Secret Skin by Frank Coles Read Free Book Online

challenging me to pay attention. ‘When I didn’t want to do what they said, before I understand what I know now…that I have no choices here, none at all. They took me to a room and raped me. Four of them. Over and over and over. They would take turns. Then do it again. They said I was “getting an education”. They did everything to me and told me that I would do all these things to make them the money that I owed them. Or I would be killed. My choice they said.
    ‘When they couldn’t do it anymore they used things on me. Then they hit me and kicked me and left me in the room. I was so scared David. The pain was terrible. I couldn’t use my legs. I was bleeding…from everywhere. Even my eyes…I never knew blood could come from your eyes.’ She turned away.
    ‘They never took me to a doctor. One of the other girls brought me some food and water and left me there until I healed.’
    Tears rolled down her cheeks at the memory. Her body shook as she sobbed quietly. The Indian waiter came over, concerned, his body language asking, is she alright?
    I thanked him and asked for some mint and apple tea – the first thing on the menu – anything to keep him occupied and allow Yasmin the time she needed to compose herself.
    She cried openly as soon as he left. Thankfully galleries are designed for opening nights. In the middle of the day we were its only customers.
    I waited awhile, with my hand on hers, uncertain what to do next. When I’d talked to some of the men who used prostitutes they casually warned against anything more than simply using them. ‘Don’t get into a conversation,’ they said, ‘they will have many sad tales to relate.’ Callous bastards.
    ‘I’m so sorry that happened to you,’ I said.
    The smiling waiter arrived with the tea and fussed over Yasmin until she blushed. Embarrassed but flattered by the attention, she sipped on the sweet refreshing drink and smacked her lips together.
    ‘A simple pleasure,’ she said.
    ‘Yes,’ I agreed. My list of questions seemed redundant after her revelations. ‘So can you ever leave?’
    ‘I don’t know. I hope so. I have to pay back my debt first.’
    ‘How much is that?’
    ‘It was $5000 when I came here. Faisal told me it was down to $2,000 but I cause them trouble he says, so whenever it goes down he puts it back up. It does happen though. One girl left last month.’
    ‘But how much do you earn? I’m paying you $200 today, so surely in six years you must have paid it back?’
    ‘Oh yes, much more. Hundreds of thousands probably. At the weekends I make three maybe five hundred dollars a night.’
    ‘What?’ I spluttered, calculating in my head, ‘in a bad year…that’s…that’s over 30 to $50,000 not including any other nights.’
    ‘Have you told him this?’
    ‘Yes, but he tells me that it is the “magic of compound interest”. Like a credit card, it takes years to pay back. I showed him records once, of how much I was earning. He punched me and told me I was a fool. What if somebody found them? Interpol?’
    ‘I wish.’
    ‘Yes David, me too. But the police protect these men. They are all part of it.’
    ‘You mean the local CID?’
    ‘Yes, I think so. Sometimes they are in uniform, sometimes plain clothes.’
    ‘Could be the secret police. Is Faisal local too?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘I’m so sorry. I wish there was more I could do.’
    ‘You could talk about something else.’
    ‘You know, there are slave owners in Africa to this day that will accept a lump sum for someone’s freedom. Can you do that here?’
    ‘Give Faisal his $2,000 you mean?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘To his friends he would sell me for very little. But for me? I don’t know. For me he would probably add interest for at least another two years worth of earnings, maybe $80,000,’ she said. ‘Why, do you have the money to buy my freedom David?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘No,’ she sighed.
    ‘I’m sorry.’
    ‘Oh stop saying sorry David. It is not your