Read For Adriano for Free Online

routine. At night – at least I think it’s nighttime, because I have no idea about time while I’m held captive – I’m auctioned off. And I’m not certain if this happens every night, or not. Then I’m sold and strapped to the St. Andrews Cross to be spanked, whipped, or beaten by these fetishists, who, as far as I remember, never raped me. During several rare moments when my mind is clear enough to think, I learn that every girl is sold to certain fetishists and BDSM practicers. There is also sexual intercourse taking place down here, and not only in the sex club one floor above. I’ve seen some girls being raped while I’m beaten in the fight club. Somewhere, I’m thankful that I’m too intoxicated to have vivid memories.
    I get simple food, I sleep, I’m shot up with heroin underneath my fingernails, instead of the inside of my elbow, often, and I’m auctioned; that’s the routine. For the next five months.
    My body is damaged deeply. Emotionally, I’m empty.
    But I’m also getting mad. Mad at Fat Sal. Mad at myself for taking it all, for not being able to fight because I’m too drugged up.
     
    *
    Two years and five months ago
     
    I’m constantly slipping in and out of consciousness while I’m held at Club 7’s dungeon. Days pass in a blur of memories. I barely remember conversations with anyone except Santino. Time is a foreign concept to me. In moments of lucidity, I hear myself screaming. I hear lashes, crowds cheering, grunts, and silence.
    Santino is the only man that guards me. I cling to him, begging for help, telling him to stop giving me drugs. He never tends to the other girls, and I don’t know why, but I use it to my advantage when I’m coherent enough to remember that bit of information.
    After I’m struck with a fever, he finally begins to crack.
    One morning, I wake up less disoriented than I’ve been in a long time. My eyes open, and I feel as if I’ve been asleep for weeks. Rational thoughts are trying to assemble in my mind.
    I turn my head in the dimly lit, beige room and determine that I’m alone. Moving my body underneath a cotton sheet, I grimace from soreness. I know I’ve been here for a while but not the exact time frame.
    A clang sounds when I move my leg. I sit up and wince, finding my left ankle shackled to the bed frame.
    Footsteps from down the hall come closer, and Santino darkens the doorway in a black suit, staring at me with his hands in his pockets.
    I pull the sheet up to cover my breasts, even though he’s seen me naked constantly.
    “How are you feeling?” His tone is even, calm.
    “Not good.” My own voice sounds foreign. “What day is it?” I cough through my dry throat.
    “Tuesday,” he answers and shifts closer.
    I follow his movement carefully.
    He takes a bottle of water from the nightstand and uncaps it, handing it over.
    With a hesitant hand, I raise it to my mouth and gulp down the entire contents.
    “You had a fever,” he mentions, towering over me beside the low, small bed.
    The water hydrates my throat soothingly as he just stands there.
    “How long have I been out?” I ask again softly and grimace because my fingernails hurt.
    “Two days.”
    “How long have I been here in total?”
    Stillness eats the room.
    “Please.”
    “Four months,” he answers tersely.
    “Please help me,” I murmur.
    He’s on me the next moment, straddling my hips and pinning my hands to the pillow. The bottle drops to the floor.
    Acute distress courses through my veins as he leans in close to my ear. “I’m not going to hurt you, but there are cameras everywhere. Stop talking so much.”
    I stiffen in his hold. “Are you going to help me?”
    “I have helped you. You were feverish and were out for too long; I’ve decreased and then stopped your shots. But no one can know.”
    A dampened sense of relief blazes over me. I haven’t been drugged for the past few days; that’s why I feel more aware now. “Why are you helping me?”
    He ignores