A nearly normal day

The free morning May granted them was a mirage, a brief reprieve for the bruises on their skin and dignity to stop burning. Magi spent those hours in a limbo, tossing and turning in her bed with the idea of quitting. But every time the thought of escape took shape, the harsh reality hit her: economic necessity was a chain that was too strong to break.

At noon, the aquarium regained its oppressive magnetism. In her locker, hung with a mocking precision, awaited the new uniform. It wasn't a garment; it was a test. The fabric was sparse and elastic, a tiny set of shorts and a tight t-shirt that left little to the imagination. As she tried it on, a blush of indignation burned her face; the line of her underwear marked a grotesque obscenity under the thin fabric. With clumsy fingers, she took it off, feeling a new and sharp vulnerability. The fabric now molded to her body without any barriers, a constant reminder of her exposure.

As she turned, her gaze met Cloe's, who was in the midst of her own silent battle with the outfit. There were no words, only a flash of complicity and a mutual shame that united them in a tacit pact. Magi noticed that Cloe had chosen to go without a bra, and her nipples, erect from the cold of the locker room or from tension, were sharply outlined against the fabric of her t-shirt. Cloe, in turn, decided to keep her thong, despite the visible ridge it created, as a small act of defiance or resignation.

Dressed like that, they became an unofficial attraction of the aquarium. The afternoon was a slow ordeal of lascivious stares that slid over their skin like slugs, of "fortuitous" stumbles by some coworkers whose hands "accidentally" brushed against their hips or backs. Magi moved like an automaton, rinsing glass and feeding fish, trying to disconnect her mind from her body.

A persistent question accompanied her: Where was Lara? Had she had the courage that Magi lacked? She found the answer in the central hall, where a black lace bikini packaged her curves, elevating her bust toward the visitors' eager gazes as she handed out brochures. Magi felt a chill. The curiosity to read those brochures was an immediate impulse, but also a visceral fear. She lowered her gaze and continued on her way.

The end of the shift brought no relief, but a final sentence. The message on her phone shone with a sinister light: "To my office. Now." A place that was no longer just a room, but an altar where her will was ritually sacrificed. And the most terrifying thing was to admit that, indeed, she was already starting to get used to it.