Cruel Fate

Celia

"Yes, yes," the guard snapped at me. "If you'd please move this way, then?"

I swallowed my retorts and followed the guards. As they led me away from Alexander Hamilton's office, my mind buzzed with a storm of fear and uncertainty. With each step, the weight of my impending fate pressed upon me, threatening to crush what was left of my hope.

My heart pounded in my chest, and a knot tightened in the pit of my stomach. I was scared of my prospects; I couldn't live the rest of my life as a puppet for Alexander Hamilton!

They led me to a door and one of the guards opened it, then ushered me in with a leer on his face. "Go in and wear anything you like, love." He said. I could hear the inflection of his voice, and the slightly provocative tone behind his words, and it made my skin crawl.

I walked into the room. It was a small, private chamber, dimly lit with neon lights. I couldn't see much, but my eyes caught the rack of clothes in the corner and the floor-length mirror on claw legs directly in front of me, the chest of drawers to one side and a wardrobe on the other. A couple of clothes hung over the mirror and on the ground, as though someone had been there before.

Why did Alexander Hamilton have a room in his house filled with female things?

I pulled off the faded dress I'd worn from my parent's house and walked over to the rack of clothes, looking at the various garments designed to entice and allure. My fingers skimmed over the shimmering, glittering, and satiny dresses, looking for the least provocative one. I finally found one at the very back: a tight dress with a halterneck and rhinestones littering its bodice. My trembling hands fumbled as I struggled to put on the dress, its glittering gossamer fabric a mocking reminder of my newfound objectification. It barely reached down to my knees, stopping somewhere between my thighs and my hips. I turned around and picked up a pair of platform heels and slipped my inexperienced feet into it, then hobbled outside.

The guards whistled appreciatively as I stepped out, their eyes roaming over my body. "She's a heartstopper," one of them commented. I hugged myself as I felt them smile lecherously, wishing the earth would open up and swallow me.

The guards pushed me outside into a waiting car, the engine roaring to life as we set off toward the desolate destination that awaited me. Each passing moment deepened my despair, and the road stretched out before me like an ominous path leading to my hell.

Arriving at the brothel, I was taken through the main building. The room was sparsely lit with dancing neon light, but I could see the woman on the stage, gyrating for the seated men on metal poles. My heart flew to my throat in terror.

"No staring, move!" One of the guards yelled and shoved me forward. I stumbled and fell against the wall, trying to find my bearings in the unfamiliar heels. We continued walking till we got into a dimly lit dressing room, full of other women. The air reeked of perfumes and cigarette smoke.

The women turned as we walked in and I felt them stare at me in appraisal.

"New lot?" One of them who appeared to be the oldest, called out in a British accent.

"Yep." One of the guards answered. "This one has a bit of backstory to her."

"Don't we all have backstories?" The woman sneered, then jerked her chin at me. "You. What's your name?"

"Celia," I murmured.

"You look like a smart girl, so listen up. This place isn't for sluggish people, a'ight?" She murmured. "You've got to be quick-thinking. Make your money and leave this place. You've got a pretty face and a rocking body, so I'm pretty sure the men would fall over each other to get a grab of those tits."

A cold, metallic taste of resignation settled in my mouth as I heard her talk. I couldn't point accusing fingers at her or any other woman in this room. I knew they were all doing it to put food on the table for their families, but I didn't belong here. The room felt like a strange skin I was slipping into that didn't quite fit.

"Yeah, right. Thanks." I murmured to the woman.

"Let her be, Viola!" One of the guards snapped, and then the both of them turned to leave.

The woman stood to her feet, then steered me to a nearby mirror and began applying makeup on my face, all the while giving me random anecdotes about working in the brothel.

Her voice faded to the back of my head as I stared into the mirror, the reflection of a stranger peering back at me. The weight of the makeup on my face was a stark reminder that I was expected to transform myself into something I had never been before.

When she was done, the woman turned my seat so I faced her. "There you go, sweetie."

Someone knocked on the door and then peeked in. It was a man in a baseball cap with a bored expression on his face. "Celia Weaver, you're up."

"Razzle-dazzle them!" The woman called out as I walked gingerly out of the room.

The pulsating music and flickering lights of the brothel made my heart race with trepidation. I approached the pole, my unsteady footsteps echoing on the stage. The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for me to take my place in this grotesque performance.

And then, he entered.

Alexander Hamilton stood at the threshold, his eyes fixated on me. I paused and stared at him like a deer caught in headlamps. My eyes followed his movements as he walked to a couch and sat down, his eyes still on me.

His gaze dissected my every move, his presence a reminder of the power he held over me. I felt a shiver crawl down my spine, a mix of revulsion and vulnerability intertwining within me. Then I gripped the pole and began to twist around it.

At first, I was unsteady, as the heels still felt unnatural. I knew if I continued this way, I would either fall flat on my face or twist both my ankles. In a desperate attempt to look seductive, I kicked the platform heels away, sending them flying into the crowd of men. Some of them cat-whistled in response while others threw bills at me. Then I continued dancing barefooted.

Minutes felt like an eternity as I danced, my movements fueled by a desperate need to please, to appease the man whose approval meant survival in this twisted world. Alexander observed me, his gaze piercing, and then he motioned for a guard and whispered in his ear.

The guard walked towards the stage and gestured for me to get down. I let go of the slippery pole gratefully and descended the stairs. I raced down the corridor beyond the main room, finally finding a bathroom. I dashed into it, ignoring the people kissing in one corner of it, and moved to the sinks.

Then, with one great upheaval, I retched.

I kept on retching and retching, till everything in my stomach had been regurgitated, till the people in the corner walked up to me and asked if I was okay. I pushed them away without a word and fled from the sudden stuffiness of the bathroom. 

 I finally found my way outside the brothel, where it was already raining. Tears streamed down my face, blending with the stinging rain that poured from the heavens. My body trembled with a mix of fear and sorrow, my thoughts muddled and chaotic.

How had my life been reduced to this?

Blinded by my anguish, I stumbled onto the road, my vision clouded by tears. The screeching sound of tires suddenly filled the air as blinding headlights drew to me. The world seemed to hold its breath, frozen in a cruel suspension of time.

I had enough time to jump out of the car's way, and yet I stood in the middle of the road, my clothes drenched in the rain. Deep within me, I wanted the car to hit me and end my misery.

The car stopped suddenly and someone leaped out, then ran towards me. Hands grabbed my body and held me as I collapsed to the ground.

"Celia, what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

It wasn't until I heard his voice that I knew who he was.

Alexander Hamilton.