Once and once again -- The scarred prince's human mate

Valentina I glide through the thick grass, a few tiny rocks scraping my feet. The fresh breeze carries my favorite scent toward me, and I look over my shoulder to find Niki chasing after me. My brother always thinks he’s faster. But this time I’ll show him. There isn’t anything I can’t do. At least Babka always says that. She and Dziadka are standing close to the big oak tree. They hung a swing on it for the two of us to play. Dziadka is dramatically waving a foam finger with the logo of KS Raków Częstochowa in the air that he bought when he took Niki to their championship game last year. “Dalej, mały pierogu! Wiem, że możesz to zrobić. Go Valentina!” (Come on, little dumpling! I know you can do it. Go Valentina!), Babka shouts and I hear my brother huff behind me. I win by a few milliseconds, and we both drop into the grass, panting. “Wygrałem!” (I win) I smile at Niki widely and feel the breeze touch the exposed gums where I miss my first baby teeth. “Ponieważ pozwoliłem ci.” (Because I let you) “Kłamca! Jestem o wiele szybszy od ciebie.” (Liar!! I’m just so much faster than you.), I push my tongue out toward him. I know he’s just teasing me. “Jasne, pierogu. Jasne.” (Sure, dumpling. Sure.) The c**ky grin on his face only widens when I punch his arm. Nikolaj loves fiercely and is so damn overprotective, but he doesn’t take himself or me too seriously. “I po raz kolejny pierożek wygrywa...Niech zgadnę, co chcesz w nagrodę....” (And once again, the dumpling wins… Let me guess what you want as a reward…) Dziadka brushes a hand over his beard, pretending to think hard, and I giggle happily. “Pierogi?” (Dumplings) All three of them burst into laughter when I nod, grinning wildly...But for some reason, the sounds get distorted. The noises stretch until it doesn’t sound like someone laughing but more like banging. Someone is banging against a metal door and— ...... I jolt up, my shoulders tensed. The slight sound from beside me tells me that Noemi is awake already. And that she knows as well as me what that banging noise means. It’s time again. The day we both hate for the same and different reasons. We both don’t want to be paraded around like cattle for auction. I hate being picked and following one of those pigs into a separate room where they grope me until I make them stop and they are happy with their ‘sample’ of the ‘merchandise.’ Then they never actually bid on me. Great for a girl’s self-esteem. Noemi hates today because they make us wash. She never told me why but she refuses to do it. The moment you look at her when they try to force that piece of soap in her hand, you know it’s not because she’s lazy or she doesn’t care what she looks and smells like. A terror I haven’t seen the likes of before steals into her gaze. It’s always gone quickly. As soon as she hides in a small space and starts rocking. So, no. I’m not in a meadow playing chase with my brother while my grandparents cheer us on. No, I don’t get Pierogi as a reward for winning. All of those are… dreams— distant memories of some of the few happy years of my life. The one time BEFORE everything just went wrong, darkness invading, turning me into who I am today. A darkness that first appeared in the form of my mother ripping me from the only home I had ever known and taking my brother and me with her to Germany. She decided that Dziadka was too old and unfit to care for us any longer after my grandma died. So instead of being there for her father after his wife passed, she grabbed us and threw us into a life where we didn’t know anyone, couldn’t speak the language, and lived with someone who hated the sight of us. That night was the first time Niki took a hit meant for me. I shake my head, pushing the memories away. Nothing good ever comes of going back there. All of that is past now, behind me. As are all the people I called my life before. My throat closes, and I cough once, then turn toward Noemi. “Can I have your soap? Or do you want to use it this time?” I lean over and brush some hair out of her face. My fragile, strong friend. She’s the one that has been here the longest. No idea how long, but no matter who I ask, they all remember her just always being there. Hiding. Lucky to never be picked by any of the ‘gents.’ “No, you can have it.”, she whispers. I hate that there’s nothing I can do to help her. I try with the food thing. Noemi can’t bring herself to eat if someone isn’t tasting the same food right before her. And I have made it my mission to help her with that. The first time I saw someone trying to take her food because she couldn’t touch it, I lost it on the girl. You don’t take from someone who is obviously starving or having a hard time eating. Even if you are hungry. It’s low to take from someone just because they’re weaker than you, and you have the opportunity. When she started to try and spit at me, I punched her. Might have a short temper… only if necessary, of course. I found that batting my lashes, pushing my boobs out (Thanks, Mom… I guess), and giving my best pouty smile get me further. But since my charms were lost on her, I thought my practiced uppercut might also do. I took Noemi under my wing. Seeing her being a little like the light at the end of the tunnel. Losing my brother, my mind went dark the first few months after they took me. Finding Noemi, helping her, and protecting her takes my mind off that. Off what I lost. And a little off how much I hate every one of those bastards. She’s the morter I use to frantically fill the cracks in my facade—taking care of her. And knowing that isn’t helpful at all. Sighing a little, I take the soap out of her lap. “All right, Noe. Stay here. I’ll be back in a minute. Gonna fight those girlies for the best spot in line.” Winking, I turn toward where the others are lining up to use the sink in the corner. I think I see her nod, but she’s too far under the table for me to make it out clearly. The water I get is ice cold. Sh**t. I scrub at the nastiest dirt on my arms, legs, and stomach, but the washcloth they gave us is thin and wears out if you only look at it the wrong way. I take the small comb one of the other girls hands me and nod at her in appreciation. Is it weird that I’m proud that the small plastic teeth of it only get stuck ten times before I reach the ends of my waist-length hair? Guess that means I wash often enough. Well, with all the men that… I push the thought away. Lock it behind the thickest barrier my brain can conjure up. Since there are still a few girls behind me, I finish fast and return to the small table I saw Noemi under last. When I lean forward, she’s curled into a ball, her hands over her ears, her chin on her knees, and her eyes closed tightly. “Noemi.”, I say softly, and she lifts her head when she feels my hand on her shoulder. Looking at her intently, I scan her face and neck. Her collar bones are sticking out, and she has a few fresh bruises from when one of the guards men-handled her pushing us in here. There is so much panic in her gaze, and I feel a little of it rise inside me as well. That deep-seated fear of forever being alone, this nightmare never being over. With my hands jutting out, I pull her in and hug her tightly. She’s stiff like a broomstick and doesn’t relax when I try to assure her that I’ve got her by holding her a little tighter even than before. Someone being close doesn’t seem to help. I guess that’s one of those moments where you die trying. But then I feel her hand slowly pat my back once. When I release her, I push into a sitting position to shield her from view, even under the table. “It’s going to be fine. Just a few minutes, and then the pigs will be gone again. And it’s back to the poop bucket on 4 square feet.” Noemi gives a jerky nod. That’s when the small door on the opposite wall creeks open. The oily guy that came to pick us up and a few guards step in. I see Noemi stiffen and then drop and curl up as much as she can. Caving in on herself. Bile rises in my throat. God, how much I hate them. Them and this feeling of helplessness, of being utterly dependent on their good grace. Anger boils inside me, and I ball my hands into fists. Behind the small group, I see an old man enter. And the Nikotin-yellow of his fingers and the huge gut hanging over his belt tell me this will not be a fun night. Disgusting. I turn back to Noemi. ‘Focus on your friend. It’s going to be all right.’ “Change of plans, ladies. Our friend Mr. Morgan wants to inspect you and sample some of the merchandise before the auction. Line up.” I suppress a scoff. Line up. Not sure most of the guards can count. But I bend down to reach out for Noe regardless. I don’t want them to get mad at her. Better get her out from under there before one of them sees. “Noe, come on.” She swats my hand away from her knee and presses her forehead to her thigh. And I swear I hear her mumble something. ‘No, I won’t come out. I can’t.’ “What’s taking so long?! Move over there.” I hear one of the guards come closer, but I don’t turn around or look up at him. Not even when I feel his warm breath on my neck. “Get in line!” The guard hisses, some spit flying my way. But I ignore him and bend down to my scared friend again. “Noe— Kurwa! Hands off you f**king—“ Pain strums through my body, my head feeling like he scalped me when he yanks it back by my hair. And I hear the slapping sound before I feel the hand connecting to my cheek, my head whipped around by the force. Slapping me…Tss. Like a little girl. I can’t help it, though. I stumble a little, but then I steady myself. Leveling him a look, the stupid smirk makes my blood boil again. Nevertheless, I flutter my lashes at him, ignoring the urge to touch my burning cheek... or spit in his face. One of the two. I can feel my lips stretch into my signature smile. The one that manages to somehow rope them in. Makes my lips look bigger and me inviting. And the man actually gulps. F**ker. My knee jerks up, and the strangled sound and stumble are music to my ears and a real sight for sore eyes. “I said don’t touch me.” You can hear the venom dripping from my voice. Suddenly a weird, clunky laugh fills the room while more booted feet rush toward me, the sound reflected off the walls. Multiple huge hands grab me. Twisting my hands behind my back, yanking me off my feet. “Ich bring euch um! Ihr widerlichen, elendigen klein’ F**ker. Langsam, ganz langsam und mit dir fang ich an Sackgesicht!”, I aim for one of the guards, but my head is pulled back before I can spit at him. “Das könnt ihr! Eklige alte Männer ran schaffen die kleine Mädchen b**sen wollen. Gott, ihr H**ensöhne.” But somehow, all this doesn’t feel severe enough for what is happening. Does that ever happen, do you, where something just can’t be described in a language? Where you need more vocabulary to get your point across? “Skurwysyn! Żałosne, małe kiełbaski. Tym właśnie jesteś. Pierdol się!” The laughter only gets louder as I scream, bile rising in my throat. “I like this one. Feisty, and she’s not terrible to look at either. Take her to the back room.” The scratchy, high-pitched voice of the overweight, grandfatherly guy makes me want to cringe, but I will not show him weakness. Not now, not ever. I fight tooth and nail, and it takes all five of them to get me to the door. When I get them free, my hands scratch at their faces, one of them finally hauling me out the door around the waist. “Als ob. F**k dich ins Knie, Opa. Fass mich nicht an du H**ensohn!” They ignore me completely, pulling me further down one of the corridors, and I lose it and try to spit at one again when the door closes behind me. Alone. F**k. What about Noe? I have to get back to her, have to protect her. I need— Something is different today. The atmosphere. How tense they all are and how quick with the violence. It feels like if I don’t fight back harder today, I won’t get the chance to. So I do. And it takes them another 5 minutes to shove me into one of the rooms at the back of the long corridor. The hidden door we came out of opening to a small hall close to a flight of stairs. Probably why they wanted me to keep my mouth shut. Are there people up there? My chest is heaving as I stare at the old guy across from me. The door has been locked behind us, one of the guards in front of it so that he can ‘step in’ if I get too ‘scratchy.’ As if that predator needs protecting from me. He told the brawny dude several times that he could handle me and then shoved the door closed in his face, looking at me expectantly now. “I’ve only heard good things about you.” The smirk that plays around his mouth has my stomach churn, and I feel all color drain from my face when his tongue darts out, and he licks his lips while staring at mine. “Is that so?” Hold it together. My hands are at my sides. I do my best to push the tremble out of my voice, and it works. It sounds steady, no matter how angry, scared, and sick to my stomach I actually feel right now. “Oh yeah.”, he grins. “This whole thing only works through word of mouth…. And the word is, your mouth is magical.” And with that, he pounces on me faster than I could have imagined possible. Bridging the space between us by three long strides. My hands fly up as he paws at the little clothing they gave us, and my heart sinks at the ripping sound. I know what will follow, and I know that it’s necessary. That I can survive. Do what he wants me to and…breathe after. But I don't want to. I'm so sick of it. The goosebumps that spread along my body come with violent shivers. I can’t do it. So I say something I gave up on saying two years ago. “NO!”