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upon me. I had never known a man intimately before and this is a tragedy in my life, a tragedy of epic proportions. I grew up in a small village in Mexico where being a virgin when you marry is a necessity and not being one is a scandal. Regardless of the fact that my choice was taken away from me, I am considered damaged goods and no man but the one who has stolen my life will have me now. I know I have no one to look to for survival but my pimp. Perhaps I can win him over and escape the shame that now follows me. No one can ever know what has happened; it is better to die with this secret. Where I come from, there is no mercy for a tainted woman and the blame of no longer being pure will lie solely with me.
    I have no idea that I’m in the beginning stages of what a professional profiler would term ‘Stockholm Syndrome.’ I don’t realize that I’m beginning to bond with this monster of a man, Eduardo. All I know is that I need him to survive.
    Every glass of water, every tray of food, and every prick of the needle, providing the drug that keeps me sane, comes from him. I need a man I know I should loathe.
    Eduardo enters the room to bring me a tray of food. As he turns to leave, I stop him and pat the bed invitingly. “No,” I say, “don’t leave. Come and eat. I’ll share with you.” I smile and once again pat the bed. “Come, eat with me,” I repeat and this time, he does thus beginning my journey of becoming another statistic. I’m just one of many women taken against their will to be bought and sold by people chasing the ever elusive, almighty dollar.
    I am unaware that this is what Eduardo does. He leads naïve women to believe they are attaining the American dream when, really, all they are destined for is a life in hell and full of misery, doing whatever necessary to line his pockets.
    In my third world country, poverty rules. Lives are bought, sold, and traded to avoid its ugly grasp. Only the strong survive and if I am going to be one of them, I will have to align myself with this despicable man who has taken me against my will. Regardless of how dismal my life looks right now, when disaster strikes, the will to survive prevails. I will mourn my innocence but in the end, it is not my innocence that will save me. My inner strength and will to survive will get me through this.

    Roxanne
    My husband acts like he is obsessed with me. He literally stalks my every move. There are times he walks up on me so stealthily that I’m not even aware he is reading over my shoulder if I have my nose stuck in a book. I can’t even have a casual conversation with one of the dancers without him listening in on us.
    “What the fuck is the deal, Antonio?” I question him as he approaches me in the dancers’ dressing room closet.
    He slowly paces his way over to me. He’s so close that he has to look down to look me in the eye as he states, “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to, little girl?”
    “I’m talking,” I stop mid-sentence when I see the look on his face. It’s the look of a man who is not only used to getting his way, but becomes dangerously aggressive when he doesn’t.
    There are some people who are all talk and they don’t scare me but this man is different. There is a troubling undercurrent to Antonio Wayne. It isn’t just his reputation; it is his presence. He doesn’t just watch me; he literally stalks me.
    “What do you want from me, Antonio Wayne?”
    He leans in to whisper in my ear, “That’s Master to you.”
    “No one owns me.” I resist the urge to spew out ‘Antonio Wayne’ again just to prove my point. My ass is still sore from last night and my mind is still reeling about being turned on by it. Maybe I am twisted.
    He makes his way over to lock the door and the sound of it is as sinister as the look on his face. “I’m not kissing your ass, Antonio Wayne.” I see a flash of danger spark in his eyes. I can’t help it; I cower to no one. I’m a fucking cage