“You are to strut like a runway model, up and back twice, then sit in the chair and wait for the bidding to be done. We don’t need you distracting bidders from actually bidding,” Mr. Number Caller states. The confusion I am feeling must show on my face, because he huffs in annoyance and comes to a stop, turning to me.
“Watch. Take notes, but don’t you dare try running,” he snaps out and turns back around.
I pay close attention as his posture changes and his head raises slightly, giving off a confident air about him. I would find his runway model strut funny in a normal situation, but why he was actually doing it, has me sobering up pretty quickly and keeps me from so much as smiling. He stops for a few moments, sticks his hip out only a bit as he turns, then struts back towards me. I can hear him mumbling something as he moves, but I don’t catch the words. He stops in front of me and drops the act. That answers my first question, but how could I distract bidders from bidding? Isn’t that what they are actually here for?
“Let me see you do it and hurry. We haven’t got much time,” he snaps, motioning with his hands for me to go. I do my, best adding fake courage to my walk and swinging my hips with more force than normal, then stop a little ways down, turn like he did, and head back towards him.
“Smile,” he commands. I force the biggest smile I can, but from the look on his face, I know it’s more of grimace than an actual smile.
“You’re lucky that you have that innocent look about you, but otherwise you should do fine,” he says, then turns once more and continues walking. The ‘innocent look’ comment confuses me, but again I don’t dare ask any questions.
We reach a set of double doors just a few seconds later, and I can clearly hear the noise coming from the other side. I know this is the end of the line for me. We have reached the final destination
“Lose the robe,” he commands, snapping his fingers with impatience.
I swallow thickly, take a deep breath in and let it out as I reach up and untie the string holding the robe together. I lower it down my shoulders and just let it fall to the floor, wanting to get this over quickly. The sudden exposure causes me to flush and pink to stain my cheeks.
My escort pushes one of the doors open and places a hand on my back, ushering me into the room. His hand on my lower back applies pressure, giving me a little shove. I step onto what appears to some sort of stage. I see a man, clear on the other side, standing at a podium of some sort, with his eyes on something I can’t see to the side of the stage. I scan my eyes around what appears to be a massive room, chock full of people. Most of those in attendance appear to be men, with just a few women scattered around. I glance around and catch sight of what I assume I am supposed to ‘strut like a runway model’ on. It’s long and narrow, going out into the middle of the crowd. I search some more and find a little metal folding chair behind whom I’m assuming is the auctioneer. I continue walking along the stage area and shudder the closer I get to the runway and to the crowd. I bow my head as a few heads swivel in my direction as I approach.
“Head up,” a man’s voice calls out angrily from the other side of the stage, close to where the auctioneer is standing, but it seems a little further away. I snap my head up in fear that I was going to get punished, recognizing the deep baritone voice as the man I had seen just before leaving to come here. Jenna had called him the man in charge, and after meeting him, I know that to be true. He had oozed power when I had been in the room with him.
My knees start to buckle as I take in the scene around me. I had drawn more attention to myself and now all the occupants have officially turned to look at me. Now was not the time to freak out—especially with the man in charge standing somewhere near by. I need to find something else to focus on. I find a spot on the back wall of the large room and keep my eyes focused on that. Crude comments are yelled out and wolf whistles begin as I start my model strut down the runway. I can feel my cheeks turning what is most likely fire engine red at this point, but I never move my eyes from that spot. I finally seem to come to the end and do my turn, earning even more crude comments and more whistles from the crowd. I find another spot on the opposite wall and keep focus on that until it is time to turn once again. My second time down and back doesn’t seem take as long, as I successfully manage to tune everything out around me. I keep just enough awareness of what is going on around me to prevent myself from messing up and end up getting punished before I am even auctioned off.
I quickly move across the stage away from the runway and the crowd, making a beeline for the metal folding chair behind the guy standing at the podium. The crowd seems to settle down a little bit as I sit down in the chair. Their voices finally start dying down after a few more minutes, and the man standing up on the stage begins to speak
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is the last piece of merchandise of the night, and as you can see, we saved the best for last,” the man begins. I wrap my arms around my midsection, fighting the urge to curl completely up into a ball.
I finally take a peek at the crowd and lock eyes with a pair of brown ones belonging to a younger looking man. I can’t tell from here exactly what it is, but something seems off about his eyes. Frowning slightly, I take in the rest of him and notice it isn’t just his eyes that seem off about his appearance. Everything about him seems off—the way his mouth is in a frown, the way his hair is slicked back, even his mustache seems out of place on his face. There is something off with this man, but I can't place my finger on what that something is.
Quickly, I shake my head and move on to the next potential buyer. This one isn’t looking in my direction, instead he has his eyes narrowed at the auctioneer.
“May the highest bidder win!” the auctioneer exclaims, bringing my attention back to him.
I gasp quietly as the auctioneer calls out the starting bid. That amount can't be right, that is an obscene amount. Then again, I really don't know what the going rate of a person is. I watch in shock as a bunch of paddles with numbers go up, followed by the loud sound of people hollering out. The auctioneer chuckles and throws his hands up.
“It's clear I need to start higher. She is certainly a beauty,” he says.
The next number he throws out is much higher than the first. Still, it doesn't seem to faze anyone as plenty of paddles go up and more yelling is heard.
I can't make out what is being yelled when the paddles go up, but no one is giving up and the amount goes up higher and higher. Do people really pay this much for another person? The amount continues to climb, and I take another look around. The guy with the slicked back hair puts his paddle up and hollers out with each bid, but his eyes never leave me. I move on, trying to take in as many faces as I can
“Ok, Ok, a higher starting amount is obviously needed,” the auctioneer shouts again. He throws a number that is twenty thousand more than before, and immediately the same amount of paddles go up, followed by more yelling.
No one besides myself seems amazed by the amount as it climbs higher and higher. The amount of money people seem more than willing to pay for one little girl is shocking to say the least. I am truly horrified and scared of what these people do with the girls that they are purchasing. I can’t help wonder what kind of awful things will happen to me once I am purchased and taken to their home. No longer wanting to hear the amount grow, I take a look around at the crowd again. The guy that I noticed before is still in the same spot, his eyes still on me. Though he doesn’t seem to be paying any attention to the auctioneer, I watch as his paddle goes up and he yells out with everyone else that remains in the bidding war. I force my eyes away from him and take in the rest of my potential buyers as well. The man next to him still has his narrowed eyes on the auctioneer, but doesn’t seem interested in bidding. I move on quickly, surveying as many faces as possible. It seems they are mostly older men, with the exception of the one man and a few others peppered throughout the group, who seem to be younger. Though I take note that the younger ones don’t seem to be doing any bidding, nor do they seem very interested in what is happening on stage. Instead their eyes are wandering around the room.
The bidders slowly start to drop out, with less and less paddles going up with each bid. The only two remaining are the man with the slicked back hair that seems off and a middle aged man seemingly getting more and more irritated with my other bidder. ‘Fuck it’ comes from the middle aged man and his finally paddle drops.
“Well! Looks like the highest bidder is the gentleman with paddle number ‘10’ on it. Congratulations, sir. You got yourself a mighty fine beauty, here,” the auctioneer announces after a minute with no other bidders.
I am unsure on what happens now. Am I supposed to go over to the man now or wait for him to call on me to come over? The man hops up on the stage and for the first time since I entered, his eyes move away from me as he heads to the auctioneer with a briefcase in his hand. I can hear low mumbling, but not what words are exchanged between the two. Movement out of the corner of my eyes has me turning more towards to the side and away from the men at the stand. I see the man in charge coming towards me, making me even more nervous. He stops in front of me and starts to speak.
“You are a purchase I hate to see go, but you brought me in a lot of money today. You were definitely worth every penny,” he states snidely then strides off towards the door I came in.
I see the man who purchased me shake hands with the auctioneer and then comes strolling over to me.
“Time to go,” he says in a nasally voice that, just like the rest of his appearance, seems off.
I stand from my seat, and he mumbles something under his breath that I don’t quite catch, but strangely sounds like an apology, before he grabs my arm tightly, but not as roughly as the other men that have been handling me today. The crowd has mostly cleared out as we take the steps down off the stage and make our way through the few men who seem to be just hanging out and head towards the door. The man seems to accommodate his stride to my shorter legs as he doesn’t seem to be in any sort of hurry while we make our way out of the door. A limo pulls up as we make it outside and comes to a stop before the driver side door is opened. Out steps an older gentlemen with a kind face and salt and pepper hair. He comes over to the passenger side, opens the door, and the man who purchased me ushers me in before climbing in behind me and the door is shut.
“Well pumpkin, should we go see how much trouble I am in with Owen,” he says with a gentle smile on his face. He surprises me when he grabs a blanket I saw as I crawled in the limo and throws it over my exposed body. I chew on my bottom lip in worry. What does he mean? Is he going to be in trouble with this ‘Owen’ guy, and would I be the cause of a lovers quarrel or something? What kind of punishment does that warrant?