Feeling of helplessness that has haunted me since my birth.

I woke up to an unpleasant bump on my shoulder.

Something, or rather someone, was shaking my shoulder angrily. Slowly I opened my eyes and emerged. My door was open for Ivan.

Sleeping Beauty is awake, he laughs.

I glare at him and get out of the car.

Without my understanding why, a huge private jet was in front of me. I looked at the steel bird; I had never seen a plane so close before.

Damen has always been passionate about aviation. Suddenly something tightened in my stomach.

Where... where are you taking me?

Mademoiselle has lost her confidence, it seems. Come on, honey.

I will not move until I am told where I am being taken.

"Very well," he breathes before signaling to his henchmen.

Once again they approached me like emotionless predators. anyone, just someone.

The man groaned, and one of his colleagues came to hold my legs.

RELEASE ME, UGLY SNOT BALLS!

No matter how much I screamed at the top of my lungs, nothing helped.

Twenty minutes later I was tied up in the air, heading for the unknown.

At first I looked out the window in order to see any clue as to which direction we were going. Then, once I realized that it was really useless, I had, once again, fallen asleep.

When I woke up, the plane had landed, and, outside, it was early morning.

Standing Ivan spoke in an unknown language with a man.

I tried to understand what they were saying, but inevitably I hadn't been able to translate anything at all.

What did you expect? You don't even know what language it is!

After having finished discussing with the man, Ivan turned to me, and with the hand he beckoned me to follow him.

Anyway, I had no choice, so, like a Labrador, I followed him.

The wind whipped my face, sending my hair flying all over the place.

Once on dry land, my captor turned to me with his arms outstretched.

Darling, welcome to Russia.

If they want to dictate my life to me, I'll make a mistake in every sentence.

The moment his sentence was understood by my poor brain, I thought I was going to collapse.

I, Elisabeth Rosefield, had just been kidnapped and taken to Russia against my will.

How the hell am I going to get out of this mess?

In... in... in Russia? But fo... why?

You will know it one day; for the moment, follow me and shut up.

No, no, no, and no! I won't move until I know where you're taking me!

He approaches me with military steps and pulls out of his belt the blade he had already pointed at me.

I'm fed up with your childish whims; you shut up and move on. I've already been far too patient with you, so now either you obey or you're going to start to hurt.

I swallow hard and try to breathe.

I have no doubt that he would dare to carry out his threats.

In fact, I was even surprised that he hadn't done anything yet.

I am without the slightest opposition. Even though I don't recognize the person I am, I feel that my survival instinct has muted my desire for rebellion.

But I don't blame myself, knowing full well that without it I would already have scars on my body.

I climb against my will into another armored car, which very quickly engages on the highway, closely followed by a procession of a few cars.

We've been driving for a while when the driver asks Ivan in my language where to take him.

In the brothel

When my mind was reassured by the call "house," an alarm rang in my head. My brain had just understood the entire sentence.

They were driving me to a brothel.

WHAT?

And yes, honey, now you work in Russia, he laughs.

YOU CAN'T FORCE ME TO BECOME A WHORE! I screamed trying to unfasten my seatbelt.

I was seriously starting to panic when, suddenly, without my understanding anything, my cheek hurt.

Touching the ladder with my right hand, I realized what had just happened.

The bitch had just slapped me.

I gave him a dark look. He, not the least frightened in the world, started to speak:

"No need to look at me like that, darling; you were going hysterical," he sneers. If indeed I can force you—well, technically I can't, but the boss can.

How so? I asked.

You are his property, and like all the girls he owns, you will end up as a whore in a brothel.

Her laugh makes me want to stick two fingers down my throat and throw up. To throw up my life and the world I've just been thrust into.

Now I was someone's thing. A man I knew neither Adam nor Eve.

But I wasn't going to let it go. If these men thought I was going to accept that without flinching, they didn't know me.

Because if there's one thing I don't accept, it's not being able to decide my own destiny.

Then after all, there's nothing to lose; anyway, I've already lost everything.

I have to pee.

After a long time of reflection, working my neurons to find a solution, a plan, anything that would get me out of this huge mess, I had finally found it.

I was going to run away.

Not now

Do you want me to pee on the seat?

Serge stops at the next station.

The new driver nodded.

Ten minutes later he parked in front of a gas station.

I opened my door and headed for the public restroom.

Before I got into the ladies' room, Ivan grabbed my arm.

"You have 5 minutes," he said, standing in front of the door.

I went into the public toilets.

I pulled out a flat barrette that held a stray lock of hair in place and crouched down facing the door.

Fortunately for me, I had the dirty habit of always losing my keys. Because of that, over the years, I had become a master in the art of lock picking.

In less time than it takes to tell, the door was locked.

Then I tried to open the little window that looked out on the back of the building. As she refused to suffer, I had to, in record time, find a way to break her quietly.

Think, Elisabeth, think fucking.

Miraculously, when I saw the toilet, a brilliant idea germinated in my mind.

I flushed the toilet and ran to break the window quickly. After a few kicks, the thin glass gave way.

The shards of glass fell silently to the ground, their scenic melody hidden by the sound of the flowing water.

I tried to get out through the window, and despite my mother's criticism of my weight, I had no trouble getting out of this station.

I fell to the ground in a position as unsightly as it was unusual, but I didn't care. The main thing was that I was outside.

Realizing that this freedom would be short-lived if I did not put as much distance between these men and me, I started to run, not along the road but along the gardens of the houses built along the road.

I was running out of breath, turning right, left, with no map, no plan.

Despite my disastrous physical condition and my repeated bad grades in sports, I never stopped running. I no longer had the impression of being followed as I walked, regaining regular breathing.

Despite my assassin side points, I did not rest; I may have stopped running, but I did not stop walking.

After what seemed like several hours, night fell.

What am I going to become? I am alone, without money, in a country whose language I do not even speak.

Whining I didn't see the person in front of me, and I ran into him.

If you want to identify someone, look at the way he treats those who are inferior to him and not his equals.

He was a man in his thirties with a plump face and small square glasses.

He spoke to me in Russian, but I did not understand a single word of his tirade.

"I don't speak Russian," I say in my language.

No problem, I speak English! "Exclaims the chubby fellow with a hideous Russian accent."

I smile stupidly at him, not knowing what else to do.

Are you lost? he asks me.

somehow

Follow me, my little lady; my Inga has prepared a beef treat!

Even though I've always learned not to trust strangers, this stranger seemed less dangerous to me than Ivan and his men.

Neither one nor two, I followed him up and followed him to a small row house not far from where I jostled him.

He opens the door of his house and hangs his coat on the coat rack.

Inga, we have a guest! he shouted.

A woman came out of what must have been the kitchen; she had an apron on and was doing the dishes by hand.

She called out to me in her mother tongue, but her husband told her that I spoke English.

Well, young girl, did you get lost?

More or less

Don't worry, you're going to explain all this to us, but before you go sit down, you must be hungry.

On her soft and maternal words, I pulled out a chair to sit down on. The house was small but very warm; it was decorated in a very kitsch way, yet we felt good there.

When the so-called Inga came into the dining room, it was to carry a large saucepan. She lifted the lid, and a tantalizing smell escaped. My stomach rumbled, reminding me that I had not eaten since I was in company. couch.

Inga served me a plate of ratatouille while her husband asked her why she hadn't made beef.

You're never happy, Donatello. Inga sighed.

We start to eat; I hold myself back so as not to throw myself on the food. I'm so hungry.

Hey, Knopka, You look hungry. How long has it been since you've eaten?

Since Monday

Olala It's Wednesday night! What happened to you?

An intuition told me to trust this family who had taken me in, and then, as if I had known them for a long time, I told them everything.

From the beginning to the end of my story, neither of them interrupted me; sometimes Inga let out "ohs" or "ahs," but she never interrupted me.

That's how I ended up on this street; I finished.

My God, Elisabethchka, that must be atrocious, my little darling! She said, taking me in her arms.

I'm sure it's a trick of these delinquents!

"Donatello, shut up, don't push her around like that," his wife reproached him.

Enough to? I asked.

Nothing at all; we'll talk about that tomorrow. For the moment you must be exhausted. Come with me; I'll show you the guest room and give you some clean pajamas.

I smiled at her and followed her.

After climbing a cramped old white wooden staircase, she led me through an old hallway decorated with yellowish patterned wallpaper.

She opened a cracked white door and turned on the small lamp. The latter illuminated the room filled with a small, simple bed with a mattress bordered on the left side by a bedside table.

Sorry, it smells a bit musty; it's been a long time since anyone slept here. Apologies, little lady.

No problem, it's so nice of you to host me!

She smiled at me and took a pair of folded pajamas out of the only wardrobe.

There are some clothes in this closet. "It belonged to my daughter," she said, putting the pajamas on the mattress.

When she bends down with difficulty, I notice for the first time that this woman, who at first glance seemed so strong to me, is actually weakened by age and by life.

Rest

She rubbed my arm before leaving. This gesture reminds me so much of my mother. She and I have never been very close, and her only marks of tenderness were summed up in these arm rubs. But that was only with me.

My sister was her pride. With her eldest daughter, she was truly a mother. I always grew up in her shadow. No matter how hard I tried, she never noticed me.

I wasn't good enough compared to his first daughter.

I sighed at the memory. No matter how tough I was answering teachers and drinking alcohol on the sly, I had lacked maternal love.

I tried to appear strong, with a heart of stone, so as not to show that this heart had been broken.

I drew the little yellow curtains, busying myself to avoid thinking about all those injuries, and put on my pajamas.

I slipped under the cold blanket and fell asleep in this unknown house, in this country that was not mine.

I woke up to the sun filtering through the thin yellow curtain. I got up and went down to the living room as I was used to. I had been staying with Inga and Donatello for a week. They had been so kind to me. welcoming me when I had nothing.

On the stairs I stopped by the loud voice of Inga to draw two words.

My first name is Mafia.

It didn't take me more to make the connection. These delinquents whom Donatello criticized yesterday were the mafia; they were those who were looking for me. In any case, it wouldn't have taken long for me to understand. Who, on the other hand, as a member of the mafia, could thus possess girls and force them into prostitution?

I went back into the living room; when they saw me, they stopped arguing.

"Oh my little Elisabeth, I hope you slept well. Come over here; I prepared breakfast," she said, leaving the living room to go to the dining room.

I had lunch with them in a good mood. I was really beginning to appreciate this family, which was still unknown to me a few days earlier.

When I had finished eating, Inga showed me the bathroom, and I washed.

When I stopped the water in the shower, I wrapped myself in a bath towel and went to the room where I had slept. In the wardrobe I took inventory of the few clothes that were stored there and managed to combine an outfit that I put on once the curtains were closed.

Once dressed, I fell into the closet on a notebook, certainly the diary of the famous girl, and hung above a pink ballpoint adorned with a pompom.

At the sight of the notebook, I had finally found a plan to get Inga and Donatello out of this mafia affair, which could harm them.

I seize the object.

I would have liked to stay with them forever, but eternity would have seemed too short.

I had to go through it several times before I managed to write a coherent letter.

I didn't want to hurt this couple who had welcomed me so warmly.

I sincerely liked them, and that's why it was out of the question for me to put their lives in danger.

I reread one last time the little letter I had written in English.

"Inga, Donatello,

I can't thank you enough for being so welcoming to me. You didn't know me, and for a while you welcomed me into your home, into your little traditional house.

I would have liked to stay with you and live here, learn Russian, and maybe even start a life in this country.

But this country is not mine, and this life is only a dream.

I could never put the lives of people like you in danger. It is out of the question that the mafia attacks you. For that I am obliged to leave.

You will always remain in my heart, and for what you have done for me, I am eternally grateful to you.

Take care. I love you.

Elizabeth xox"

I smoothed the blackened paper from my handwriting and laid it on the bed.

I had spent the whole day with this family.

Night had now enveloped the small northern town. Inga and Donatello had gone to sleep less than an hour ago. only a few foodstuffs. I had also stolen a photo of the couple. I wasn't proud of it, but it was the only way I had found to take their faces full of tenderness with me.

I put on the backpack and slowly opened the door. I walked slowly, like a thief, down the hallway of the house.

Passing in front of the door of their room, I felt a twinge in my heart. If I had been selfish, I would have stayed here. I could even have gotten used to this life.

Yet I continued on my way.

Because precisely, when you love someone, you protect them, and I had developed feelings for this couple, so friendly with the stranger that I was.

I went down the stairs and looked one last time at the little house whose three living rooms were bathed in moonlight.

I hadn't been around them for a long time, but when I closed the door, I knew that I was going to miss this family.

I walked through the darkness, finding myself in the city lights.

Here I am again in this city, which is still as unknown to me. Here I am, just as lost as a few days earlier when I had returned to the chubby man.

And the same question came to mind: what was I going to do now?

Never having burned her wings, she did not feel the danger of the flame.

Sitting on the public bench, I looked at the moon. It was not full; it was a small crescent.

She too was missing something.

When my sister was gone, I liked to look at her and think that no matter where she might be in the world, we were looking at the same moon, and somewhere the celestial star connected me to my big sister.

It might have been our mother's darling, but I never held it against her. After all, she was my sister, my blood.

But when she left, I hated her. Not only did she leave me alone—she was my role model—but my mother's indifference towards me was also transformed into hatred.

Since she left, my mother was no longer transparent but black. Every day I was subjected to her criticisms, her remarks, and her humiliations. At the beginning it had hurt me very badly. I answered her by screaming, or then I cried hot tears in front of her, hoping to awaken her maternal side.

Poor kid.

Some time later I had stopped in front of his lack of reaction and understood that we could not force people to like us.

Faced with this heavy fatality, I had made a big decision: never again would I be weak in front of someone.

And it was. Since then I had never cried in public again; I had built myself a shell, and I fled into it as if it had been a fortified castle.

Dreaming of my past, I didn't see myself falling asleep on the cold metal bench.

It was only the next morning, when a policeman shook me, that I realized that I had dozed off in this public place like the homeless people to whom I threw coins out of pity when I was little.

He yelled something at me in Russian that I didn't understand. Seeing my head shaped with incomprehension, he sighed.

I don't speak Russian, I expressed myself.

They were only missing that! Where do you come from?

From California.

He looked at me, and I saw from his expression that he was thinking. It took several long minutes before he opened his mouth again.

Get in my car. I'll take you to post.

I followed him to the small vehicle. Contrary to my bad habit, I fastened my seat belt. I was in the presence of the forces of order after all!

After he had started the engine, he dialed a number. When his correspondent answered, they chatted for a few short minutes, and once he had hung up, he set off.

For a short lapse of time, we drove on a lane at the limit of the highway and the country lane. Then he stopped in front of a car.

Innocently I tell myself that he must have gone and alarmed him that he was badly parked.

I swallowed my saliva with difficulty.

Obviously not everyone had a good Samaritan soul like Donatello and his wife.

Take me one last time to see those places that silenced the din of my dark thoughts.

BASS! POLICEMAN OF MY BALLS! I yelled as Ivan and his men dragged me out of the car. I WILL NEVER BUY YOUR UGLY CALENDAR AGAIN!

On Ivan's usually impassive face I saw the hint of a smile.

I was still swearing at that traitor when the car hit the freeway.

"You're driving me to hell, I guess," I whispered, looking out the window.

No, the orders have changed.

How so? I asked, turning my bewildered face to him.

You escaped the Russian mafia for almost a week; the boss wants to meet the young girl who managed to play his men for so long.

I tried to understand his words, a succession of words that I no longer even expected, while the northern landscape scrolled through the tinted window.

Maybe miracles did happen after all?

When the car slowed down in front of a huge grid, I realized that I might have spoken too quickly.

Because when those metal monsters closed behind me, I knew I hadn't just regained my freedom but lost what little I had left.

We walked through the great post-habitation domain; it was a huge park dotted with trees and cut by the path on which we were driving. I had never seen anything so beautiful.

At least until I see the house itself.

In front of me stood a huge mansion painted white; the front, a small sunken space, had two large columns, which, it seemed, held up the entire dwelling.

I got out of the car and ran to the little fountain opposite the entrance to the little palace.

I stared at the sky blue water, and I smiled in the face of so much beauty. It reminded me of my family vacation; every year we went to the same luxurious hotel, and every evening I had to go and look at the reflection of the moon in the fountain in front of the hotel. It was a tradition in the Rosefield family to go to this hotel. But even the traditions could not resist the disappearance of my sister.

I never saw the reflection of the moon in this hot water again, but the memory of it is intact.

"Ready to discover your princess castle?" Ivan whispers to me before passing me.

Suddenly I noticed the men guarding the entrance, those whom Ivan greeted, and my paradise fell into nothingness. I was not a princess; I was a prisoner. I was not facing a palace but facing hell, and inside I did not expect my prince but the devil himself.

It was now uneasy that I resumed my journey and followed in Ivan's footsteps.

The interior was in no way disappointing, quite the contrary. It was as sumptuous as the exterior.

Maids were running to the right and to the left like the ghosts of the place. Ivan didn't even seem to see them, nor them, nor the guards posted at the four corners of the house, and I wondered what it was like to be as invisible as useful.

It must be excruciating.

Suddenly one of the ghosts was called out to by my captor.

Olga, can you take our guest to the room reserved for her? She should wash, change, and make up before meeting him, don't you think?

The good lady nodded and asked me to follow her. She trotted along the way; even on the stairs I had the impression that she trotted like this.

Maybe it was a tic due to his demanding job? Or a remnant of a child who couldn't stay still?

She stopped in front of a huge double door and waved me in first.