, moving to sit on the edge of her bed. "Time to get up, sweetheart."

She groaned, rolling over to bury her face in the pillow. "Five more minutes, Mom."

I chuckled, leaning down to kiss her cheek. "You say that every morning. Come on, we don't want to be late."

Olive peeked one eye open, giving me a sleepy smile. "Okay, okay. I'm up."

As she slowly sat up, I reached over to ruffle her hair, and she giggled, swatting my hand away. "Mom, my hair is already messy enough."

"I know, I know. Let's get you dressed, Miss Messy Hair."

Olive hopped out of bed and dashed to her dresser, pulling out her favorite yellow dress with the sunflowers on it. "Can I wear this today?"

"Of course," I said, smiling. "You always look so bright and cheerful in that dress."

She beamed, quickly changing while I tidied up her bed. Moments later, she was ready, her hair only slightly tamed by a few brush strokes. We made our way to the tiny kitchen, the smell of freshly brewed coffee welcoming us.

"What's for breakfast?" Olive asked, climbing onto one of the mismatched chairs at the small table.

I opened the fridge, taking stock of our limited supplies. "How about some toast and scrambled eggs?"

"Yum!" Olive clapped her hands together. "Can I have some of the strawberry jelly, too?"

"Absolutely," I said, grabbing the jar from the fridge. "Strawberry jelly makes everything better."

As I whisked the eggs and put the bread in the toaster, Olive swung her legs back and forth, humming a little tune. Her carefree spirit was contagious, and I hummed along with her. Despite the financial strain and the endless to-do lists, these mornings with Olive were my favorite part of the day.

"You did your homework, right?" I winked at her. "Mrs. Williams will be upset if you didn't."

"Don't be so silly momma." She stuck her tongue out at me and made a face. "I always do my homework.

Of course, she did—my little helper. Olive was the model child. I worked late some nights, and she'd start her homework immediately when she got home. Very rarely did she do something she wasn't supposed to do. "So, what are you learning in school today?" I asked as I plated the eggs and toast and set them before her .

"We're doing a science project about plants," she said, her eyes lighting up. "Mrs. Williams is bringing in plants today, and she says we'll watch them grow all year!"

"That sounds exciting," I said, sitting across from her. "You'll have to teach me everything you learn. Maybe we can start a little garden on the windowsill."

Olive's eyes widened with excitement. "Really? That would be so cool, Mom!"

"Really," I assured her, sipping my coffee. "We can grow all sorts of things. Maybe some herbs… and we could try a sunflower." I wasn't sure that would work, but I'd try for Olive. She was my absolute joy.

"Yes!" She pumped her fist in the air, making me laugh. "I can't wait to tell Mrs. Williams."

As we finished breakfast, Olive chattered about her friends and her plans for recess. I listened, cherishing her stories and the sound of her voice filling our cozy apartment.

"Time to brush your teeth and grab your backpack," I reminded her, clearing the dishes and trying to put the apartment to rights. There were always a few toys left out, Olive's book from the previous evening or a dirty hoodie.

She hopped off her chair and ran to the bathroom, her laughter echoing down the hallway. I followed, making sure she brushed properly before helping her tie her shoes.

"Are you all set?" I asked, giving her a once-over. Do you have everything you need?"

Olive nodded, her backpack almost as big as she was. "Yep! Ready to go!"

We headed out the door, stepping into the crisp morning air. It was still early, but Olive was enrolled in the early morning program at her school. At nine years old, she was my pride and joy, smart as a whip, and got straight As's. I was abnormally proud of her. Granted, that was probably what all the moms had said.

The walk to the bus stop was short, and we made it a daily ritual to hold hands and talk about anything that came to mind. Today, it was all about sunflowers and science projects.

As we reached the curb, Olive turned to me, her blue eyes sparkling excitedly. "What time do you get home tonight?"

Kneeling to hug her, I kissed her curls. "Before seven tonight. We'll have spaghetti." Her eyes lit with excitement.

She hugged me tightly, her small arms wrapped around my neck. "Yay, my favorite. Garlic bread, too?"

"I love you, Mom." She scrunched her face up and brought it towards me for a kiss. Obliging, I bent forward and busked both cheeks with butterfly kisses .

"Yes, and garlic bread. I love you, Olive," I whispered, holding her close. "Have a great day at school."

"I love you too, Mom."

She gave me one last smile as the bus arrived. She climbed aboard with a wave; I waited until she reached her seat, her blond curls swinging and her sunflower dress bright against the black vinyl. I watched her go, my heart swelling with pride and love.

As I turned to head back home, the weight of our financial struggles briefly pressed down on me. But I shook it off, determined to focus on the positives. We had each other, and that was more important than anything else.

Back at the apartment, I got ready for the first part of my day, a receptionist job at a real estate office. My only gripe was that it wasn't full-time; they kept the hours just short enough that I couldn't quite get benefits. Then, I had a shift for a few hours at the bookstore, but that was my favorite since I did get a discount. Both Olive and I loved to read.

There wasn't much time before I was due to start work, so I rushed through blow-drying my hair. I'd kept it long, but that was only because I couldn't afford a decent haircut for a while, so I'd gotten a little lazy. The real estate office required "office attire, " meaning I had to push my Goodwill budget and be creative when shopping. Today, I wore my trusty flats with a dark green maxi dress I found for eight bucks. It had been a steal.

I hurried to my car and let myself into the office to start the coffee pot before the relators came in. I glanced at the photo of Olive on my visor; her smile was a constant reminder of why I worked so hard.

We didn't have much, but we had enough. And as long as we had each other, I knew we could get through anything.

"Could I just squeeze by?" I asked. The lady seemed to be pondering the variety of tomato sauces like it was the most fascinating choice she'd ever seen. Her cart was blocking mine, and she was oblivious. "Ma'am?"

The Food For Less in Santee, California, was packed with people just getting off work. The store was a cacophony of noise, with the constant rattle of wheels, children's complaints, and people's phone conversations. Every aisle I turned down felt like a maze, with someone to dodge or weave between. People were leisurely browsing and parking their carts too far from the center, which was always a source of irritation. I was in a rush, needing to grab a few coupon items and escape the chaos. Usually, I'd come earlier in the day when it was less crowded, but today, I'd worked through lunch and needed a few things for dinner.

Pushing my hair back in frustration, I looked behind me to see if I could turn around. Already, the aisle was blocked behind me. Finally, I gave up and maneuvered my cart through the narrow gap, silently cursing my decision not to opt for a handbasket. The woman looked up, startled, and gave me an eye roll, begrudgingly pulling her cart to the side.

"You could have asked. Young people are so rude these days. So entitled," she sniffed.

"Sorry," I murmured as I passed her, keeping my eyes down. I wasn't sorry and wished I dared to tell her so, but that wasn't my style.

I grabbed a jar of marinara sauce and tossed it into my cart, rechecking the brand to ensure it matched my coupon. Next up was pasta and garlic bread, quick and easy for a weeknight dinner. With a determined sigh, I navigated the labyrinth of shoppers and made my way to the pasta aisle. There, I encountered a young couple arguing about pasta brands. What a luxury to be able to choose brands, I thought to myself. My shopping choices were dictated solely by my prices and coupons. The thought of filling a cart was a lofty dream to me. Sometimes, I'd see people pushing carts stuffed to the brim with snacks and expensive brands, things I'd never buy in a million paychecks, and be so jealous. I'd have to remind myself sternly that I had other blessings .

"Excuse me," I said softly, easing my cart past them. They barely noticed, too engrossed in their debate. My phone buzzed in my pocket as I reached for a box of spaghetti. It was a text from Olive's after-school program reminding me of the parent-teacher conference. I quickly replied with a thumbs-up emoji and shoved the phone back into my pocket.

Finally, I headed towards the bakery section with my items checked off. The smell of fresh bread was a welcome distraction from the chaos. I grabbed a loaf of garlic bread and started for the checkout lanes, which were unsurprisingly all crowded. I picked the shortest line, behind a man with a full cart and a toddler in the middle of a meltdown.

As I waited, I thought about Olive. Nine years old and already so independent, she always had her nose in a book or was busy with her art projects. She'd been asking for spaghetti and garlic bread all week, her favorite meal. I couldn't wait to see her face light up when I entered the door .

The toddler in front of me continued to scream, the father frantically trying to soothe him with a lollipop. I glanced at my watch, growing more impatient.

"Next, please!" the cashier called. Finally, it was my turn. I quickly unloaded my items onto the conveyor belt, swiping my loyalty card and rummaging for my coupons. The cashier, a young woman with tired eyes and a warm smile, scanned my items efficiently.

I handed over the cash and gathered my bags, grateful to be almost done. As I exited the store, the sky was already dark. I hurried to my car with my bag of groceries, scanning the lot casually, my mind on dinner and my little girl who'd gotten home hours ahead of me. There were times that I worried that she'd have been better off with someone else if I'd bowed to my mother's wishes and given her up for adoption, but I couldn't believe that it would have been the right choice. I loved her so much. That had to be enough.

As I bent to load the groceries into the car, I never knew who plunged the syringe into my neck. I never saw them coming.

The bag was yanked off my head, and its static left my long hair crackling with electricity. I blinked against the harsh light flooding the room, struggling to get my bearings. Groggy from whatever drug they had used on me, my head lolled on my neck, heavy and unsteady. It felt like my mind was wrapped in cotton, leaving me disoriented and confused.

"Get on the table," the man yanked me forward.

"What?" I asked, confused. The man had me by an arm as he pushed me forward.

Glancing around the small room, I saw it was set up like a clinic, with an exam table front and center. The stirrups came into focus as I struggled against his hold, my feet scrabbling against the tile.

"No, no, no… Please. No!" I screamed. I threw myself into action, thrashing against his hold as my mind spun round and round, trying to consider the possibilities of what was happening bu t only coming up with terrifying outcomes. What would happen to Olive? She was going to be so scared.

"Shut the fuck up. Get on the table, or I'll just kill you now," he said. His voice was bored, his eyes dull as if he had seen a thousand scared girls kidnapped.

Immediately, I stopped struggling. Maybe that threat would have thrown someone else into action and wouldn't deter another person, but I had Olive to think about. There was nothing I wouldn't do for her, and I needed to find a way back to her. Looking at the man's face, I could tell he wasn't joking. He had a gun jammed into his belt, and he didn't seem overly concerned about me. Scrambling up onto the table, I ceased fighting.

My head turned as the door opened, and for a moment, I thought about making a run for it, but there was no way I'd make it. Maybe someone would help me. Whoever this was? The person who entered wore a doctor's coat, but I doubted he was one. He looked far from interested in the sight of a tear-stained woman restrained on the examining table in front of him. I knew immediately that he wouldn't raise a finger to help me.

"Let's make this quick. I have dinner reservations," he said to the other man. "Take off your underwear and put your feet in the stirrups." He could have been narrating a Jungle Boat cruise or telling me my next bus stop for all the emotion he had in his voice, although there was too much interest in his beady eyes for what was happening.

The man who brought me in shifted momentarily, his hand going to his belt where his gun was tucked. He was slightly overweight, his belly straining against the buttons of his shirt. Sweat glistened on his face, yet his gaze remained fixed on me. ‘Let's go. We don't have all day.'

Gulping, I looked at the door and the men. There would be a chance to escape, I promised myself. I would find it. Closing my eyes, I shimmied out of my panties and pressed my heels into the cold metal stirrups. My knees touched each other still, and I could feel the quiver in them, the fear .

"Open your legs so I can conduct the exam. This will be the only chance you have, or I will have Gregor do it for you," the doctor's voice was matter-of-fact, but he smirked. "He'd like that."

Staring up at the ceiling, I forced myself to let my legs fall open. There was a water stain on the ceiling. The edges faded beige. They feathered away from the center. I felt like that. Like I was breaking away from my body, barely holding the particles of me together.

"You'll need to have her groomed. The girl looks like she hasn't had any action for a while." His voice was thoughtful, and then suddenly, he shoved a finger into me, making me recoil at the violation.

Tears welled in my eyes, and I concentrated intently on the stain on the ceiling. Light brown, dark brown, chestnut, cocoa, nut, beige—how many words for brown could I think of? Anything to divert my thoughts. Cinnamon was brown, coffee, walnuts. I winced.

"Tight though, that's good," Gregor grunted next to him in agreement. "She'll make you a mint. Pretty. Good pick. Not a virgin, though," the doctor said as I whimpered in pain as he moved his finger with intent.

Mahogany… I sniffed, blinking. My mind blanking. Come on, Hollis. I could feel his finger inside me and wanted to vomit. Toast, amber, bronze. The list went on, and I congratulated myself for my focus.

"That's too bad," Gregor said. "But, not necessary. They'll still pay a lot for this one."

"True enough." The doctor removed his finger. "She'll need to pee in a cup for me."

He rolled away and handed Gregor the specimen cup. I went to close my legs, the shame and the burning overwhelming, but Gregor put a hand on my knee. "You belong to me now. You do as I say. When I say. "

My eyes locked with his. He enjoyed this, my fear. I could tell from the bulge in his pants that he was hard as he handed me the cup. " Now you can get down. Don't spill a drop."

"Is there a bathroom?" I asked hesitantly, trying not to look at him. Maybe there was a window that I could climb through.

Both men laughed. "Like I'd let you out of my sight, you dumb whore." He pointed to the corner. "Get it in the cup."

Oh my god. To my horror, fresh tears filled my eyes as my shaking fingers clasped the cup, and my eyes darted to the corner he pointed to. Just when the humiliation wasn't complete, he wanted me to pee in front of them. I wasn't sure I could.

"Hurry the fuck up," Gregor growled as I shuffled to the area he pointed. The men leered as I went, ensuring I knew they were watching .

Huddling in the corner, I turned my back and positioned the cup. Luckily, I had to pee, so I pushed it snugly against my body. These assholes knew nothing about women, their anatomy, or how hard it was to pee in a cup. Fuckers. Staring at the wall, I thought about a faucet and peed a tiny bit, feeling the cup get warm and my cheeks flush. Like an automaton, I returned the sample to the doctor.

"Results in a few hours like always," the doctor told him.

Gregor was looking at me with far too much interest for my liking. I could only hope to delay the inevitable at this point. They were traffickers, that was obvious.

"Fine," Gregor said. "I'll get you your cut after I talk to Makarovich."

"Don't damage her. He wouldn't like that," the doctor said to Gregor pointedly. "Unless you want to wipe her from the books. It could be an accident." He licked his lips, his tongue swiping the corners as he stepped closer .

"No, these bitches are worth too much. This one, I think, will fetch a top price. Some fucker will buy her," Gregor said, stopping him. "Although," he eyed me consideringly. "Doesn't mean her mouth can't suck some cock." He rubbed himself while he said it, and I felt a dawning horror.

It's okay. It's okay. It's okay. It's okay. It's okay. It's okay. It's okay. It's okay.

I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay.

I kept the chant going the whole time Gregor pulled me from the table. The doctor eyed me consideringly.

"Let me start this, and I'll be back."

He pointed a finger at Gregor as I was shoved to my knees onto the hard concrete floor.

"Don't start without me. I want to watch," he leered .

"Jesus," Gregor said. "Well, hurry the fuck up then." He looked over at me as the doctor dashed out of the room, one hand on his gun. "You're going to suck my cock like I want. Understood?"

I nodded and cast my eyes down. Starting over my list of colors, I scrambled as I tried to blank out what was about to happen. Blue? Red? I hiccupped as my breathing accelerated, trying not to look at the man in front of me, the zipper coming down. Black? Black was a crow's feather, night.

I'm okay. It's okay.

The doctor returned to the room, practically skipping, pulling up a stool to watch.

Black was a silent scream.

I'm not okay .

"Back up," Gregor growled at him until the doctor rolled back a little. He unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock. I almost gagged.

Tears streaming, knees aching as Gregor pressed his hand to my throat, I repeated …

I'm okay.

Even when I was finally pulled out of the room, I couldn't believe it was real. Later, as I huddled on the concrete floor of a warehouse with other women, I realized that the nightmare had only just begun.