During the course of the next few months I continued to work, and twice a day I would visit Justin. He preserved my sanity and gave me hope. He was getting better slowly but surely, and he had enough energy to take himself to the market to buy some food occasionally, but his skin couldn’t bear being out in the cold for prolonged periods of time. At first he had a problem taking money from me, and he remarked, “You work so hard for this money. You do so many things you don’t want to do.” And I told him that is all the more reason why he should take it—it was blood money. He promised to pay me back little by little just as soon as he could work again, and I told him just his company and his friendship was enough, but I’m sure I would be able to think of something.

One day, and I knew it was going to happen, he said to me, “Do you remember when I told you I don’t know why you do what you do? Well now I’m asking you, why does such an intelligent person like you, such a compassionate person as yourself do what you do? Why are you so far away from your home and your family?” I explained to him my current situation. I explained to him how I was abducted the day of the beer marathon. How I had to check in twice a day with my fucking daddy. How I had to bring him money. How we were abused and tortured. How I couldn’t run away because these were dangerous men, and if they couldn’t find me, they knew the whereabouts of my family and would kill all of them. He was filled with rage, and told me that he wanted to kill the Russian son’s of a bitches for me, but I told him that would be impossible because there are many of them, they know and pay off all of the police and government officials, and they have machine guns and sophisticated surveillance systems.

He asked me what I was going to do, and I explained to him that I didn’t know just yet. He asked me why I just didn’t write my family a letter, and believe me I already thought of that, but I do know besides the girl whose fingers they cut off, one of the girls told me she had written her family a letter back in England, and was going to get out of this mess within a few days, and don’t ask me how, but the very next day, she was murdered by our daddy. I am only lead to believe that our daddy knows some men in the Post Offices in this zone, or knows some government officials who monitor all mail traveling to other countries; perhaps somewhere there is a record of our last names and our families addresses.

Our daddy makes a lot of money. And at this time his has sixty something women working exclusively for him earning on average at the very least 120 euro each ten hour shift, which means he makes approximately at the very least 7200 euro every ten hours, but probably more like 15,000 euro—plus God knows what else he does. There always seems to be an ample supply of cocaine around for him and his cronies, also for daddy’s “privileged daughters.”

Justin had a wonderful idea, something I never thought of. “When I can, when I have enough money, I am going to go to the Czech Republic. I am going to find your family. I am going to help them to move far away from your village, and I am going to come back here and take you away from all this madness. In these months, I have grown to love you Madonna, and just as you gave me my life back, I want to do the same for you.”

At that moment I knew for certain he was the only person on earth I could trust, and I showed him all the money I had been saving and hiding in his apartment. I had thousands of dollars, and told him to use the money, to use the money to help me. I passionately kissed him, and for the first time I had feeling again; for the first time in over a year I felt alive. We kissed and kissed, and finally we were about to make love when I stopped him.

“Oh, I’m so sorry Madonna. I know, I know, my body disgusts you. I am so sorry to think you could be intimate with me.” I explained to him that I loved him so much; I explained to him that he was the most beautiful man I had ever known. I explained to him that the reason I didn’t want to make love with him was that God forbid I was sick with some awful disease from being repeatedly raped, or for having to fuck so many men, so many times, I would have to kill myself if anything ever happened to him. After saying that he said, “So that means you could make love to me? That means you would want to make love to me?” I told him, “Of course so Justin. You are the only man I could make love to. You are the only man I would want to hold tightly inside me.” At that moment, he gently slid himself inside me and said, “Madonna, I love you. I don’t want to be alive without you. If something has happened to you, it has happened to me—until death do us part my love.”

We passionately made love, and I was amazed that I was able to feel pleasure. I thought my intimate parts were destroyed and capable of feeling nothing, but I loved this man so much, that I truly felt safe. I felt warm. I didn’t feel alone. I felt strong. I felt complete. I remember thinking I never want this to end. I wish I could just stay here with him forever, and soon enough I would be able to. We made love with our bodies; we made love with our minds, souls, and hearts.

The time was getting late once again, and I needed to check in with my daddy. Tomorrow I would see Justin, give him all the necessary information he needed to find my family, and off he would go. When checking in with my daddy, he said to me, “You have a man you see two time a day do you?” I knew he must know something, someone must have seen something. Why did this happen now? Why when I was so close? I said, “Why yes daddy, I do. He is one of my very best customers. I make a lot of money for you off of that poor son of a bitch.” I was so scared; I didn’t know what would happen to me. I didn’t know what else he knew. I didn’t know what he would tell me to do, but then he started to laugh. “Come here. Sit here, on me.” I proceeded to sit on his lap, and he proceeded to squeeze the back of my neck, squeeze the front of my throat, and my chin, while gazing into my eyes, trying to get a better look into my mind.

For the first time ever he offered me a little cocaine; he offered me to sniff it out of his disgustingly long pinky nail. I had to. I wanted to seem as though it was my honor to do that, it was my absolute pleasure—I needed to seem grateful. “You love your daddy, don’t you? You no lie to daddy right? You know if you lie to daddy, daddy torture you, or daddy kill you family?” I said, “Of course I know. I love my daddy. I never ever lie to you. Aren’t you happy with me? Can I do something more for my daddy? Have I not been one of your very best earners?” I proceeded to massage his little genitals, telling him how big and strong he was. I proceeded to suck on his tiny dick and balls, making him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I proceeded to fuck him in his desk chair, saying to him, “I love my daddy. My daddy is good to me. I love my daddy. I trust my daddy. My daddy love me. My daddy trust me.”

After an hour or so with this disgusting greasy son of a bitch, I laid all his concerns to rest, and he told me that if I ever feel myself becoming close with anyone that I must tell him immediately and stop seeing that person, or allow him to kill that person because a prostitute can love no one except their daddy. I assured him with a girlish gaze that I hated seeing and fucking any man other than him, and everyone else just looked like money to me—money that belonged to my daddy.

The next day I went to see Justin, and it was a brief visit. I just needed him to go on his way because I knew perhaps they were on to us. He told me he thought it would be suspicious if he just left, or if I stopped coming by his apartment, and I agreed with him. He would leave in the night undetected, and I would continue to, once a day, go to his empty apartment.

For the next few weeks, I was a machine once again, and continued to go to his apartment to rest for an hour or two. I continued to save more money for myself. I continued to appease my daddy, and started to make him believe I was his very best girl. I started to gain more privileges. I could eat whenever I wanted, and my daddy told me I didn’t need to wear a watch anymore, I didn’t need to check in twice a day. He trusted me. He started to have me take some of the newer recruits out on the street; he started to have me tell the girls what to do, and how to earn. I had a sense of confidence that everything was going to be just fine.

Finally after a little more than two months, Justin came back. He told me everyone in my family was alive and well except for my father. My real father, my real daddy was dead; I learned he died shortly after I was abducted. When I asked how he died, Justin just said, “Is that really important, I’m sorry Madonna he is gone; he is dead.” Justin had moved my entire family to Poland; he had given them the majority of the money, and just kept what would be necessary for him to reach me, and for us to reach them together. He told me the apartment they have in Poland is beautiful, and it will be a wonderful place to make a life just until we all had enough money to move to Hawaii or California. The only thing he didn’t know yet was how to get me out of Russia undetected.

That was something I never thought about. After all I was illegally smuggled into this country. I had no identification whatsoever. The police were definitely corrupt, perhaps some government officials, how was I going to get out of Russia? He had an idea. Remember in the past his job was to unload trucks, but in the facility he worked in, on the other side of the compound the folks loaded trucks with various exports. He still knew some people there, and he said one gentleman in particular is a guy he grew up with in the orphanage for a few years. A guy he could trust. What if we were loaded into one of the trucks whose destination was Poland. We would be part of the cargo.

It sounded like a good idea to me. Now that I knew my family was safe, what did it matter? I could reach them in one day, two days, two-weeks—just as long as I got there. Justin assured me he would make all the arrangements, he assured me everything would be perfect—he assured me that this was the best way to get us out of the country. Over the next three days, Justin implemented this plan. We were going to travel to Poland in a truck delivering what other than Russian Vodka. We would be packed in a box. The voyage would be three days. It sounded great to me, but just incase, God forbid something were to happen, I wanted to know where my family was in Poland, and Justin apologized for not telling me, and gave me a piece of paper with the address.

On a Sunday night, we were packed in separate boxes, and I fell asleep only to be woken up because I knew I as being picked up, and slid way into the back of a truck. I have no concept of how long it took to pack up that truck with all of the vodka, but once we had been on the road for some time, and I heard the truck moving along not stopping at a rather fast speed, I started to cut a little flap out of the side of the box with my nails, and started to say in a soft voice, “Justin? Justin? Can you hear me?” I wanted to be certain he was on the truck with me. I didn’t hear him, and was starting to cry. How could he not be on this truck with me? Where was I going? Where the hell was he? Just as my heart sank into my stomach, just as I was filled with all the fear in the world, just as I felt my life being sucked right out of me once again, I felt his hand touch mine. His hand came through the flap I had cut into the box, and I saw some light, for he had a cigarette lighter in his pocket. “Shhhhhhhhh. I told you sweetheart, everything would be perfect. Enough of these fucking boxes—let me get you out my love.”

I was afraid, what if were to be spotted when they started to unload the truck, it would be obvious that we were packed onto this truck and trying to cross the boarder. He assured me everything would be all right, and I could do nothing but believe him. We were in the extreme back of the truck, and Justin told me it was hell getting out of his box because the boxes had been packed so tightly together, and each of us had boxes on top of us and all around us, but even if the truck stops, or even if someone is to gaze in, there was at least 25 feet of Russian Vodka in front of us.

He told me the plan was to get us out of this truck before it would ever be unpacked, and when I asked him exactly how he planned on doing that, with a smile on his face he said, “Guess who’s driving this fucking truck?” His friend, his friend was driving the truck. He friend had been promoted, and in these months was obtaining the necessary certifications in order operate such a large vehicle, in order to drive over country borders. He told me his friend was going to pull over to the side of the road and open the back up for us and let us out when we were safely in Poland, but that we weren’t to move or make a sound, even if we heard the doors open. We were to start moving only when his friend said, “Free yourselves.”

Justin also explained to me however that there was another gentleman in the truck with his friend, an individual he did not know. That concerned me a bit, but Justin assured me once again not to worry because if anyone jeopardized our freedom, he would kill them or die trying. I asked him how he planned on doing that, or what if they had a gun, and he said, “Well, what if I have a gun? What if I have a gun that only you know about?”

He really had thought everything through. I wasn’t worried in the slightest bit. He passionately embraced me, and we made love in the back of that truck, in extreme blackness, but I knew he could see me, and I surely could see him.

The next day, someone opened up the doors to the back of the truck. We were sure to make no noise, and it was a wise decision because we were still in Russia. It was the police, and they were just checking out the cargo, opening a few boxes here and there, and letting drug sniffing dogs have a few sniffs just to make sure that what was supposed to be in this truck was in this truck. Justin’s friend was just laughing and trying to joke around with them. He asked them if they knew his uncle who was a Police officer in this zone, and both officers in fact new him, so they immediately closed the doors, and I don’t know what was said after that because I couldn’t hear anything other than a bunch of faint laughs.

Once the truck started moving again, I was able to breath more easily, and my muscles became relaxed. It was really happening, I was really escaping and soon after such a long time I would see my family again. I would be able to live with the love of my life, the man who saved me and got me out of my horrible nightmare. I dreamed of us one day getting married on a white sand beach under palm trees in Hawaii.

Everything was happing. Everything was perfect just as he said it would be. Then all hell broke loose once again. But I was too close, we were too close, and Justin wasn’t going to let us get caught. We were most certainly getting to Poland and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

The truck stopped again, the doors opened, and boxes were being slid away at a feverishly fast pace. I could hear my daddy’s voice, “I know you in there! Bitch when I see you I kill you! Bitch I kill you!” How did he find us? How did he know? Justin under his breath uttered, “That son of a bitch.” He was speaking about his friend driving the truck. His friend had some reservations about the whole “plan,” and Justin said that his friend probably asked his relative, his uncle who was a fucking cop about the whole plan, and that cop in turn relayed the information to my daddy.” I heard a gunshot, and my daddy screamed in Russian at the top of his lungs, “Kill everyone but the driver! Don’t kill the driver!” That very phrase confirmed our suspicions.

Perhaps there was only five or six feet of vodka in front of us now, and Justin started to open up some of the bottles of vodka, and rip off portions of his shirt and stuffing them into the tops of the bottles. He looked at me and winked, and said, “Don’t worry Madonna—it works in the movies.” As soon as he could see a man’s head, he lit one of the bottles up, and threw it in that direction setting the man on fire. The man was screaming, and ran off the truck. Daddy said to another gentleman, “Get into the truck. Pull them out alive. I want them alive! I want them to pay for this!” Just as Justin saw the other man approaching, he lit and threw another bottle of vodka, and once again another man was on fire.

Justin and I both heard a little click, and when I made eye contact with him, he quickly grabbed me, and pulled me to the ground. A barrage of bullets from a machine gun was being fired through everything. The fire was growing more intense. I heard my daddy say, “Just pull out the bodies. Come on! Just pull out the bodies. No one survive that.” But we did survive it because I think the expression you would say is, “we hit the deck.” When the third man approached Justin lit up another bottle of vodka, threw it at the man’s head, and in the same fluid motion started running outside the truck firing his gun away. I heard many shots, I heard the machine gun start to go off again, and then all I could do was hear the fire growing more intense, the smoke building up inside the truck. I needed to get off, so I just closed my eyes, and ran as fast as I could off the truck jumping into the street.

When I landed and opened up my eyes, I saw my daddy crawling rather slowly to a black limousine, and Justin was barely moving. Justin had been shot in the legs, and in the stomach. He couldn’t walk, he couldn’t talk, and all I could do is tell him to hang on. I picked up his gun, and I ran over to my daddy holding the gun against his temple demanding the keys to the limo. He said, “You stupid bitch. You stupid bitch! The limo is on. Can you not hear you stupid bitch?” Once I realized the limo was on, I said, “I can hear, and I no longer need to fear you.” That was the last words my daddy heard before he got his brain shot out the side of his head.

I drove the limo over to Justin, and Justin said to me, “I love you. I love you. Are you O.K.?” When I told him I was just fine, and when I told him to hold on, he said, “I will always be with you, now go find your family” and then he closed his eyes and died. Just as he died, and I was screaming and crying, and kissing him passionately hoping that my kisses would somehow bring him back to life, I could hear Justin’s friend saying, “This wasn’t supposed to happen. None of this was supposed to happen.” His friend was crying a little bit, and with open arms I invited him over to me, I motioned that I would embrace him, and embrace and hold him I did. Then I shot his brain out the side of his head as well because if he would have kept his fucking mouth shut and just trusted his friend, my love, my savior, the man who gave me back my life and helped reunite me with my family, he would still be alive and right now.

Justin I will never forget you. I will never love another man. I have no words to describe what you did for me and just how much I love you. To the fucking bastards who buy and sell women, who psychologically and physically torture them, who make escaping that sadistic world virtually impossible—your day is coming!