Bondage

This story is by Trudi Griffin and was part of our 2024 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.

My head feels like an anvil, hammer pounding in rhythm with my pulse. Blood drops decorate the front of my shirt. The insides of my mouth stick together, parched. My tongue scrapes over chapped lips, tasting salt from the tears streaming down my face. 

Outside the car window, lights flash a steady cadence, shining red, blue, red, blue, magnified by the darkness. The bench seat is hard plastic and my hands behind my back amplify the discomfort of my already aching body. Clipped, unintelligible words squawk from a radio. 

Two large men plop into the front seats.

“We’re taking you to County.”

The car pulls away and my house sinks back into darkness. My sobs and the radio disrupt the silence. What am I doing here? 

—

A woman at a raised counter asks my name, address, phone number. She guides me to an alcove, grabs my hands and roughly rolls each finger onto a small screen. 

“Stand here.”

I move in front of a wall with height lines and stare straight ahead. The screen reflects an unrecognizable image. Black running down my cheeks, a cracked bruise on my forehead, dried blood, tears. What the hell happened? 

The woman grabs my arm, navigates me into another alcove. 

“Call someone.”

I know a lot of people, but no one who would help me in this situation.

I move back to the entrance. No words, only tears. 

“Ok then.”

She grabs my arm and leads me down a long hallway. A woman at a desk nods at us and points to an area behind her. The echoing buzz reverberates in my head. The barred door opens with an abrupt click and the woman pushes me inside. 

I scuttle to the back corner, away from the three other females, and curl myself up on the metal bench. Pulling my knees to my chest, I cover my face and cry some more. 

I try so hard to be good. Tried to stop drinking. This will destroy my reputation. How will I explain this?

I remember bits and pieces. Party at my house. A whole lot of drinking. Memory goes blank after that.

What is happening to me? 

The other girls in the cell huddle together, talking in whispers. They could be friends who had their own night on the town. Dressed up. Expensive jewelry, television host makeup. Gorgeous, but worn out after a hard night of partying. The dark-haired one tilts her head at me, bright green eyes glazed over yet somehow focused.

“What’r you in for?” 

I turn away, retreating into shame. 

The three of them burst into cackles and mockery. 

The girl who spoke sidles up next to me, lays her head on my shoulder, long dark hair hiding her face.

“I’m Crissy. You don’t have anyone do you?”

“How would you know that?”

“I have special talents. Like psychic.” 

Her voice is coarse sandpaper, her breath foul. 

“It’s ok,” Crissy says, “we do stupid shit all the time.”

“When I drink too much, I black out. Don’t remember what happens.”

“I can show you.”

I slowly nod. 

Crissy grabs my hand. 

Memories flash through my brain. Feel myself flying into a wall, head first. Running down my short hallway, bouncing off the walls like a bumper car, yelling and crying. Throwing objects, smashing anything I can lift in the empty house. They all left me! I am furious. Bashing my head into the wall. My roommate coming home. The alarm on his face. I attack him. His arms lock around me, carrying me to my room. Fighting his firm hold. His voice trying to calm me. I hit him, scratch, and flail my body to get free. I have no control over myself. Him leaving me in my room, holding the door shut. His muffled voice on the phone telling someone I won’t stop hurting myself. Foul language from my mouth as I pound them through the door with my fists. Trying to ram it open with my head. 

“Oh God, no,” the words drip from my lips, competing with the tears streaming down my face and the shame of my behavior.

“They all left you,” Crissy says, “It’s not the first time. They think you’re crazy.” 

Images of other parties, drinking with friends, then blackness. Not knowing how I got home. Not recognizing the person next to me in bed. Frantic to know if I sabotaged my carefully curated life. Hoping no one says anything. I couldn’t face it.

Crissy returns to her posse laughing. 

“You can hang with us,” says her blond friend, “we’re more fun and we won’t leave you.”

“We’ll be out soon,” the third girl says, “we can get you out too.”

The three of them burst into another round of giggles. 

“They will only lead you to self-destruction.” 

This voice is gentle, motherly. 

A middle-aged woman stands outside the cell bars, her eyes warm, inviting. 

“Come here, child.” 

The closer I get to her, the less my head hurts. The air around her feels warm, like a weighted blanket. Safe. 

“Pretty sure I already self-destructed.” 

Shame weighs my head down. It hurts to look at her.

“You still have a choice.”

“I deserve whatever is coming.”

“You deserve grace.”

Crissy slips her arm around my waist, her hand sliding up my side.

“You can’t have grace, little one, you’re too far gone. We’ll show you something better.” 

“Go away, you filth!” the middle-aged woman’s presence dominates the room. Who is she?

Crissy jerks back like she’d been slapped and slinks to her friends in the back corner. 

The woman attends to me again.

“You can shed your old self and become a new creation.” 

Grabbing the bars, I rest my forehead against them. 

“I didn’t ask for you. Who are you anyway?”

“Who I am is not important. The one I represent is. He sent me.”

“Who do you represent?”

“The Truth.”

“I don’t understand.”

The woman wraps her hands around mine. I feel something like warm water flowing over me. I look to her and she’s glowing a color I can only name as silver blue, her features blur in the light. She nods her head behind me, looks toward the girls in the cell with me. 

All three of them seep a burning pus from cracked skin. The burnt edges smoke much like the lava fields around volcanoes. Tendrils of darkness curl around their bodies, wrapping them serpentlike. Despite all the fire, they radiate a pungent chill. Their black eyes reflect emptiness.

 My heart pounds in my chest. I see a vision of myself, eyes fading to a dull black. 

“What the hell was that?”

“The veil lifted. The spiritual realm. The truth of who they are and what you are becoming. A slave to bondage. A slave to hell.”

“I don’t want that. Can you help me?”

I force the whisper out in a desperate plea. I don’t want to become them.

“Freedom comes with a cost.”

“I’ll pay anything! Please, I want to be free.” 

My tears of despair turn into desperation, maybe even hope.

“You must give up your life and believe. See the Truth.”

Our eyes meet. Images tumble through me. The passion for my work, the house I bought by myself, the nice things I barely have time to enjoy, the quest for recognition, superficial relationships. Alcohol and partying. All hollow. All lies. These fade to a man hanging bloody from wooden beams alone atop a hill. His eyes pierce my soul.  

“Hear me, beloved. I died so you can be free. Sin no more. Believe in me.”

This man who calls me beloved, who died for me means freedom, or I could keep going like I am and become like Crissy and her friends.  

I look up at the woman. She stands with the cell door open, hand extended. I take it. 

Crissy and her friends plead for me to stay. Their disingenuous voices fade as I walk out, slamming the cage behind me. 

—

My heart swells with compassion for the girl behind bars. She is young, maybe 16. Her auburn curls and the curves of her face suggest beauty despite the puffy redness from crying. Her eyes meet mine and I motion her over.

There are three others in the cell with her. 

“I remember you.” 

Crissy’s sandpaper voice scrapes through the room. Her eyes faded gray, no longer green, dark hair faded and stringy.

“I know what you are. Go away.” 

She huddles closer to her corrupted companions. The burning pus covers them, darkness clothes them.

“Come here child.”

The young one walks slowly toward the bars, glancing back at the other three. 

“I offer you freedom.”

“Yeah right. I don’t know you,” she says. 

“I was you. I was here. In bondage. Now I am free. You can be free too.”

I extend my hand through the bars. 

Unmoving, her eyes search mine. 

A tear slides down her cheek.

She takes my hand.