"You don't know what's in store
But you know what you're here for,"
~ High For This, The Weeknd

I once heard that Lucifer was God's favorite angel before he fell. Now, I don't know much, but I always thought someone (or something?) like God would be above favoritism. Shouldn't He/It/Whatever love us all equally?

But I'll admit, I don't know much about God. All the times I spent in church was a blur—a bunch of fuzzy, nearly faded memories all molded together. I vaguely remember the pastor, a middle aged man with a booming voice and a kind demeanor. But his words meant little to nothing to me.

God loves you.

He will forgive you for your sins and trespasses.

Repent and give yourself to the Lord.

Words. It's all they were. It's all they ever were.

I never gave much thought into what I believed in. I respected other people's religions, but I was never exactly sure if I had one of my own. The ideology of religion is a complex one—believe in what you can't see. Have faith.

Chris told me that religion was created out of fear. People feared the world and they feared death and to get over that fear, they creating a being. An all-good, all-loving being. They created a Heaven—a beautiful, wonderful place that's supposed to be there for you when you die. They created a Hell—a fiery pit occupied by the 'Devil' himself—to scare people into doing what the Church thought was right.

But that's what it all boiled down to, wasn't it? Control. Does religion not have ultimate control? Was there ever really a separation between Church and State? At the end of the day, it was them who had complete control. Whoever wrote the Bible—whoever decided to write down that murder and sodomy and sex before marriage is a sin...they had complete control. The Bible wasn't written by God. It was written by man. It was written by men who had never spoken to God. It was written by men who got to choose what was sin and what was not. And whoever contradicted their beliefs were assed out because how do you go against the Bible?  That is the ultimate sin, isn't it? Turning your back against God, against religion. Denying him, denying his word. 

We've been controlled by man for far too long, but it doesn't end. It never ends. 

Then there is fear. Maybe that is what drove them. What drives us. It makes sense, doesn't it? Maybe we all need a safe haven. And that's why we turn to God. Even if we can't see him, it makes us feel better believing he's there. Because if he isn't, we'd have to face reality. That the world is a cold, dark place and there's isn't anyone or anything that can change that. There isn't anything or anyone who can save us.

We're not meant to be saved.

But humans don't only create Gods and Heavens. They create monsters too. The Devil. Hell. The monsters we, for some reason, believe is hiding in our closet or waiting for us when we die. Because we can't live without fear. It drives us.

I was scared.

There were really only a few times in my life in which I felt genuine fear.

Chris didn't scare me as much as Nicolas did. Thatwas because for a time, I knew Christopher would never actually kill me. Notuntil I drove him to try.

I could still feel the barrel pressed against my side, even though we're seated in the car and all the doors were locked. There was no escape for me...but that didn't seem to matter. The barrel was warm, evidence that the weapon had been fired not too long ago. And it dug deeper into my side, as if reminding me of that.

I was expendable. I couldn't be saved. Not by myself and certainly not by a God humans created out of fear.

I could die.

I didn't know what we were waiting for, and with the smooth black cloth covering my eyes, I had no way of seeing what the hold up was either. Not that I was in a rush. This might be my last day.

The man next to me wasn't Nicolas. He was too big and he smelled of cigarettes and alcohol. It worried me – how fucked up would it be if he accidentally pulled that trigger? I'd bleed out all over these fancy leather seats. As intoxicated as he may or may not have been, he kept a firm grip on the gun. I wasn't sure yet if that should comfort me or terrify me.

I didn't speak. I hadn't spoken since Nicolas pulled me out the room, with only the shirt on to cover my otherwise nude body. One of his men made a joke, something involving his cock and my mouth and I ignored it, knowing a reaction is all he wanted. I'd heard jokes much funnier, with punch lines way cruder. Either way, his buddies laughed along with him and made remarks on how they'd each love a turn with me.

The person next to me suddenly spoke, and his voice was so deep that it made me jump. He didn't speak in English, though, so I was left confused and frustrated.

My heart was thudding in my chest and the panic I'd tried to force down came rising up like lava in a volcano. Relax, Neila, I tried to coax myself. Breathe. But I couldn't. Where is he taking me? What will he do to me? 

My heart was thudding in my chest and the panic I'd tried to force down came rising up like lava in a volcano. Relax, Neila. Breathe. But I couldn't. Where is he taking me? What will he do to me?

Run.

The thought came and went so quickly, I wasn't sure it was even real. But then there I was, thinking about it. It didn't matter. Where would I run to? How far could I possibly make it, blindfolded with my hands tied behind my back?

You have to run.

As if hearing my thoughts, the man pressed the gun deeper into my side. I squirmed.

"Presto," another voice replied. It was another guy, but younger. "This the one Marino was talking about?"

"Does anybody speak English?" I questioned aloud, the shakiness in my voice very apparent. "Please, okay? This is a mistake. I'm not—"

I quieted quickly enough when the barrel left my side and pressed against my temple.

"Shut the fuck up," Deep voice growled.

My fingers curled into fists. It was uncomfortable, due to the rope binding my hands together behind my back. The pressure of the gun disappeared. Suddenly, there was a click and the door was pushed open, causing a gust of wind to enter the car. My side suddenly felt vulnerable and I realized the man had gotten out. 

I let out a sigh of relief, but it was short lived. Not even a minute passed before someone else climbed in. The cloth was torn off my face, and I looked into a pair of unfamiliar eyes. Suddenly, cloth went over my mouth and nostrils. No. I tried to wrench my head away, but the person gripped my jaw, keeping me still. There was nothing I could do. I could already feel myself slipping away, disappearing to a deep, dark part of myself. I'd never been chloroformed before but I knew instantly I'd be out cold in a matter of seconds.

Please...

Help me.

*****

"I'm tired, Cherry."

I bit down on my lip, ignoring the sharp sting, and held back the sharp words that danced on the tip of my tongue. It wasn't for his benefit. It was more for me, because I knew what he'd do if I stepped out of line. My split lip was evidence of that.

"You see that, don't you?" Chris turned to look at me, face full of disbelief. It was hilarious. God, only he could make himself the victim after backhanding me. Only he could fein innocence after striking me, knowing there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. "You see how tired I am?"

He wanted me to reply. It was rhetorical, but he wanted me to respond. I didn't give him what he wanted.

He sighed heavily and shook his head as he peeled off the expensive suit jacket. "Youwant to be a whore, Cherry? You want me to throw you back on the corner to getpimped out by some fat, black piece of shit who doesn't give a fuck if you liveor die? Is that what you want?" 

Christopher was also a low-key racist piece of shit, if the whole 'trafficking' gig wasn't enough to make you hate him.

"I'm a whore now!" I snapped. "You still have me fucking people for money!"

"You ungrateful bitch!" He snarled, raising his hand. I braced myself, ready for the sting, but nothing came. He simply lowered his hand and laughed. "Christ, you're not even worth the energy."

"Let me go," I whispered. "Please. Just fucking let me go—it's not worth it anymore."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? No." He shook his head and pulled the jacket back on. His face took on a look of disgust. "No. This is what you wanted. Money. Power. You don't get to walk away after everything I've done for you."

"I don't have money or power! I have nothing!"

"Then you wait!" He shouted. "You fucking wait. You do your job and I do mine, and soon enough we will be—"

He scoffed and walked to the door, pulling the door open so hard, it slammed against the wall. I jumped at the loud sound and retreated back into myself where he couldn't reach me, knowing his mind was made.

"You're stuck with me, Cherry."

Stuck.

Cherry.

The door slammed shut, but I'd hardly noticed. I slumped to the floor and brought my knees up to my chest.

Stuck.

"LET ME OUT OF HERE!"

I could barely recognize my own voice. Could barely register it was me, slamming my fists into the wall next to me until it was smeared in blood and my knuckles cracked. Could barely feel the pain as I dragged my nails down the wall until they split and bled.

"LET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU!"

You're stuck with me, Cherry.

"I HATE YOU!"

I wanted to die.