I bit my lip at the thought. Would that stop him from getting rid of me?

Was it worth the cost?

Yes.

No.

Yes.

I don’t know.

Around and around on the merry-go-round of my topsy-turvy thoughts.

The conundrum kept me silent. The fear that he would sell me kept me mute.

“You know where I am if you’re ever ready to talk.” Standing, Michaels collected his bag and headed to the door. “You know, if you won’t speak to me, then perhaps it’s time you spoke to him.” He didn’t wait for my nonverbal reply before disappearing out the door.

* * * * *

That night, after another lonely dinner, I headed into the bathroom.

If Elder was going to get rid of me, shouldn’t I attempt to escape? Shouldn’t I do everything I could to change his mind?

Why was I wasting time doing nothing? Hadn’t I fought my entire life?

Why am I stopping now when freedom is closer than it’s ever been?

My depression from the past seventy-two hours dispersed, incinerating under the quick blast of determination. I liked those questions. They didn’t drown me but gave me a ladder to put my head above the tide and think clearly.

I’d allowed Elder to replace Alrik. I slipped into old patterns of letting him decide my fate.

Not anymore.

A terrifying, totally insane plan quickly unravelled in my head.

Could it work?

Can I do it?

My hands shook as I grabbed the genie lamp and squeezed, sending a quick wish.

I wish to change his mind by any means necessary.

Dina’s advice from our bathroom chat came back. She spoke of rewarding men for their good deeds. To lavish them with praise that kept them generous and kind because they felt noticed and appreciated.

Perhaps, Elder needed to be lavished. To be told he meant a lot to me rather than barely tolerated.

Do it then…

Do what exactly?

Sit him down and blurt out a mismatch of condescending praise like I would to a puppy that’d retrieved a saliva-soaked tennis ball? Pat his head and rub his nose and pitch my voice into sickly sweet, hoping such tribute would keep me by his side?

You have better skills.

My heart gasped, remembering those skills. Those disgusting talents I’d been forced to adapt to survive.

Use them.

Bribe him…

Adrenaline filled me as I swallowed back foul memories, doing my best to envision using beaten-taught expertise to buy myself more time.

Do it.

It’s the only way.

Clamping down on doubt, I jogged into the bathroom.

For a moment, I just stood there.

What am I thinking?

I shook my head. No, I couldn’t do it.

You can.

I hated it with Alrik.

I’ll hate it with Elder.

But if it kept me safe…wasn’t the discomfort worth it?

Sucking in a breath, I stared at myself in the mirror.

A girl I no longer recognised stared back. I couldn’t believe I contemplated doing the one act I deplored above everything, all in the name of bartering for my freedom. Taking my own life was more preferable, more acceptable.

But I lived in a commerce world. People traded things all the time. Items that didn’t hold value for the current owner were priceless to another.

All it would cost me was dignity and self-worth. I’d given up such things the moment I was sold. It was the currency I’d been taught—the sum value I was willing to spend.

It would bankrupt me, but to Elder, it would carry the weight of winning.

And if he felt I’d finally accepted his terms…

It’s worth a try.

Ignoring my trembles, I combed my hair until it shone glossy and thick. I pinched my cheeks until a healthy young girl stared back. I opened my mouth, touching the red line on my tongue where no black stitches remained, then sucked up every droplet of courage I had left.

Placing my hands on the marble either side of the sink, I leaned forward, braced, fidgeted, braced again, then parted my lips.

My tongue shaped and tested silent words. My vocal cords tossed off grime and grit to obey. And my lungs inflated with the knowledge that here and now, I took back a piece of myself I’d locked away.

My first word was my own.

I was the one who deserved it the most.

Looking into my green-blue eyes, I whispered, “Stop being we—” Pain lacerated my throat. I stopped, coughing as tears formed and I massaged the abused larynx that was no longer on a sabbatical.

The first vibration into understandable sounds was hard and painful and croaky.

But to my ears, they were utterly sublime.

Smiling through tears, I tried again. “Stop being weak, you—” another cough, swallow, wince “—have to—to decide.”

The stutter-hum of my voice sent goosebumps down my spine. I’d forgotten what I sounded like. My English accent was different to the many ethnicities Elder hired on board.

I sound like my mother.

Wetness spilled over my cheeks as I let questions flow. Where was she? Why hadn’t she picked up the phone that day? Did she ever think about me?

Pushing her away, I dug my fingernails into the marble and inhaled deep. I prepared to unlock the remaining snares and bear-traps around my throat. “No one else deser—deserved your first words but y—you. Stop being a vic—” Ouch, that word hurt more than the others.

Turning on the tap, I poured a little water into my palm and drank. Once the burn in my throat was dampened, I finished. “Stop being a vic—victim.”