“Holy shit,” she breathed
when she looked at the four women standing in front of her. Courtney wasn’t
kidding when she’d said Philip collected lookalikes. All of them looked like
Amara. Not identical, but enough that a person who didn’t know her could confuse
them or think they were sisters. They all had dark, straight hair that reached
their elbows, a couple had layers like hers, and the others were cut the same
length. Their bodies were all thin like Amara, although with slight variation
in the hip area.
“You must
be Amara,” one of
them said, speaking up.
“I am,” she
said, uneasily.
“Isn’t it against code to use real names?”
The girl
laughed. “What am I
supposed to call you? Jasmine?”
“Yes,” she
responded slowly.
“Okay,
Jasmine, I’m
Jasmine.”
Amara’s
brows furrowed. “For
real?”
“All of our
Méchant names
are Jasmine for the night.”
“What?”
The girl
shrugged. “That’s
what they told us. We’re all wearing the same thing; we’re all standing the
same way, and using the same make-up.”
“But how
will... Okay,” Amara
said, blinking rapidly. She reminded herself she had this one last thing to do
before she was free.
They all
dressed in threads
of fabric, artfully shredded, tiny black shirts that left little to the
imagination and similar skirts, barely covering the panties beneath. Before
long, Vivienne appeared at the door, much to Amara’s surprise.
“It’s been
a long time,”
Vivienne said with a smile when she spotted Amara.
Amara
nodded in response,
still gaping at her. She
noticed pairs of handcuffs that
Vivienne held
in her hands.
“Okay,
girls, stand in a
single line so I can put these on you. Don’t look so scared, Ava, they come off
after the auction,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I’m also going to put masks on
you,” she added. “Just a final touch so you can look more...alike.”
As
Vivienne fastened the
handcuffs on each girl, she put a key on the side of their panties and gave
them a level stare. “For after.” She continued to give her unwanted comments as
she stood in front of each girl. Sometimes, “where did they find you?” others
“your hips are too big.” Nobody responded to her ”they just let her talk, cuff
and slip the black, demure masks over their faces.
“Ready,”
she chimed before
walking out of the room. “Follow me!” she called over her shoulder.
The
women followed Vivienne
to a stage where they lined up in a row
beside one another, their shaky arms rubbing against the other’s as they
looked into the crowd. A few scattered women accompanied some of the men. They
watched with equal attention and excitement. The look on their faces sickened
Amara.
“This is
crazy,” she heard
Ava whisper beside her.
“It’ll be
over soon,” Amara
whispered back.
Her eyes
scanned the crowd
again. The lighting in the room
was dim, like everywhere else, and it gave everyone in the crowd a rosy glow.
Amara wondered where the man was—the one looking for her—and that’s when
she
spotted Colin sitting off to the left side, by himself with a drink in his
hand. Shit. Amara cursed
repeatedly. She tried to see if she could spot Sam or Philip, but couldn’t. She
needed to tell somebody about him. If he decided to bid on her, if he could
even bid on the right her, it would
throw everything off.
Before she could do anything else, the auction
started. Ava was
pushed up first. She stood in front of the line with her head tucked into her
chest, just waiting, as Vivienne introduced her as “Number One.” So they would
do it by numbers. Nothing more was said about Ava, before a woman stood up and
placed her bid of five thousand dollars, only to be countered by the woman at
her same table with a bid of twelve thousand. They both laughed, as if it was
such a hilarious thing to be bidding on this poor girl’s body. They gave each
other a knowing look, which made Amara’s stomach turn. Ava knew what she was in
for, though. The girls in Méchant were prepared to give their bodies away
without hesitation.
Three more numbers went by before it was
Amara’s turn: Number Five.
She stood, with head held down as the others had, until she heard Colin’s
opening bid of fourteen thousand dollars. Her eyes snapped up to meet his. She
wanted to warn him to stop. A man standing off to the other side of the room
countered him. Twenty thousand. Colin raised it to thirty. Her hands sweated,
shaking so hard she was forced to clamp them together in front of her body as
her eyes searched the room for Philip, Vivienne...anybody who could help. The man
raised his bid to forty and Colin countered with fifty. Amara waited on bated
breath and sighed in relief when the man didn’t counter the offer. She should
have been nervous knowing Philip would be furious if that was the guy they’d
been waiting for, but a part of her was relieved. Vivienne said that standard
procedure was for them to check who the winning bidders were before they left
with the girls —that’s how they would know if the man was there. Maybe if he
bid on one of the others and was caught, Amara wouldn’t have to do much
more.
The longer she counted the numerous ways this
could go, the more
tied up she felt. The cuffs around her hands began to be weighty, and the mask
on her face felt like it was suffocating her. Amara had to squash an overpowering need to get out, to run and never look back.
Auction over, each girl stepped off the stage and
stood beside their
winner, eyes still downcast,
Amara
included, until Colin squeezed her chin and tilted her face toward him. He
glared at her, but she was defeated.
She met his gaze openly, brokenly, until he finally dropped his hand.
.png)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
Jamie McGuire was born in Tulsa, OK. She attended the Northern Oklahoma College,
the University of Central Oklahoma, and Autry Technology Center where she
graduated with a degree in Radiography.
