— Are you scared?
— No, I lied—I want it to start and end faster.
— Take your clothes off.
— What? I’m lost at such a direct order.
— We paid a large amount for your virginity, doubling the bid. Take it all off.
“We?”—is that a slip, or not? I start to choke for air, trying to pull away, but they won’t let me. Steps behind me, movement. A hand drops on my shoulder—dry, hot palm, strong fingers squeezing painfully.
And then I realize what he said: “We.”
I sold my nonexistent virginity at an auction, hoping to save my daughter. They bought me at once—both of them. But it’s impossible to fool them, and I can’t just leave like that.