Page 41 of Pushed
If I had been there on a tour, I would have seen the images as artistic and beautiful. For all purposes they were, they were amazingly realistic.
The artist had captured the light perfectly in the eyes, leaving you with the feeling that the women were looking out of the canvas and directly at you.
The fringes on the dresses appeared to pop off, threatening to tickle you if you brushed against them. Even the chairs and desks in the background looked smooth, touchable, as if your fingers might slip through like it was an open window.
But seeing them now, seeing them through the eyes of a captive, I wanted to tear them down and break them in half. They didn't represent the vision of a painter or a time when women were coming into their own.
All I could see was the sale of sex.
Machi came to a stop at a set of chrome doors tucked away in the center of the hall. The windows were made of frosted glass, allowing shapes and shadows to form, while still leaving mystery to what was resting behind them.
Lifting his knuckles to the window, he tapped it twice, then snapped his shoulders square and tall. There were no more whispers of what to expect or how to act.
And for a brief second I was sad he hadn't spoken to me. His voice brought a calmness over my body, it eased my nerves and gave me the strength to see beyond the moment.
He had been dangling my freedom with broken words and promises of a future. I just hadn't truly listened to what he was saying. I was going to try now, I was going to put my faith in his protection and assurance of getting me home.
What other option did I have? Deep down, I knew getting out wasn't something I could do on my own. I needed help and he was going to give it to me.
But I couldn't understand why he had taken me if he was going to help me get out. None of that made sense. If he wasn't going to keep me, then why take me at all?
The door peeled open, creaking as it swept in. A wave of scents exploded over my face, turning the nerves in my stomach from rigid to hunger pains.
The air was drenched in aromas of sweet breads and savory bacon. Citrus swirled over my face on long streams, followed by maple syrup and fresh eggs.
This went way beyond the small portions he had brought me just to keep alive. My belly growled, twisting in hunger that made me delirious. My tongue licked over my lips, my mouth watered instantly. I had suddenly turned into Pavlov's dog, waiting for the bell to signal food was coming my way.
A man welcomed us in and guided us over to a large table that looked like it was dressed up for a business meeting.
Fancy napkins and crystal wine glasses with broad gold strips around the lip sat beside Artisanal porcelain dinnerware. Baskets of fruit were placed around the table, while smaller ones held steaming biscuits and cut french bread.
My eyes kept glancing, they kept shifting and moving as subtly as they could. It was one thing to not use your voice, but to not use your sight. . . That was like asking the sun not to rise or the moon to not work the tides.
Machi straightened his back and grabbed my hand, leading me behind him. I kept my head down, forcing my eyes to stay fixed on the floor. Following the diamond pattern, I watched my toes as they stepped between the tiles, focusing on the tan grout and glossy ceramic.
“Enjoy, Master M.” The usher held out his hand and stepped to the side, allowing Machi to sit.
Master M?
Nodding to the man, Machi took his seat, resting his forearms on the table. I stood for a moment, unsure of where and how I was supposed to sit. I was afraid to look at him for guidance, I didn't want to upset him anymore than I already had.
His words were weighing on me, holding me hostage. There was a level of belief in what he was saying as his eyes bore into me and his voice knifed my ears, stealing my thoughts.
'I'm not going to let anyone hurt you. Can't you see it? Can't you feel it?'
If he's telling me the truth, I need to listen.
Clearing his throat, Machi gripped my hand and tugged me to his side. Pulling on my arm, he guided me down, positioning me on my knees beside him.
Just do what he says, Perri. Try to trust him. . .
Try.
Gutty laughter and footsteps started to fill the room as more men entered. Keeping my head on the floor, I heard the sounds of chairs moving against the ceramic tiles and the subtle banter of back slaps and welcoming handshakes.
“Machi!” A deep voice chimed as his shiny shoes pushed in, kicking my thighs like I wasn't even there. “I wasn't sure if you'd be joining us this morning after everything that happened, but I'm glad to see you're here.” Another set of smaller feet crept up beside him, bare and naked, just like mine.
How many girls like me are here?
