Free Web NovelChapter 83: Breaking a Product
Isis stared at the woman and felt a pang in her heart, a sorrow for who she had been when she could no longer remember herself. She had grown up in a brothel, she had spent her childhood around prostitutes, and knew what caused someone to become one. Despite how much they may have hated their job, they at least had the choice to quit, even if it wasn’t feasible. Before her, she saw soemthing else. Soemthing that could hardly be considered human anymore, whose sole existence was for the pleasure of her customers. A toy sculpted as a human.
Isis’ pen bounced up and down. Looking at the woman, she didn’t just wish to speak to her to understand her life, but to help her. To claw back some vestige of humanity that may have existed behind the nothingness. Even if it was sadness and hate for the situation they were in, at least it was soemthing other than the hollow existence she had now.
"Your name?" Seth translated, and the woman stared at her in confusion for a moment.
"15." Saying with the same silky voice, her smile never fell. Isis shook her head.
"What is your name?" Wondering if Seth had mistranslated, she asked again. Seth sighed and leaned over, grabbing the woman’s lip without saying anything. The woman didn’t fight to stop him and allowed it to happen. Pulling it down, he showed the number 15 tattooed underneath.
"They don’t have names, Isis. Did you think I was lying when I said they were numbers? Her number isn’t visible becuase it would decrease her worth as a pleasure slave." Her hand tightened around the pen, staring at the number. The most basic thing, soemthing that was unique to oneself, had even been stripped. An insult for a name would have been better, as it was still a name.
Isis took a deep breath and looked down at her journal. Before, it was always easy. She just needed to ask for a story, and she would be given it. Maybe she had to bargain to write it, but it always came. Now she didn’t know where to start.
"Were you born here?" Asking the next question, 15 tilted her head and chuckled, as if she heard soemthing funny.
"Of course. Everyone is born here." Isis stared at her after hearing Seth’s translation, her eyes watering. Choking back whatever emotion she was feeling she looked to Seth, who stared at her, already knowing this was what was going to happen. She wanted to write something about the woman before her, something unique to her, but there was nothing.
’Deep down, there must be a person waiting to come out. There has to be, or else why... why was she even born?’
Isis stared at her journal, hoping it would give her the answer. Shaking her head, she thought of soemthing else, her own life, her mother’s experiences, the men and women that served with her inside the brothel. Grabbing 15 hands with her own, she squeezed them in an affectionate way, hoping some of her warmth would pass over to her.
"Does it hurt?" Looking into 15 eyes, even without Seth’s translation, she saw the slightest flicker of soemthing, her intent getting through. Yet it was quickly squashed by whatever existed now.
"Of course not." 15 said with the same smile, the same emotion, the same fake desire, doing her best to please the customer before her. Isis squeezed a little harder.
"Please don’t lie to me. I wish to talk to you." Trying to think, she smiled, "I won’t be satisfied if you lie." Her words caused a shift in 15, a horror at the mere thought of failing to satisfy. Slowly, her face returned to normal as she smiled.
"Of course it hurts." Saying without a crack in her facade, she stared into Isis’s deep blue eyes.
"How?" Isis asked, leaning backwards without pulling her hand away. Her fingers intertwined with 15’s own as she played with her hand in a friendly way. Unlike before, her answer wasn’t instant as her mind raced, trying to find an answer that was correct. Isis could see her mind at work and squeezed her hand again. "I want to know how it hurts. How do you feel?" Her voice was soft but affectionate, treating 15 not as a grown woman but as a child without parents.
The woman’s lip trembled ever so slightly, her smile cracking. Every breath to try to repair it, failing. "I don’t want to?" Seth translated, but Isis could tell from her tone that it came out more as a question to herself rather than a statement.
"Why?" Asking, 15 tried to pull away, fearful of digging deeper, letting more slip than she had already done so. Yet Isis held on, grabbing her hand with her other, desperately trying to let her warmth be felt.
"It hurts." 15 replied in a different tone than when she first admitted it. Her smile faltered as the emptiness in her eyes cracked. Isis watched, patient, stroking the back of her hand, trying to let her feel safe. "I... I..." Her smile changed, sadder but less fake. "I hate it."
"Of course you do," Isis said with a deep breath. "What is your name?" Asking again, she stared at 15. The woman took deep breaths, her eyes darting around in fear, the ever-present humming in the background pecking away at her mind.
"15." Saying again, she tried to pull her hand away again, this time more forcefully. Isis held firm and never lost the affection in her hold.
"You don’t need to be scared. Please tell me your name?" Isis said again. Even if she couldn’t get a story from the woman, she would get a name, soemthing she could write to prove that the person before her existed as more than her number and role.
15’s breathing got heavier. Her eyes shook in desperation, a desperation to not be asked to do any more. Her manufactured smile slipped, becoming sadder but freer. Isis could see everything: the years of storytelling, the years of travelling. All of it told her there was more behind the product she had become, that there was more than the grey of Cras.
"T...T..." She spoke in a way that both tried to remember but also never wished to. "Teja." Like a dam, the name broke out, and with it a realisation of what her world had become. Staring at Isis, there was no joy or thankfulness, but hate and despair at having been reminded of a life before. Isis leaned forward, taking the woman into an embrace, knowing what she had done, taking a few deep breaths, looking at Seth, who stared with a cold, concerned gaze.
"I’m sorry," Isis said, not expecting a translation, hoping the intent of her words got through. Teja’s shoulder bounced up, and her body tensed, but relaxed as she slipped into the embrace. Despite it, she didn’t cry or scream; the ability to do so had been stripped away long ago.
Staying still for a few moments, Isis let Teja feel the warmth of her embrace, giving the woman time to pull away when she wished. After what felt like an eternity, she pulled away and stared at Isis. Isis smiled and leaned back, taking her journal out. "I can’t help you, I don’t know how, but I can do this for you." Placing a pen on the paper, her smile sweetened, "Tell me who Teja is. Or tell me what you have experienced. It doesn’t matter, just tell me what you want."
Teja’s lip bounced up and down hearing Seth’s translation. Digging her nails into her palms, she struggled to say anything for a moment, her eyes wavering, trying to become 15 once more. Yet unable to do so, she spoke, "I wanted..." With a sharp breath, she stopped herself, eyes darting once more. Seeing nothing was going to happen, she carried on, "I wanted to have a child. I wanted a husband. I wanted warm food." Her sentences were short but conveyed more than she could ever say herself.
Isis slowly wrote, wordlessly, without judgment. "Every day, it hurts. Pleasing customers. Using my body." Her body recoiled at the memories she had always suppressed, "Hours. I work for hours. When I am sore, they heal me, so I carry on. When I fail to satisfy, they drug me so I can serve better." Her sentences got clearer as she recounted more, "Whatever they want, I must do, no matter how painful. Bruises, cuts, bleeding, all are treated, or I lose my worth." Looking into Isis’s eyes, Teja’s own shook with anguish, "I don’t even know how old I am anymore. I don’t remember anyone’s face. I don’t know what the sun looks like."
The longer Isis stared, the more it felt Teja didn’t have a face, instead one of the blank masks the soldiers of Cras wore. As Teja went to speak, the door flew open, a master with grey robes and cold, annoyed eyes walking in. Grabbing Teja by the hair, the woman cried and kicked her feet at the sudden pain.
Before Isis could move, Seth placed a hand on her shoulder and stopped her. "You are banned from this establishment. Please do not break our product." The master coldly siad, dragging the woman out. Teja no longer screamed, staring at Isis with hate once more, her eyes screaming of a fate she didn’t want. freёweɓnovel.com
"Why?"
"Do not be stupid, Isis. This is their home. You did something stupid, and are lucky it ended like this. Worst case, and we will become like her. I may be able to escape, but you. You will simply become the next number in one of these establishments." Isis clenched her fist and stared at the door Teja was dragged out of, her cries gone, replaced by the humming of the city.
"What will happen?" Seth stared at the door.
"Re-education. If that fails, she will be sold off to another slaver who doesn’t use the Cras standard."
