Chapter One: Arielle's POVA Chapter by Vanessa Rico
The beginning of the experiment...
“Hello? Can anybody hear me?!” My fists pounded on the stainless steel door, which was the only way out of this small cell-like room. Only minutes before, I had woke up from a drug induced slumber to find myself trapped here"a small space with no windows, one vent, and only one door with no handle. I tried to recollect my thoughts that were still jumbled and hazy due to whatever they drugged me with. Why was I here? Where am I? These two questions pounded in my head like a bad migraine. I did a quick survey of the dimly-lit room and there was nothing: no bed, no toilet, no food or water. Whoever put me here did so for one of two reasons: either I was here to die or they were planning on letting me out soon before I needed any of the bare necessities of life. Yeah, I used to watch Disney, what of it?
Considering the two options that faced me, I knew either one would happen soon, because I have not eaten in several days. When your poor with three siblings and a wacked-out, whorish mother, there is not much food to go around; I am the eldest, so I usually gave most of my portions to my younger siblings. I decide to sit down and wait and see what unfolds. I sat down in the right-hand corner of the room, where the vent was located, so at least I would have air; it might not be fresh air, but I have had worse.
While I waited for death or for the door to open, I recalled how I got myself into this mess. This morning, at least I think it was this morning (I do not know how long I was out for), my baby sister, Rachel, could barely get out of bed; she was so weak due to the hunger. I could not look at her; if I did, I knew my heart would break. Rachel is such a small girl for her age of ten years, and I knew it was due to lack of nutrients and proper meals. My brothers, Sam and John, were not better off, but they had a better childhood than Rachel. My sister was only a toddler when my father died. We had been quite wealthy, which is saying something for this day and age. There are only two economic castes: the wealthy and the dirt poor. You were one or the other; there was no in-between.
Well, when my father died, we were ousted from our 12 bedroom mansion and forced on the street. For the first several months after my dad’s death, my mother did nothing but stare off into space all day, while her four children were scrounging around for food. One day, I had enough and I forced my mother to look, and I mean really look, at us, her children to see that we were wasting away. As much as it pains me to say it, we needed her to snap out of it and be our mom. I was surprised that she woke up from her trance. It must have been pitiful-looking Rachel that forced her to realize that we would die without her. After that wake up call, my mother worked odd jobs that at the very least put one full meal of food on the table. With her working, I was actually proud of her"a first in my life.
My father was a great man; he was a preacher of The Word. He always gave generously to charity and employed the homeless. My mother, a beautiful red head like me (or I am like her as they would say), would go around all the social circles like a viper gossiping and destroying lives. I do not know why she did this, but it seemed to give her pleasure. I saw my parents fight once. My mother had called my father a hypocrite, a cheater, and a thief and that he would cause ruin on his whole family. I had no idea what she meant, but I knew my father was none of those things…he was a great man.
Several weeks ago before I found myself in this predicament I am currently in, I noticed changes about my mother. Suddenly, she had more money than she knew what to do with. Hey, I was not complaining, because I was getting three full meals a day. Still something bothered me at the back of my mind about where she was getting this money. Before I went to bed one night, I said my prayers as usual, when I heard a girlish laugh coming from outside our ramshackle house. I knew it was not my sister, because I was looking right at her sleeping form. I felt fear because this area of town was infamous for break-ins and robberies, so I crept out of my room tip-toeing to the front door. I did not want to risk one of the floorboards to squeak and give me away. I carefully opened the door, praying to the Holy One that door would not rattle on its hinges. Thankfully, the door did not make its high-pitched noise that it usually makes. I crept along the side of the building until I got to the corner of my house. What I saw then, would change my life forever. There on the side of the building was my mother with her legs wrapped around a distinguished looking, upper class man while he rutted her like some kind of wild animal. Both of them were making animalistic sounds that I would never want to describe to someone, because it was so shameful and dishonoring to the Holy One. A gasp almost escaped my throat, but I covered my mouth with my hand so I would not be discovered. I retraced my path back into the house and into the sanctuary of my bedroom. Now, I knew where she was getting her money from.
I had no idea what to do. On the one hand, I was thankful that we all were eating three meals a day, but to have the money come from prostitution truly bothered my soul. I was so lost in my thoughts that I almost miss the door screeching on its hinges. I knew I could confront my mother about her illicit and sinful behavior; however, I did not have the energy. Even though in my heart I knew it was wrong, I let my mother continue to do what she was doing to provide for us.
A week ago, my mother did not come home at her usual hour. This never happened before; she was always so punctual. Still to distract my siblings from our mother’s absence, I made dinner and sent them to bed after reading The Word. She was still not home. I began to worry about her whereabouts. The entire night, I paced back and forth, back and forth in front of the door. She did not come home. The next day, she was still gone. A few days past, I knew I had to accept the inevitable: she was either dead or locked up in a w***e house. All of the responsibility fell on my shoulders to feed and care for my siblings. Since it was my responsibility to care for my siblings, I had to take a job, any job, so I could feed them. This is how I ended up in this mess"in this room that I am sitting now.
I had been so lost in my thoughts that I had failed to notice a piece of parchment fall to the ground. What I did notice was the soft sound the parchment made when landing. I looked up and around to see where it came from. The only place it could have possibly come from was the vent. I grabbed the parchment and opened the wax seal with a strange logo imprinted on it. The logo was a symbol of the all-seeing eye wrapped in what looked like a strand of DNA. I ignored the strange logo and opened the letter. Inside the letter, in bold, cursive script, were five words:
Tell me your greatest fear.
Truth be told, I had been expecting directions on getting the heck out of here, not some lame psycho-babble crap. In that moment, I was so angry at the situation, at my mother and father, and at myself for accepting the stupid offer of money. Here I was trying to earn money to feed my family and now I would probably die here. The details of the job seemed pretty easy considering the high payout that it was offering, which probably should have tipped me off that it was too good to be true. I had read about this job in the newspaper, and I was desperate for the cash so I signed all documents without reading them. The next thing I know a man dressed in a white biohazard suit stuck me with a needle and I wound up here. Great! This was, forgive me Father, fucked up. Here I was trying to be a responsible older sister and I get put in a cell.
I grabbed the crumpled parchment I had thrown and looked down at the words again. All right, I will play their game. I stood up in the center of the room. “Do you guys want to know what my greatest fear is? Well do you?” I screamed out to the empty, non-hearing room. “My greatest fear is that I will wind up like my mother…nothing more than a cheap amusement and a trash bin for horny men’s cum.” As I admitted this to whoever was listening, I admitted this to myself for the first time. I slumped to the floor in anguished sobs and just cried and cried about everything that was wrong in my life.
I must have fallen asleep, because the next time I woke up the door was open. Immediately, I stood up and cautiously made my way to the door. Instead of running out like a normal person would, I studied the door to see if this was another trick or test. Everything looked normal, so I walked through. As soon as I stepped out the room, the door slid shut. I did not plan on going back anyway. This room I had entered was large, unlike my last confinement, and looked vaguely like the run-down shack I called my home. In fact, everything was the same. The table looked the same and was in the same spot where it was this morning. The table was not the only item that was the same; everything was in its place. Except, I knew this was not my home. The people, who offered me the job as a guinea pig, created this place, and because they were behind it, I did not like it. I went to the front door and pulled on the handle. Locked! Of course, it was locked…nothing with them was easy.
Since they created this place for me, I decided to look around in the room that resembled my bedroom, which I shared with Rachel. My breathing slowed when I thought of my siblings, knowing they were alone and needed me. I was about to fall apart, but I noticed a gift-wrapped package on what was supposed to be my bed. The package was wrapped in gold foil with another letter attached to it. Resigning myself to another test, I opened the letter and read:
Try this on.
Without a hesitation, I opened the package tossing the gold foil and the tissue paper on the ground. Inside the package was an abomination. I dropped the package back on the bed and stepped away. There was no way I was going to put that on. No way in hell. These people were sick and twisted, I could tell. What they wanted me to wear was a manga school girl outfit. You must know about the ones that I am talking about: skirt so short your underwear is visible, a shirt so tight your bosoms are popping out and thigh high stockings with bows. There was no way I could put that on. How could I go through this experiment in such an outfit? What if I needed to climb or run? That outfit was not created for that function. No, that outfit was created for lecherous old men with pedophile tendencies. Wearing that outfit went against everything I was taught and believe in.
I left the room and the package. I checked all the windows to see if any would budge. Nope, the glass was reinforced or bullet proof, I do not know which. I knew this was a test and I knew the only way to get out was to put that outfit on. Every time I went to the room, I saw the outfit and I just could not put it on. I know for a fact that I am beautiful, even more beautiful than my mother, who every man wanted. My hair was a deep red color almost like a burgundy wine color; my skin was alabaster and would never color despite how many hours I spent in the sun. When I had gone searching for jobs, I noticed all the men staring at me and…and my breasts, which thanks to my mother were grapefruit sized and perky. It is not a fact that I enjoy, but I have to live with it and watch how I dress. There have been many women and girls who have been taken to work in w***e houses for rich and wealthy men. I did not want to end up like that. I would prefer for my mother to have died, then for her to work in such a place.
With a defeated sigh, I collapsed into the old broken down replica of my family’s sofa. What was the point of all of this? The people at the lab said this experiment would only take a few hours and it has been more than a few hours. Obviously, this whole test was some wealthy benefactor’s idea of a joke or sick and twisted amusement. I felt completely defeated. My siblings were going to starve, if I did not do this. Little Rachel’s sweet, innocent eyes filled my vision. Her whole childhood had been ruined by the threat of starvation and a mother who never paid attention to us. My eyes strayed to my room and the package sitting there on the bed. I could tell it was waiting for me to put it on. Taking a deep breath, I walked to the doorway of the room and stared holes into the package. If I did not do this, my siblings and I would not survive. We needed the money. I stepped to the package and lifted the outfit out and put it on.
I looked at myself in my bedroom mirror. I did not recognize myself; I looked like an expensive prostitute. As I imagined, the skirt was so short it barely covered my female parts, the shirt’s buttons strained to hold my breasts inside, the underwear was pink and frilly, and the thigh high stockings uncomfortable. I was my worst fear come to life. I could tell tears were about to well up and cause me to fall into another round of sobbing. No, I would not let these people get the best of me. I straightened my shoulders and held my head high and walked to the front door. I did not hesitate to open it, because I knew it would be unlocked. Opening the door, I came face to face with a beautiful pair of hazel eyes.
© 2011 Vanessa Rico
Lab Rats: DMT/ VR collaboration
Fall River, MA
AboutHey there all my fellow writers! All right you want to know a little about me? Hmmm...where to start? My name is Vanessa, most people call me Vanessa (a few special people call me Ness or Vannie), and.. more..
People who liked this story also liked..