Kazumi and Sandra gasp, shifting at the other end of the dim purple cell. “You’re not crying now, Princesa.” The hateful Carmen doesn’t relent, instead gesturing with her free hand. “We trade. This fur for that dress you’ve been shrieking over.”
“It’s not a dress!” I scream, glancing down uselessly. “It’s a Chanel suit, which that giant red asshole ruined!” I glare icily at Carmen.
Carmen’s eyes grow wide at my outburst.That’s right, you better be scared!She glances back at Kazumi and Sandra, disbelief etched on his face. I know what she’s doing. Turning the other women against me. It’s just like boarding school all over again. She grimaces, bunching up my furs into a tight ball.
“GIVE... ME... BACK—”
Hateful Carmen hurls the ball of furs, smashing it into my face as if she’s playing dodgeball. I recoil, yelling outraged gibberish as the blanket obscures my sight. Then, a sharp tug rips my ruined Chanel from my grasp. My mouth moves soundlessly as I think about strangling the smirking bitch, but I swallow the notion. What’s the point? The dress is ruined, just like my life. Why not let her have it?
“Let’s see what’s got ourPrincesaupset,” Carmen declares, fluttering my suit like a captured enemy flag.
I wrap my furs around me before lying on the floor, grateful for their comforting warmth. Carmen titters, drawing my attention as she straightens out my pink suit.
The red asshole didn’t tear it into ribbons. Oh, no, he thinks he’s hilarious, our giant alien abductor. “It’s fixed,” Dracoth, the comedian’s deep, gravelly voice, echoes through my memory.
The chest area has a gaping oval hole, and the skirt has been clipped down to almost nothing. I shake my head in annoyance, but a teeny-weeny part of me is glad it’s not completely ruined.
“What’s wrong with it?” Carmen ask’s dumbly, turning the skimp-ified suit towards the other women. “You’re crying over nothing,chica,” she declares, tossing me back my clothes.
I frown at Carmen. Of course, she couldn’t tell the difference between a proper Chanel and... whatever this Frankenstein-like travesty is. Though the material still feels soft and luxurious under my fingers. The color is dreadful, and the cut is a mockery. But it’s still a Chanel—better than what the others are wearing. A flicker of pride and hope blooms within me as I rise, clutching the remnants of my dignity.
With haste, I throw it on, enjoying the familiar plush feel of the material. I breathe deep, straightening the fabric, feeling a sense of pride and high status encasing me. It’s a shame I don’t have my Birkin handbag to complete the look. Ah. But it’s the wrong color now—it wouldn’t match. They almost took this away from me, but it’s still mine.
Yes, yes! This is me; this is who I am, a woman of luxury and grace.
“Princesa, you look straight out of Zona Norte wearing that.” Carmen erupts into laughter, and even Kazumi and Sandra share a quiet giggle.
Rude bitches!
I glance down in horror to see my ample breasts almost spilling out of the hole that pervy Dracoth made. But that pales compared to the skirt, which doesn’t even cover the bottom portion of my ass.
“It suits you!” Carmen twists the knife, noticing my disdain.
“I look like an X-rated Barbie!” I exclaim, arms sprawled wide in disbelief.
“Barbie wishes she hadtetaslike those,” Carmen retorts, pointing at my boobs with a mischievous grin, prompting me to cover them. “I’d trade anything fortetaslike those!”
“I’d swap them for yours if I could!” I exclaim, feeling the heat rush to my cheeks. Though, in truth, I’d only make the trade because of this horrible ship and our situation—here, they’re more of a liability than an asset, already drawing unwanted attention.
Suddenly, footsteps echo through the metallic corridor outside our cell. “Someone’s coming,” I gasp. The sound differs from the heavy strides of pervy Dracoth. Lighter, like several smaller figures moving quickly.
We instinctively press our backs against the cold, unyielding wall, trying to distance ourselves from the bars. Except Carmen, who clenches her fists and glares towards the growing noise. I hold my breath, nerves on edge, hoping it’s pervy Dracoth... at least with him, you know what to expect—a giant bore.
Just as my heart feels like it’s about to burst from overuse, three mini-Dracoths march past our cell. They’re clad in the same ashen armor our captor sometimes wears, and their faces are hidden behind those terrifyingly smooth masks with narrow, slanted black eyes. But the most shocking and offensive thing is, they didn’t even glance in our direction—rude!
How many aliens are on this heap of junk?It’s difficult to get a sense of the scale of thisoperation.Is our abduction the act of a band of pirates or an organized plot from some alien civilization? What if this is a precursor to a mass invasion? I look through the metal bars, once again studying the area. This spaceship’s in poor condition, with its dusty, broken so-called healing pods and rusted corridors. I’m leaning towards the idea that they’re just pervy, poor, space pirates.
“He’s like some freaky, big version of them,” I mutter, sharing a confused look with Sandra and Kazumi. They exhale deeply, their shoulders relaxing.
“Who, Dracoth?” Sandra asks, shuddering as she resumes her usual spot on the floor.
“Overgrown,pendejo!” Carmen snaps, shaking with impotent fury. No doubt she was ready to release a torrent of abuse at whoever dared enter our cell.
The others who just passed by, along with Demon Egg-Head, are all huge—over seven feet tall—but Slasher Dracoth towers over them. He’s like a monstrous red mountain of muscle.
“Yes, him,” I spit, a little less annoyed since he didn’t completely destroy my Chanel after all. “Maybe we’ll be, okay? So far, they haven’t harmed us,” I suggest, feeling the faintest glimmer of hope, desperately trying to banish the dark future of sex slavery and who knows what else.
Kazumi and Sandra perk up at my words. But they are more a wishful thought than anything tangible.
