Instructor Knox spotted us and came charging over with a whole group of people to snatch the phone away.
My daughter clung to her legs with everything she had, blocking her path, screaming at me to call Celine.
Knox's fists hammered into my daughter's back, blow after blow. Sophie coughed up blood—again and again—but she never let go.
I finally got through to Celine.
I begged her through my tears to come get us. I told her the people here were abusing me and our daughter.
But she never came. She was at the beach with Brent and his son, enjoying a vacation.
All she did was make a phone call to the Men's Virtue Program to ask what was going on.
Knox sent Celine a video of me screaming at them.
They'd edited it—cut out the beginning and the end, spliced it together to tell whatever story they wanted.
They said I had a violent temper. That I was impossible to discipline. That I cursed at people over nothing.
Celine was furious. She told them to punish me properly. Told them not to hold back on account of my status.
That night, they stripped me and my daughter naked and made us kneel in the freezing courtyard. We kowtowed over a thousand times.
The memories are seared into me. Every time they surface, I shake with terror.
Just then, Celine carelessly ripped a photo down from inside the wardrobe.
I scrambled across the floor and snatched it back.
I clutched it to my chest, pressing it against my heart. "Don't touch my daughter. Don't touch my daughter."
"I'll be good. I'll do anything you want. Just don't touch my daughter."
I lay flat on the ground, curling my body around the photograph. "Sophie... Sophie, Daddy will protect you. Daddy will always protect you."
Ever since they took my daughter away, this photo has been all I have left to hold onto.
Most of the time now, I can't tell the difference between her and the picture anymore.
Celine grabbed a fistful of my hair and slammed my head into the wall. "Still playing crazy, are you? Addicted to acting pathetic? Addicted to lying?"
"The people at the Program were too soft on you. I won't make that mistake."
A chunk of my hair tore free, ripping at my scalp.
My head cracked against the wall, splitting open. Blood ran down my face.
Through the haze, a thought drifted through my mind: I've been so good. Why are they still hitting me?
Then it clicked.
Some clients have... particular tastes.
They simply enjoy hurting people. They get pleasure from degradation.
The moment I understood, I dropped to my knees.
I swayed my body back and forth, like I was wagging a tail that wasn't there.
I had debased myself as completely as a person could—but Celine only grew angrier.
She spoke through clenched teeth. "You want to degrade yourself? Fine."
"Let's see how long you can keep up the act."
She barked at Knox: "Bring me your guard dog."
The wolfdog was vicious, straining against a heavy iron chain, lunging and snarling at me.
Celine slapped my face. "You wanted to humiliate yourself, didn't you? You wanted to play crazy? You wanted to grovel?"
"Why'd you stop? Can't keep it up anymore?"
A client's demands must always be met.
I looked at the wolfdog. Slowly, I knelt before it.
Its snarling grew more frenzied.
Perhaps it was hungry.
I bit down on the back of my hand and tore off a chunk of flesh. I spat it into the food bowl and held it out to the dog.
"Madam, please eat."
Celine snapped.
She grabbed a chair and brought it crashing down on me.
I screamed. My body slammed into the wardrobe.
The heavy wardrobe swayed once, twice—then toppled to the ground with a thunderous crash.
With the wardrobe down, the wall behind it was exposed.
Celine glanced over.
The color drained from her face.
"Sophie? Is that you?" Celine's scream tore through the room, raw with horror.
