Claimed

Chapter 1

*Picture of Willow

Chapter 1

The sound of the faint music in the background tried to distract my mind from its activity, but I'm afraid nothing could. One by one I piled pieces of clothing in my small gym bag.

Emergency things, personal things, that's it.

The clothing you pack will either be the only clothing you have for a while or be thrown out the second you arrive.

Personal items will either tie you to the pass or be destroyed in front of you as some kind of punishment.

Emergency things, like every day to day items whether it be for simple things like the bathroom, or big things like medication. Those items wouldn't probably be touched, but that didn't stop my mind from wondering if they'd somehow be used against me.

How did we get here? How did I get here?

The world went to shit eight years ago. People on the lower levels of the world needed money, and the rich had more than enough to offer. So, parents would sell their kids, their partners, anyone in their family to the sex slave trade.

The poor got paid greatly, the rich got new entertainment, and we got sold.

In certain cases, like mine, we wouldn't be sold or auctioned off. We were volunteers. I know what you're thinking; how bat shit crazy do you need to be to sell yourself off like that.

In my mind, I was preventing the inedible. Eventually, my aunt and uncle would have to sell me off to pay for hospital bills for my cousin. His cancer had hit him harder than expected, and now my family was drowning in its waves.

So, I volunteered myself for the sex slave trade.

By no means was I happy or excited by this. I've heard and witnessed enough horror stories to feed my nightmares for a lifetime.

Girls could be beaten, raped, sold off again, downgraded, and even killed in this life. And now, I was taking those chances in hopes of saving my cousin.

My aunt and uncle, though grateful in their way, didn't say much when I told them what I was doing. Instead, they seemed almost relieved that I was volunteering instead of them having to make the big step.

My parents would be so disappointed in them. In me.

They both died 12 years ago in a car accident by a drunk driver. After that, I was sent to my aunt and uncles in Michigan.

"Willow, the car will be here in five minutes," My aunt said in a soft voice as she popped her head into my room. Her voice pulled me back to my task, my bag half empty still.

"Okay," I nodded, not looking up at her. I could feel her eyes on me for another second before she disappeared again.

This was the part I hated, the unknown. At least when someone is selling you, you know a bit of what to expect. Men in black suits would walk into your home, tell you that you had ten minutes to pack your bags, and then take you away. They'd dress you up all nice and clean you perfectly before sending you out on a stage for people to guac at and buy. It was usually a bidding war, one that revealed the men's faces. Once bought, you were on your way with the man who bought you.

Volunteering was a whole other thing.

You'd get checked out at your doctors and tell them you wanted to volunteer. They'd come up with this fancy paperwork that usually your parents would have to do, and you'd give them back. Then was the waiting game, the wait for the call that someone had "claimed" you. That call meant someone would be over in an hour for you and take you to the meet-up spot. You wouldn't even know who bought you until you were standing right in front of him.