New Best Friends

As the feelings of pleasure fades, Elena becomes sharply attuned to other things. Candles set inside a cramped, sculpted tunnel, the smell of incense, hushed noises echoing off the ceiling, a pair of strong hands, dragging her through a narrow corridor. Above her head an entire city pulses, the distinctive piercing sound of horns beeping and sirens blazing making up the soundtrack of her adopted home. The contrast is jarring.

The structure itself must date back to before the turn of the last century, when tough men in overalls chiseled now-familiar landmarks out of nothing but stone and sweat; when the subway was a feat of human ingenuity to be celebrated, not a haven for tourists and ruffians of all stripes, a conveyance to be avoided. How it came to be situated here of all places is as mysterious as Elena’s whereabouts.

Her shoulders brush up against the torsos of the men pulling her. The corridor is narrower than she imagined. Chalky dust drifts up as her feet scrape the ground. She gasps for air. A note of surprise wells in her as she notices her gag is now gone. It must’ve been removed when she was transferred, though she can’t remember when that would’ve been.

Her mind to the pile of bills gathering in her P.O. Box. Cell phone bills, water bill, electricity. Rent. She might not have a home to come back to after this is over. She could always crash with her Aunt Erma down South, or track down some of her college friends. Get a “normal” job like everyone else—screw being a player.

Not like it’s working out for her anyway.

She finally comes to a stop near a maze of open ‘rooms’. More like alcoves, each more cramped and cattycornered than the next. There are others like her here. A raven-haired girl lies chained to a box spring mattress while a young woman lies in an adjoining room lies on her side, reading a fashion magazine; a hookah pipe lay nearby.

Elena spies a pair carrying on a chess game in the background, too engrossed by their diversion to notice her frightened form standing before them. Four women in all, from as many places and backgrounds as one can imagine. And now she makes five.

Some wear sweaters and overcoats. Others are scarcely clothed, while still others have no clothing at all, the heat of a nearby spacer all that keeps them warm. Most have initials or indentations of some type of another on their person, whether on their torso or forearm, calves or thighs. The letters mean something. But Elena isn’t sure what.

One of the men grappling her whistles. The girls snap to attention, or crane their heads towards her, eyeing her as a grunt might eye a new recruit. One of them cracks a smile, not surprised by the new captive’s arrival, but not pleased either.

“New girl?” One of the contestants asks as she takes a pause from her game, clutching her black pawn absentmindedly.

The man nods, not saying anything.

“Well I’ll be.” She brushes a strand of hair out of her eyes. “She won’t last a month.”
Elena bares her teeth, glaring at the young woman as if to challenge her to a fight.

“Tough, aren’t you?” The pink-haired **** smirks. “In that case I give you two weeks, tops. What’ya say, boys?”

The men shrug noncommittally.

“’Bout what I expected.” She sneers. “She must pay ya a lot of money to keep yer trap shut, I’ll say that much.”

The men depart, as mute as when they arrived. Elena hesitates, curious yet afraid to go near the other women.

“What’s yer name, girl?” The chess player shouts. “I promise I won’t bite.”

“E…Elena.”

“Elena. That’s Mexican, isn’t it?”

The captive shakes her head.

“Are you deaf, girl? I asked you a question.”

“My parents named me after my grandfather from Kiev—you could say I’m half-Russian.”

“You’ll be Russian yourself to a watery grave in the East River if you’re not careful.”

“Enough with the puns Jess!” The brunette calls out.

“Shut up, Bobbi. I run the show down here, remember?”

Jess motions Elena into the light. She hesitantly complies.

“Pretty girl.” Jess eyes Elena’s face. “You’d easily be a six or a seven, if it weren’t for those freckles. Do you have a boyfriend?”

Elena shakes her head.

“What a shame. Could you step towards me a little more, please? Just six more feet. Yeah, like that…”

Jess grabs Elena by the wrist and flips her on her back. Elena peers into Jess’s eyes, pinned by the latter’s thighs. Jess’s happy-go lucky smile has changed into something less jovial. Her face is stoic, like a statue. The new captive can’t help but notice the chess player’s dark tan collar, a tiny cross dangling from the front.

“Rule number one of survival down here.” Jess huffs. “Never, but never trust anyone. Not even me. You do and you’re dead. Understand?”

Elena nods.

Jess’s hands graze Elena’s wet mons, saturated from the previous session in her room.

“You’re wet.” She notes as she wipes girl-juice on her outer thigh. “I see they’ve shaved you.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Not at all. You need to be cleaned up though; only a matter of time before they come for you.”

“Come for me?”

“To start your trainin—I mean initiation. Everyone who’s passed through here has gone through it, including me.”

“Who are they?”

Jess’s eyes are incredulous.

“You mean you don’t know?”

“No.”

Jess shakes her head.

“Doesn’t matter, you’ll find out soon enough.”

“This…training. Does it hurt?”

“Depends on the definition of the word ‘hurt’. Do you want it to hurt?”

“N--.”

“Then don’t let it.” Jess cuts Elena off. “The key is mind over matter. That’s the second rule, by the way.”

She leads her to a cistern cut into the floor. Buckets sit next to it, filled with water. Elena looks over her shoulder at Jess, a pensive look in her eyes.

“What’s the matter, never bathed in front other girls before?”

“But what about privacy?”

Jess laughs.

“There’s no privacy here, kid.” She quips as she walks off. “’Can’t even jill off without someone finding out.

“One more thing.”

Jess spins around.

“The collar you’re wearing. Does it mean anything?”

“Only that I’m a work horse, not a show horse. ‘Been that way ever since I found myself here two years ago. ‘Guess I’m trusted enough to do house work. And fuck. You’re a good kid though, I’m sure they’ll find a different purpose for you.”

As Elena scrubs her torso and stomach, her mind burns with questions.
What kind of work?

And who is they?