"Who do you want me to be?"

A weak sliver of natural light illuminates the room. I don’t realise that I’ve been fast asleep, it seems like only seconds ago that my eyes closed. The bedroom window is boarded up with the heavy metal blind, so for sunlight to be bleeding in from the living room, it must mean our bedroom door is open

I sit up slowly, Athena is already standing, adjusting her breasts inside a mesh, purple bodysuit. She looks stunningly beautiful, even in such cheap pornographic attire. Despite the dimness I can see clearly the bruise darkened across her mouth. I will never understand how anyone could hit her like that. A wave of anger and sadness hits me hard, not that I wake up any other way in this place.

Noticing me staring, Athena quickly turns to hide her bruise.

“You can wear the black one today. It fits you better.”

She sets the lingerie on the foot of the bed for me. I sense in her voice a hard wall has gone up. The emotions that came out last night pushed down as far as possible to prepare for the day ahead. It’s the smart thing to do. I know better than to ask something stupid like ‘how are you?’, so instead I note the concerning absence in our room.

“Did Stella already go out? … Did she even come back last night?”

I could have been too exhausted to notice if she did, but Athena shakes her head. “No, ‘Baby’ didn’t come in to the room last night.”

Athena is quick to correct me, nodding towards the open door. When we are alone I refuse to use the names they’ve given us. It’s another trick. Another way that they keep us stolen from the world. If they take away our names, it’s easier for us to just be whores they sell.

“I guess Cyrus wanted her the whole night...”

The thought unnerves me. Stella isn’t smart enough to manipulate a relationship out of Cyrus, if she is trying to get close to him, it will only mean bad things, for her and us too. I quickly dress myself and we make our short trip into the living room. Cyrus is sitting at the kitchen table, no sign of Viktor. Immediately overwhelmed by the smell of cooking, my eyes widen as I see Stella standing at the stove, stirring eggs into a pan.

My stomach instantly rumbles. Sometimes I am too exhausted to notice how hungry I am. Food comes irregularly, if it comes at all, and after my little show of defiance last night, Cryus made sure I didn’t get much from the takeaway downstairs. But fresh food, scrambled eggs, breakfast in the morning? That is something we have never done, and the sudden, mundane familiarity of cooking creates a hideous shiver down my spine as I start to associate this evil place with a home. Like I have just walked downstairs from my student flat to find my room-mate cooking breakfast for a one-night-stand she picked up in a bar last night.

“Ah, look who is finally up. It’s Big Mouth and Bruised Mouth.”

The homely feeling vanishes.

Cyrus smirks gleefully, as if he has been waiting all morning to tell that joke. Stella turns around, her bubbly blonde personality shining out as if she is excited for the adventure of a brand new day.

“Sit down, sit down! Cyrus gets us this! I make us all scrambled eggs, toast too if you want! Is nearly ready!” she goes back to the pan, her little body stuffed inside a blush pink bikini that’s too small even for her.

Athena and I look at each other nervously, taking a quick glance back at the couch where we would normally be expected to wait until Viktor gives us something to do. The days here are no different than the nights, they are just slower. When men call, we work. And if we are not working, we wash our underwear and the bedsheets, or Viktor watches us in the bathroom while we shave, or we do something else to touch up our appearance, or Viktor has us take photos to create more profiles on the websites. We sell our bodies, or we make our bodies more sellable. We don’t do anything else.

Except for this morning it seems. Today we are having breakfast with our pimp. We sit down in silence. What kind of conversation are you supposed to make with your pimp anyway? ‘Good morning Cyrus, did you have fun with your sex slave last night? We noticed you didn’t lock her up with us like usual! Love the jacket you’re wearing by the way, where did you get it? Oh, did you find many people to rape us today?’

Stella takes the eggs off the stove and puts them aside, reaching up to open empty cupboards.

“Oh. No plates.” she pauses, crestfallen and struggling to find a solution, realising that there are only two plates to share between four of us. Our flat is not well suited to hosting brunch parties it seems, it’s much more of a ‘work-the-prostitutes-til-they-die’ kind of vibe. Cyrus gets up to help, placing his hand over Stella’s rear as he leans in to kiss her.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’m sure we can figure it out.”

The unnatural scene is broken sharply by the thundering slam of the front door. Athena and I jump out of our seats, and I think I see even Cyrus flinch too. Instinctively our butts hover over the chairs, our common sense screaming at us, knowing we should be on the couch when Viktor enters. There is no time to move though, Viktor is already pushing his way in the room. He does not hide his surprise to find us like this.

“The fuck?”

I have seen Viktor angry many times, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so angry that he is unable to comprehend the magnitude of his own fury. He stands there looking at us, holding a heavy plastic bag. I can see its contents from the outline, stacked boxes of cigarettes and two bottles of whiskey. Nothing to eat. At least Cyrus is trying to feed us.

Cyrus takes one of the plates and fills it with scrambled eggs, walking confidently over to Viktor and handing him the meal.

It has been a long time since anyone has done something like that for Viktor, I can just tell. I know it is stupid, but for a split second I think all of our hearts stopped as we held on to the possibility that everything would be okay.

Perhaps this was all that is needed?

The big mean bastard wasn’t a monster after all. All he wanted was a family. A nice home, with good girls to look after him, and a dutiful son who loved him. He would sit down, eat his eggs and remark that this was the best meal he had ever tasted. And then he would rub his eyes, breaking the evil witch’s spell and remember at long last that he was actually Santa-Claus. Oh, and just in the nick of time too, it’s Christmas Eve and we have so many presents to deliver!

And they all lived happily ever after.

The End.

The next moments happened in a frenzied blur.

Athena was crouched down and I was on top of her, trying to shield her injured face from anything else hitting her. Stella, caught in the crossfire, tripped around the table leg, her head fortunately landing on the sofa instead of the floor. The plate shattered as it hit the wall, the two men screaming. Viktor was bigger and stronger, but Cyrus gave back as good as he got.

The few words they exchanged were an unintelligible mixture of Russian, Arabic and English. But it is easy to spot curse words in any language. From what little I gathered as I tried my best to protect myself and the others, Viktor blamed all of us, and he showed it by beating all of us equally. Fair is fair. His belt was off and he was not shy in using it, the buckle cracking our heads and backs. At one point I am sure he threatened to put us into cages.

The end of their fight was the worst part. Viktor had now overpowered Cyrus, and was holding him in a grapple that prevented Cyrus from escape. It was not enough for him to simply win, Viktor needed to humiliate. He wielded his belt, the very same way he used it on us. I had the sense to look away, and so did Athena.

Stella watched. If I could reach her I would have covered her eyes. But the stupid girl kept looking. She watched Cyrus get beat.

The room finally fell silent. Viktor let Cyrus go and the two of them stood on opposite sides of the room. I allowed myself to look again, fear and curiosity getting the better of me. Their dispute was apparently settled. I could not understand it. I have heard boys tell me about this before, how brothers can beat each other up, practically rip out each other’s throat, and afterwards it would be over. They fight and then they are normal again.

Viktor’s breath was ragged, he held his hips and puffed out his chest, wiping his nose of blood and then pacing around the room. He inspected the kitchen, picking up the pan and then slamming it straight down. Then he looked at me, and Cyrus, and me again. I didn’t like the way his attention split between us.

Surely he saw Cyrus’ hand on Stella’s bottom. I was just sitting there, there was nothing for him to mistake between us.

“I have appointment. You watch Baby and the Greek. Big Mouth is coming with me.” he decides abruptly, grabbing a heavy coat to cover me up with.

“She can’t.” Cyrus speaks up, standing straight to pretend he isn’t still in pain, he looks more bloodied than Viktor, and is definitely in no state for round two.

“She has her caller today.” he continues quickly, making sure his voice is soft, not telling Viktor what to do, merely reminding him of the facts.

Viktor shoots a look, but he doesn’t move on Cyrus again. Money. It will always be the only thing that can win over Viktor’s anger, and apparently his jealously too. He knows ‘the caller’ Cyrus refers to, and that it’s worth keeping me here for him. I know he still doesn’t like it.

“Fine.” the coat is pulled away from my shoulders and Viktor walks over to Athena, putting it on her instead, strong-arming her out of the door without another word.

Their exit leaves us to endure the aftermath. The furniture is all over the room, there is egg sticking to the walls. Cyrus, longer having to square up against an alpha male, hobbles to the kitchen with his back to us, leaning over the surface, clearly in pain as he runs the tap to cool his knuckles.

“Bastard.” Stella spits out, cutting the silence between us.

Please. Don’t say it.

I take a step towards her, my eyes wide and desperately trying to win her attention quietly. It’s one of those moments that happens in slow motion. Perhaps it is the adrenaline in my system after being so scared, but I truly perceive the world at a different speed. Stella’s chin moves, her next words coming out of her throat gradually, and Cyrus turning to meet them.

Despite my time bending powers, I can’t prevent it.

“Cyrus, are you okay?”

I feel it like a weight, a lump of lead landing in my stomach. And suddenly I wish I was experiencing any other moment in my life in slow motion.

There are some things in this world a man cannot abide. Especially a man like Cyrus. A young, strong and proud gangster. Or at least a wannabe gangster. Who is freshly beaten and humiliated by another man, right in front of our eyes. My heart breaks for Stella, she isn’t playing a game. There is genuine concern in her voice, perhaps she really does care for Cyrus.

Sympathy. From his whore. Worse than that. Sympathy from a 5ft whore with blonde hair tied up in pigtails, standing around in pink lingerie after watching her pimp get belted like a child.

“… maybe we can still have breakfast…” Stella continues. I would cut my arm clean off my shoulder if it was the only thing I could use to gag her mouth against another word.

“Breakfast?”

Cyrus finally replies. He lets out a dark chuckle and I move quickly beside Stella, she gives me a dread ridden look that at last is laced with understanding. She doesn’t know why, but she knows it was a mistake.

“Please may we use the bathroom, Cyrus.” I interrupt quickly, putting on the most delicate, submissive voice that I can.

He springs back from the counter, leaping like an animal. His hands reach around Stella’s neck and he has her throttled instantly, squeezing his thumbs as hard as he can. His mouth frothing, eyes sharp and twitching. I try my hardest to pull him off her but even with the two of us clambering and struggling against his arms he is too strong.

“You want fucking breakfast, bitch?!” his words are ragged, spit hitting Stella’s face as she starts to turn purple.

He releases her finally, arm flailing to my side, knocking me away. Stella falls to the floor, hands grasping at her poor neck, coughing and spluttering as she desperately sucks in oxygen. I watch, terrified as Cyrus goes back to the kitchen, picking up the pan and stirring spoon to bring back over.

“There aren’t enough fucking plates for us remember. How are we going to eat breakfast if there aren’t any plates, huh?”

Cyrus stands over Stella, lifting the pan and looking like he is about to bash her skull in with it. I try to approach, closing the space between them, but his eyes flick to me and I don’t dare put another foot forward.

“I guess we’ll just have to eat it up from the floor won’t we?” Cyrus keeps his eyes trained on me, while Stella wriggles on the floor like worm. He lifts the spoon out of the pan, and slowly tilts it over, letting the scrambled egg go splat!

Stella can’t move, all she can do is sob. Cyrus’ foot presses into her back, pushing at first, but increasing in furious anger until he is kicking at her sides, making her suffer even more as he jabs his toe into her skinny ribs.

“Eat it!” he commands, waiting for her to obey. Her limp body moving in strained slouches, head covering the mess until she pulls back up and reveals that it’s gone.

“There we go! Now we’re okay aren’t we? All we needed was some breakfast. You’re so right! Let’s eat our breakfast and then we’ll all be okay!” Cyrus chants like a mad man, insulting Stella’s suggestion in a mocking tone and pouring another spoonful out onto the floor.

Stella tries to eat it, but her throat is too raw from how badly he choked her, she can’t swallow it fast enough, prompting more kicks from Cyrus. I can’t bear to watch her humiliated like this, still crying, scared for her fucking life.

“Stop it!” I scream.

I guess it is my turn to be stupid. A man doesn’t want pity from his whore, and he certainly doesn’t want one telling him what to do either. It’s enough of an interruption to give Stella a chance at least, and I reason it’s worth it for that alone. My own face now streaming with tears as I have to watch the hideous scene before me.

Cyrus’ eyes almost look like they are glowing as they meet mine.

“You want some too? Is that it, Big Mouth?”

I don’t have time to weigh up my options, to come up with a plan or to try to find the secret code to calm the temper of an abusive man. So out of instinct I do the only thing I know how to do. I degrade myself too. I degrade myself so it’s easier for Stella to have a break and recover from being near strangled to death, and easier for Cyrus to divide his anger and recover from being embarrassed.

I say nothing. I get down on my hands and knees next to Stella, looking at a spot on the floor in front of me where I expect my eggs to land. It’s enough, he spoons out more food, dropping it on the floor. Obediently I crawl forward, face kissing the floor, extending my tongue and licking up the sticky, cold eggs and chewing it down quickly.

One for me. One for Stella. Another for me, and another for Stella.

Having someone to share her humiliation calms Stella down, while she still chokes and struggles with the pain in her ribs, she seems to more easily breathe and lap up the food when it’s her turn. I make sure to take my time, licking the floor and looking up at Cyrus with doe eyes to command more of his attention. Chewing my food and crawling back to make more space for him to feed me. I crouch down low, sitting my butt on the balls of my feet, prostrating myself for him.

His mood softens from rage to dull, hateful sadism. The sight of his two whores obediently debasing themselves restoring the rightful balance of power in his mind. He continues the game until the pan is empty, happily using his spoon not merely to drop the eggs but to flick them down so they make as large a splash as possible. And every time he does, we quickly lurch forward, picking it up like dogs. A comparison he eagerly voices as he starts to enjoy himself more and more.

“Looks like we’re nearly finished bitches. Who wants the last bite?”

The final spoonful is presented in the air, and the two of us lean upwards on our knees enough to look at him. I don’t know which is worse; that this is all starting to seem normal, or my gratefulness that my starving stomach is finally eating.

I turn to Stella, her face a blotchy mess, red and tearful, crumbs of egg on her chin and her hair falling loose out of the pigtails. She knows what I have just done has saved her. Perhaps that’s why she goes up, sparing me any further humiliation, mouth open and tongue extended like an obedient bitch.

“You don’t want it, Big Mouth?” Cyrus taunts, not letting me off the hook.

I mimic Stella, and the two of us mew like puppies with our mouths open, allowing Cyrus the pleasure of feeding us both.

The empty pan and spoon clangs on the floor.

“Tidy this shit up.”

The rest of the morning, Stella and I clear up the mess of the kitchen. Neither one of us looks at Cyrus. But I can feel him staring. Worst of all. I feel him staring only at me.