ABBY: Deolu returned that evening with a bottle of wine, a smug smile, and a bag full of luxury items. “We’re celebrating,” he announced. “My friend—the one I told you about—saw your picture and can’t wait to meet you.”
I should’ve left then. But something about the way he spoke, the way he looked at me—calm but calculated—rooted me to the spot. He pulled out a red dress, sleek and expensive, then handed me matching Louis Vuitton shoes and a handbag. I felt like a doll being dressed for show.
Then came the chain—gold, heavy—and the final touch: he opened the bedroom door, and in walked a makeup artist with a fully stocked kit. “Sit,” Deolu said. I opened my mouth to object, but the look he gave me stopped me cold. It wasn’t anger—it was possession.
He sat across from me, sipping wine, watching silently as the makeup artist transformed me. “Perfect,” he said once it was done. The artist left. And then Deolu leaned in, voice soft but chilling.
“You’re going to be a good girl now, aren’t you?”
He tilted his head, smiling slightly. “That tea I gave you this morning… I see it’s taken effect. You’re just as calm as I expected.”
I blinked. My limbs felt light, detached. I hadn’t realized it until then—how numb I’d become. My thoughts weren’t racing, my instincts muted. Whatever he gave me, it worked.
And I followed him. Like a pet. Into his car. To the house of the “friend.”……….hmmmm
CHRIS: The raft was nothing like I’d imagined. More rubber than boat, and overcrowded with seventeen people, it bounced awkwardly against the waves. When we first launched, the stars gave us some comfort—but within hours, clouds blanketed the sky, and we were swallowed by darkness.
Then came the storm.
Waves slammed against us like walls. People screamed, clawing at each other for balance. Someone fell in—a boy, maybe seventeen. We grabbed his arm, barely pulling him back in. The dinghy lurched, water rushing over the edge. People sobbed, panicked. Our guides were shouting, arguing in Arabic, trying to steer, but it was chaos.
We drifted aimlessly. No lights. No landmarks. Just wind, waves, and terror. The cold was unbearable. My teeth chattered, my body shook. But worse was what happened to some others—hypothermia set in. They began to shiver, then suddenly stopped. One woman began unbuttoning her coat, muttering that she felt too hot. We tried to stop her, but she slapped our hands away, delirious.
I closed my eyes and prayed. Dear God, I am finally crossing the water toward what I believe is my destiny… but why must it be like this? Are you sure I’ll even arrive?
And in that moment, nothing felt certain—except the vast, merciless sea beneath us.
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