Tiny al­mond eyes squinted in the light. I cooed at her and nuz­zled her frag­ile head swirled with ten­drils of silken black tufts. I was in love—wholly, com­pletely, in­stantly. Her des­per­ate hands grasped my fin­ger and I silently promised her a gilded fu­ture. My eyes ra­di­ated up­wards and con­nected with his. This was our love, alive! This was our in­ten­tion! My gaze hard­ened as it slid to the small girl in his arms. This time we had done it right.

Pang after pang of blis­ter­ing ten­sion pulsed through my frontal lobe. My ears were ring­ing. Her cries frayed every nerve end­ing that had re­mained in­tact after my first daugh­ter. Noth­ing can quench name­less de­sire. She needs, she needs. Why isn't this dif­fer­ent? I wanted this time to be dif­fer­ent. I glared at the ex­posed pink brick wall of my cell. My mind was awash with toxic sludge—en­gulf­ing and wel­com­ing—I let it have me. Once again, I'm trapped in this fuck­ing mon­u­ment to our love.

My thoughts seethed and roiled over the re­al­ity of moth­er­hood. It's not all cute dresses and stroller walks in the park. How could I have let my­self be conned into this in­den­tured servi­tude? Why did I wel­come these shack­les? I poured a shot of whiskey for my san­ity. Breathe. The door ca­reened open under the weight of my guilt. Our eyes con­nected and mine shied to the bloated duf­fel bag on the floor. "The girls are asleep. I'm leav­ing."

The bus rolled into the sta­tion and ex­pelled a nox­ious sigh of re­lief. Glow­ing with life and promises of gold, Sin City beck­oned with open arms. I buried thoughts of pink teddy bears and soft gig­gling under the city lights, and col­lapsed into the com­fort of a new start.

Be­fore my en­slave­ment, I had been a dancer. My days were long with bal­let, Latin fu­sion, and street danc­ing. The tum­bler cooled my lips. Two au­di­tions this week, an in­vite to a ma­rina party, and two au­di­tions next week. One, two, pause and hold, and five, six... Every neon fruit was within reach, I just had to lift my hand and grasp the most en­chant­ing. Chase your dreams. Don't give up on your­self. Don't set­tle. The mantra re­peated as I re­hashed my au­di­tion se­quence. The dying echo of a baby's coo lin­gered in an empty cor­ner of the bar. Brush­ing it off, I con­tin­ued—seven, eight. Kick, step.

Sun­light dap­pled through a school of fluffy pop­corn clouds. I smoothed my dress and sim­pered over the hull at the water below. To my left, a small gag­gle of dancers were or­ches­trat­ing dainty lines of coke on a plat­ter. My eyes locked with a long legged, auburn. Dur­ing my au­di­tion, she had glo­ri­fied her 7 month love af­fair with cabaret. Oh I needed that love! In her south­ern, hon­eyed voice she of­fered the sil­ver slat and I obliged. Mo­ments later a vel­veteen bag emerged from a pe­tite blonde's clutch. Rocks of vary­ing sizes were divvied out. We mim­ic­ked a toast and bot­toms up.

Every pore of my being was drip­ping pure, lava-like adren­a­line. I was melt­ing and meld­ing with the ship. The world was open water. I in­haled, the ship heaved, ex­haled, and ho. Opales­cent streams trail­ing with pink rib­bons—some in bows, some in knots, some knot­ted in bows in a lit­tle girl's curls—streaked across the deck. The ten­ta­cles slith­ered around my chest and snaked across my throat. Ex­hale. My body con­vulsed as I strug­gled against the con­strict­ing rib­bons. White molten light blinded me, as the sun, set on bleach­ing the scum from the deck, flooded my vi­sion. I sur­ren­dered to the light, but at least I drowned free.