The street stretching before me feels more than just a road. It's a boundary, an endless gulf that separates two worlds. On our side, where life is just enough to scrape by, there are houses worn from years of struggle, patched with whatever we can find to keep out the elements. Families here do their best to make ends meet, sharing small, crowded spaces and hand-me-down lives. If it weren't for the small, weather-beaten house of my grandmother, we'd probably be on the streets.
The house is as old as my earliest memories, held together by sheer will and luck. It's a blessing in the midst of what some would call cursed living. But even that small comfort hangs by a thread as if one day a breath too strong would send it crashing down, taking all our fleeting hopes with it.
But on the other side of that yawning road? That's where life seems untouched by our struggles. There, people step out of their spotless, sprawling houses, strolling past pristine shops that sell things we can't even dream of buying. Expensive boutiques display the latest trends behind polished glass windows, schools boast fees our lifetime savings couldn't touch, and pharmacists and people walk briskly to high-end jobs, their clothes sharp and their shoes clean. Crossing that road is more than a matter of steps; it feels like a journey between worlds, where people on that side look at us as if we're only shadows.
Today, I find myself stepping into the creeping carpet chemist's compound, a place I dread but can't avoid. It's a beautiful building where desperation meets indulgence. People loiter around, eyes glazed or unfocused. Some sit, others lie down as if exhausted by the weight of the world on their shoulders. This place, this beautiful, miserable compound, has somehow become a haven of escape, a trap designed by a man known only as "Black." I've never met him, but I know his reputation. He offers the escape people here crave, though at a cost so steep it's impossible to measure.
I make my way to the entrance, where nurses go about their business, administering injections to those willing to pay for a moment's relief. It's a strange sight. The well-dressed rubbing elbows with the destitute, all here for the same purpose. Even the few glimpses of wealth here, the polished watches and tailored clothes can't mask the vulnerability that leaks out of everyone. Black's influence is palpable; he doesn't need guns or threats. Whatever he offers kills just as surely.
As I approach the door to his office, two security guards stand as sentries. Their faces are as hard as their words. "What do you want?" one of them demands, his voice curt.
"I need to see Black," I say, keeping my gaze steady.
The guard raises an eyebrow. "Do you have an appointment?"
"Yes," I say smoothly. "My mom sent me."
The guard narrows his eyes before giving a nod, signalling to the other to let me through. The heavy door creaks open, revealing a brightly lit room. Inside, a young man sits at a table, his eyes focused on a laptop screen. He looks up as I enter, and, in an instant, four more guards stand at attention, their eyes tracing my every move.
"Who are you?" one of the guards demands, his voice a low growl. His physique matches his voice, broad-shouldered and towering, a force of intimidation in a room where everyone is on edge.
"My mother sent me to collect her fix," I reply, trying to sound confident. My words feel stiff, but I force them out, hoping it's enough to satisfy them.
"Who's your mother?" he asks, eyes narrowing.
"Yi," I say, barely above a whisper. At the mention of her name, the man at the laptop stands up abruptly, striding toward me with a curious gleam in his eyes.
"It's okay," he says, gesturing to the guards to step back. He studies me intently, and I can feel his gaze move over every detail of my appearance, my uniform faded from too many washes, my black trousers now a weary shade of grey, and shoes scuffed from too many steps taken in places I'd rather forget.
"So, Yi sent you?" he says, an amused grin curling at the corners of his mouth. He's younger than I expected, maybe just a few years older than me, but his expression carries an unsettling confidence as if he's all too aware of the power he holds here.
"Yes," I reply, trying to keep my voice steady. Every instinct in me wants to look away, to shrink back from his scrutinizing stare. But I hold my ground, clenching my fists as I stand in my worn-out shoes, knowing that in this room, there's no place for weakness.
"Do you care for anything to eat or drink?" the guy asks, his eyes studying me.
"No, I'm okay," I reply, though my stomach grumbles slightly. Truth is, I'm starving.
"Sit tight; I'll be with you in five minutes," he says, going back to his seat in front of his computer, fingers tapping away with swift precision.
"Can you just tell Black I'm here, so he can give me what I came for? I need to head back home." I say. My patience running thin. I've been here too long already, grandma would be worried.
At my words, the others in the room burst into laughter, exchanging amused glances. I shift uncomfortably on my feet, wondering what could be so funny.
"I am Black," the guy says with a grin, still seated at his computer.
Oh. I feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment. "Well then... Can you just give me what she paid for and let me go?" I demand, voice rising. If they're going to laugh, let them. I'm too tired for games.
"Paid?" Black chuckles, standing up and moving toward me with a look that's equal parts curiosity and amusement. "Oh, dear," he says, "she hasn't paid a cent."
My heart races, confusion mounting. I feel like I've been dropped into the middle of some strange, twisted game. This whole situation makes less sense by the minute, and the look in Black's eyes tells me he has more surprises up his sleeve than I care to know about.
"Your mother came to me this afternoon, desperate for a fix. She didn't have the money, and I told her that's not how things work. She begged on her knees but I don't run my business like that. I don't do charity, especially not for someone so far gone. Told her to go, and watched her slink back to whatever shadows she came from."
She got quiet before she offered something else, she offered to have sex with me. Black laughed.
It wouldn't be the first time she's done that. She even brings men to the house. My grandmother, with her sharp eyes and stern voice, chases them away whenever we're around. I've seen it countless times—she storms into the room, fire in her eyes, hurling words like stones until they scramble out the door. But even then, they never seem to stop coming. I don't understand why she keeps doing it, knowing the trouble it brings.
Black continues. Then I told your mother I don't have sex with women. It was blunt, but honesty was my currency. To my surprise, she leaned in, eyes glinting with desperation. "What if I offered you my son?" she proposed, a wild smile playing on her lips. I gave her a quick fix this afternoon, and the 2kg fix she took home is enough to last four months, give or take. I didn't trust her at first, the chaos in her life was too palpable. But when I laid eyes on you, 1 realized I might have just made the best deal.
My body felt like it was breaking down piece by piece, the shame and fear settling like a heavy weight on my shoulders. I could hardly look up, my eyes fixed on the floor beneath my feet as Black's words twisted around me, sharp and unyielding.
The humiliation burned deep within me, but I forced myself to speak. "Please," I whispered, my voice cracking. "Let me pay you back, somehow. I'll work—I'll find a way."
"Oh no, I don't want the money you see. My fixes are the best if I give you a price. My heart thudded painfully in my chest as I looked around, my fingers trembling slightly. Black was still watching me with a strange glint in his eye as if I were some amusement, a game he intended to play. "You won't finish paying in a year," he said, with an arrogance that made my skin crawl. Money meant nothing to him—he'd made that clear. He wanted control, submission, and the twisted pleasure of having something over me.
My heart skips a beat, a wild flutter of fear that turns my stomach into knots. The weight of his words hangs heavily in the air, an unspoken threat cloaked in nonchalance. "Please," I plead, desperation clawing at my throat, "no matter how long it takes, I will pay." My voice quivers, and I can feel the warmth of tears welling up in my eyes, threatening to spill over.
Black's gaze narrows, studying me as if I'm a puzzle he can't quite solve. "You think you can afford my price?" he asks, his tone dripping with scepticism.
I take a deep breath, gathering what little courage I have left. "I'll find a way, Please."
"Your mother," Black sneered turning to look at his bodyguards, "she was desperate. Willing to do anything." He laughs, his eyes flickering with a dark amusement as he turns his gaze back to me. "Even offer her flesh and blood. I almost didn't believe her, you know. But here you are thinking you are better than me," Black muttered the last words, his voice stiff and eyes dark, simmering with barely contained anger.
"He thinks highly of himself," One of his guards snorted, glancing at Black with an approving look before stepping forward and knocking me on the head, it was humiliating, and my head throbbed as I instinctively brought a hand up to rub the spot, fighting back tears.
"You're too low to get on top of me," Black hissed, his tone laced with venom.
Should I shoot him right away? One of the bodyguards asked.
My heart raced, each beat echoing my fear, but I remained silent.
Black watched me with a sneer. "Look at you. So meek. So eager to beg," he taunted. "You think that makes you better than me? You think that somehow, just because you ask nicely, you deserve mercy?" He tilted his head, his voice dropping to a low, menacing tone. "People like you are born to be used. To serve."
A wave of anger bubbled up inside me, hot and fast, but I forced it down, knowing it would only make things worse. I couldn't afford pride right now. I couldn't afford anger. All I could do was survive.
"I... I can pay you weekly," I whispered, my voice a thin thread barely holding together as fear coiled tightly around my throat. But Black only chuckled darkly, shaking his head. His words were cruel, calculated, aimed to strip me of any last shred of hope. There was no mercy in his eyes, no softness—only cold satisfaction.
Black's laughter was sharp and cruel, cutting through my silence like a knife. "Do you even have money?" he scoffed. "You think you can buy your way out of this with a little cash?" He shook his head, chuckling to himself. "No. I don't need your money. I need loyalty. I need obedience." A deal is a deal. Prompting another brutal slap and a kick to my knee from his bodyguard. That knocked me down to the ground making me sit on the floor. The world around me blurred.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice barely a breath as I pressed my hand to my stinging cheek, the pain grounding me. "I'll do whatever you ask."
Black's smile grew, cruel and satisfied. He stretched, studying me as if I were a prize he'd just won. "Good," he said, his voice like poison. "Obedience. That's what I want to see."
He motioned to his guard, who roughly pulled me to my feet. "This is just the beginning," Black murmured as he gestured towards a darkened door. "We'll see if you're as obedient as you claim."