Thumper by Marie James
Chapter 5
Cara
“You’re next,” Angel says, his voice devoid of any emotion. “Strip.”
“Please, I—”
“Now!”
My hands tremble as I pull my filthy scrub top over my head.
“Toss it in the pile,” one of the other guys sneers, his eyes roaming to the front of my bra. “Then the rest.”
I nod, my eyes closing as I reach behind me and unsnap my bra. The air around us is humid from the showers going, and it makes me feel dirty. The three pairs of male eyes on me only make it worse. Maybe I should be grateful it’s only eyes right now. I don’t know what’s stopping them from touching or worse, but none of them make a move to fondle me. They haven’t handled any of the other women either, but I know it won’t last forever.
I push down my scrub pants and underwear in one go because I know they won’t be very impressed if I stall any longer, and it would feel like too much of a striptease to remove them separately. I kick them toward the pile, using my hands to cover my chest as best as possible.
“Do I need to wash you myself,” one of the guys snaps. “That one is free, go.”
I move quickly, placing my body under the spray of the showerhead, unconcerned with the temperature of the water. I imagine the warmth of the water would feel nice if this were any other situation. If three men weren’t watching to make sure I get clean. I wash quickly, noticing that the women that have finished are being given clothes to put on. I hate that I feel even an ounce of gratefulness for being handed a pile of sweats, but honestly, they could keep us completely naked and there would be nothing we could do about it.
The towel I use is damp from being used by one of the other women, but I dry my skin as best I can before rushing to get dressed. Our hair is still wet, dampening the shirts on our backs as we’re led into another room. Ten chairs line a long, narrow hallway and we’re required to sit. I watched the brunette from last night as her eyes dart up and down the hallway, but the other women have dropped their gazes to their feet. I don’t know where to look or how to act. Will being defiant and looking around be better than looking submissive? I get the gut feeling that it wouldn’t matter one way or the other.
“You’ll complete these questionnaires,” a woman says.
I snap my eyes to the end of the hallway, noticing her handing clipboards out down the line. I feel a sense of betrayal when she hands me mine, but she doesn’t seem to notice how upset I am that she seems perfectly fine with helping these men traffic women. Does she have no pride in her gender? The men, I expect. Not only are men generally selfish bastards with no heart or conscience, but they’re also more prone to give in to bodily urges. Women are supposed to be compassionate and caring. They’re supposed to be humane and merciful.
This woman seems disconnected from it all, making me wonder if she arrived here the same way we did, and this is her only means of survival. Are they forcing her to work for them? Do they threaten her or hurt her if she isn’t compliant? How would I act if I were in her shoes?
My manners almost get the best of me, but I choke back the thank you when she hands me the clipboard. The paperwork looks like a basic information sheet like you’d see at a doctor’s office, from wanting to know names and addresses to sexual history.
I can’t answer honestly. I can’t tell these men where I’m from, and old guilt is renewed at thoughts of April, my little sister who I left behind when I escaped Knight Salvation over seven years ago. She was only ten at the time, and as much as I’ve blocked it out, I can’t help but think about how she turned seventeen nearly a year ago.
The plan was always to go back and get her before her eighteenth birthday that would surely end in her marrying Charles but giving these men that information could mean she will face the same thing I am right now.
Instead of the truth, I lie on the paperwork and say I was born and raised in Washington where I was abducted from instead of California. I list no siblings, claim both of my parents are dead, and I give them my father’s last name, something that has never been linked to our family. I guess I can count it as a blessing that my dad was so in and out during my early childhood that my mother refused to put his name on the birth certificate.
“Follow me,” the woman says when the brunette hands her back the clipboard. The woman hands it to Angel to look over.
“I’ll keep an eye on her,” the man who looked at me so deviously earlier says, but Angel stops him with a hand on his forearm.
“They’ll be fine.” Angel looks up from the clipboard to the brunette. “You’re not going to give her any trouble are you, Lola?”
Lola shakes her head, her throat working on a swallow as she looks from Angel to the other man.
“Go on,” Angel urges, and we all watch Lola disappear behind a door. The sight of the medical table in the gap before the door closes makes my skin crawl.
The man grumbles his distaste at being shut down, but he snaps his jaw closed when Angel glares at him.
The wait seems like forever, but I bet Lola is only in there for ten minutes tops. When she walks back out, she meets my eyes.
It’s okay,she mouths before taking her seat back on the far end.
The women cycle in and out, but even though I don’t hear screams coming from the room, I’m a nervous wreck by the time it’s my turn. The look in Angel’s eyes when I glance at him is blank as usual, and that tells me all I need to know. He has absolutely no compassion, and he won’t blink at forcing me to do what is asked.
I swallow a lump in my throat as the woman urges me to stand. She takes my clipboard and hands it to Angel. He looks over the information quickly, as he did with all the others, before nodding.
I follow the woman into the room, and even though I’ve seen the table six times now, each time a woman was escorted in and then out, I stop in my tracks and stare down at it.
I have to be in some sort of fever dream because why would these people abduct women, rape one, and then provide clean medical paper on the exam table. It makes absolutely no sense.
“Pants off and get up on the table,” the woman insists as she washes her hands in a sink like she’s a real doctor working at a clinic.
“What’s going to happen?” I ask, as I start to pull my sweat bottoms down. Whatever she’s going to do is a violation, but I’m more willing to deal with her than the three male psychos in the hallway.
“Pelvic exam, blood draw.”
“F-for—”
“To check for STDs and STIs,” she says in a bored tone.
My legs tremble. Tears I thought I’d cried out in the shower return as I lie back on the table and place my legs in the stirrups. The test exam is quick and painless, and she’s very efficient in the blood draw.
“Have you been sexually assaulted?”
“N-no,” I answer.
She changes gloves before getting some cream and rubbing it on the injuries at my wrists before wrapping them both in gauze. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”
I shake my head, words clogging my throat and making it impossible to speak.
I want to beg her to help me, to help all of us, but I know it would be fruitless.
“What’s that?” I ask when she approaches me with a needle. “I don’t do drugs. Please don’t drug me.”
She frowns, looking from the needle back to my face. “It’s Depo, not drugs.”
“But I’m—”
“The last thing you want is to get pregnant.”
She rubs my skin with an alcohol prep pad before injecting the birth control in my arm.
“Get your pants back on. We’re done.”
My legs are wobbly when I drop down from the table, but somehow, I leave the room, sit, and wait for the last girl to get done with her exam without even paying attention.
My head is flooded with what-ifs and whys. I can feel the slow throb of a headache beginning right behind my eyes, and as I stand, so the men can escort us to a new area, I’m left wondering if she lied about what was in the needle she shoved in my arm.
We’re led back to the basement filled with cages, and like obedient little animals, we head back to the very same cages we were in last night. The blankets in mine are different and sitting on top of the small cot is a tray with food and a bottle of water.
I wait, staring down at the food until the lock on my cage door clicks into place. I decided at the first sight of it, I won’t eat it. There’s no telling what’s in it.
I slide the tray to the floor, taking the bottle of water and squeezing it to test for puncture holes. After finding none, I examine the lid, and only after determining that it hasn’t been contaminated do I drink the entire thing in one go.
Angel walks past my cage, and it’s only a minute or so before I see him with his hand wrapped around Lola’s arm as she’s escorted from the room.