Moonlight in your eyes- The prince's Selkie mate

Noemi My scalp itches, but I don’t dare to move. He will come in here again soon. I hate those days. When they thrust a towel, some soap, and a washcloth in your hands and tell you to clean yourself up. For them. The whispering men behind the glass. It’s always the same. We wash, they whisper, and then one of us gets hurt. So I stopped bathing a long time ago. I brush my teeth when I get the chance to, but anything else, I refuse…or I just pretend to do it. Let’s face it: after weeks of keeping us in a container with pee and a poop bucket, we don’t get all clean and flowery by using a little soap and running a washcloth over us. The others still try. Every single time. Guess that’s why only my scalp itches. Then I’m also the one who has been here the longest. Make of that what you want…I usually try not to think about it. “Can I have your soap? Or do you want to use it this time?” Valentina leans over and brushes my hair out of my face. She’s the only one of the girls that will sit close to me. And I really can’t blame the others. I smell… badly. My hair has matted into one thick frizzy braid now, and the skin tone I always liked is unrecognizable under all the dirt caked on my skin. “No, you can have it.”, I whisper. Val sighs and picks the soap bar out of my lap. “Alright, Noe. Stay here. I’ll be back in a minute. Gonna fight those girlies for the best spot in line.”, winking, she turns toward where the others are lining up to use the sink in the corner. I nod even though she can’t see it and duck further under the table. Valentina has taken on the role of my protector since she was put with us two years ago. She looks out for me, holds me when the nightmares come, and …I thank whoever sent her to me for saving me. I know that’s messed up. She had to lose her life, her dream of going to school here…her brother. Val never complains, but I know she loathes our captors and the situation the ten of us are in. I heard her cry once in the very beginning. Since then, she hasn’t shown any emotion related to how she feels about this other than anger. I can’t get angry. It’s been too long. I was still a kid when the ‘nice’ friend of my father offered me food at the beach. I had gone there alone because my parents were fighting…again. About money, as always. When it got too bad, I snug out and swam. There is a small bay close to our house where no one would see how I …change before getting into the water. After, I would walk along the beach. The salty water smell and the sound of the waves a calm that spreads throughout my body. On my last walk outside, I met Marco. He was one of Dad’s friends, and I had met him so many times by then that it wasn’t weird when he offered to buy me something to eat. He had done that before, with and without my parents being there. And I was starving. Before I could finish my food, though, I felt weird. Like my throat was closing up. My eyes started burning, and my insides felt like someone set them on fire. Then my skin started itching so badly I thought I might scratch it off. A second later, everything went black, and when I woke up, I was alone in a container….staring at a bucket. I cried for days and begged to be let out. No one ever came. There was a doggy door they used to push food through, but I refused to touch it. By day three, I was so emaciated they had to come in. It wasn’t ‘Uncle’ Marco. Some guy hooked me up to a drip and left. The next day they threw another girl in. Giulia. She screamed and raged, banging against the door. Way too loud. But at least she ate. And when I saw her finish her food and be fine after, I also picked some of mine. This has been what I have done since then. It was terrible before Valentina came. She lets me watch her eat. The others found me creepy, so they wouldn’t, which meant I often went days without eating because no one ate the same food in front of me first. None of us are well-fed, but I avoid looking at my legs or arms. Helped with the ‘whisperers,’ though. Also, something my time with Guilia taught me. She made it a point to wash and brush her hair whenever we could. And so would I…in the beginning. Then came that night. Groans and whales and hands all over me. He only stopped when I told him my age, and it was pretty clear I had no idea what he was trying to do, just that it terrified me. I didn't stay 12 and unknowing for long after that. But at least no one touched me again. Giulia wasn’t so lucky. A shiver runs down my spine, and I start impulsively rocking back and forth, pulling my knees to my chest. Don’t bathe, and they won’t touch you. Don’t bathe, and they won’t… My chin drops to my knees, and I screw my eyes shut, pressing my hands over my ears to drown out Giulia’s screams. Don’t bathe, and they won—- “Noemi.”, a soft voice says close to my ear, and I lift my head slowly when I feel Valentina’s hand on my shoulder. Her deep brown eyes bore into mine. Whatever she sees, there is enough to warrant a tight hug. I’m stiff when her arms encircle me, and can’t relax even when my friend squeezes me tighter. Someone being close doesn’t help when I go to that place. Not at all. But I know she tries. That makes me want to do the same, so I pat her back once. When she releases me, I see Valentina push into a sitting position so she shields me 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.” I give a jerky nod. That’s when the small door on the opposite wall creeks open, swinging halfway into the room. The oily guy that came to pick us up and a few guards step in. My spine goes rigid, then I drop and curl up as much as possible. A reflex. And my 'death sentence' frequently. Space for them to kick me that way. Also, the cause to try and drag me out of tight places by my hair. Still, I can't help it. I don't want to see or hear any of them. That's way more terrifying than nursing another bruise in the shape of a boot. Behind them, I hear someone enter a little later, puffing air. When I peek through the curtain of my hair, I see an old man holding his sides. Although my greasy strands blur most of my vision, I clearly see the Nikotin-yellow of his fingers and the huge gut hanging over his belt. “Change of plans, ladies. Our friend Mr. Morgan wants to inspect you and sample some of the merchandise before the auction. Line up.” There is scraping and scrambling when all the girls hurry to stand. But I can’t move—my knees quiver. “Noe, come on.” I feel Val’s hand on my knee. Swatting it away, I press my forehead to my thigh. No, I won’t come out. I can’t. “What’s taking so long?! Move over there.” I hear steps come closer, and a second later, I’m staring at heavy, booted feet. Must be one of the guards because the oily guy wears expensive loafers. “Get in line!!” the guard hisses toward Valentina. But she ignores him and bends down to me again. “Noe— Kurva! Hands off, you f**king—“ Valentina’s head is yanked back and up, and I hear a slapping sound. Her feet stumble a little, and then I see them steady themselves. Before one lifts off the ground and the guard groans. “I said don’t touch me.” My friend’s voice is venomous. Suddenly a weird, clunky laugh fills the room while more booted feet rush toward Valentina. Hers are yanked off the ground as they drag her toward the other girls kicking and hurling insults at them in a language I don't speak. I shiver again. And the laughter that is only getting louder as Valentina’s screaming goes on has bile rising in my throat. “I like this one. Feisty and not terrible to look at either. Take her to the back room.” The scratchy, high-pitched voice must belong to the overweight, grandfatherly guy. “Als ob. F**k dich ins Knie, Opa. Fass mich nicht an du H**ensohn!” Val is still furious, but they ignore her completely, pulling her toward the door, even though her heels plant into the ground, and just before the door closes, I see her spit one guard in the face. I stare at the door for a moment. This is my fault. THIS IS MY FAULT. I start rocking as I see the other girls spread out again slowly. They turned off the light once more—the few candles on the fireplace, the only light source in the room. Although you can’t see much, I still register the glares thrown my way. “It’s her fault.”, one hisses. “If she had just come out….” “Shh, don’t say that. They almost always pick Valentina. It’s nothing new.” “Yeah, but the dirtbag didn’t help.” The hatred in her voice makes my stomach churn. That’s what all of them think of me. I know it. “Shut up, Camilla.” I clamp my ears shut after that. Valentina’s screams playing on repeat in my head now. New, old torture. I rock back and forth faster, my mouth dry, biting my lip. Never. This will never be over.