My father sold me to the Mafia King

Chapter 30: 30/Straight from the Factory

Chapter Thirty:

Julie’s point of view

Her words were like a military order, stripping me of my last fortresses.

I looked at her with clouded eyes, the bedsheet in my hands feeling as if it weighed tons.

Behind this fabric lay not just my body, but the remnants of my modesty and pride that Robert was systematically crushing.

The sheet slipped from my hands, hitting the floor with a cold thud. I instinctively crossed my arms over my chest, desperately trying to create a new shroud out of my own flesh and blood to shield me from her gaze.

But the doctor didn’t grant me a single moment to catch my breath; she spoke in a dry, commanding tone:

”Take off your underwear as well.”

I extended my trembling hand, which felt leaden, my joints stiff and rusted as if in need of oil just to move.

The effort to reach my back was unbearable, as if I were lifting mountains of shame and agony.

I unfastened my bra with bitter slowness, stripping it away in a motion heavy with brokenness like a soul being flayed from its bone.

Then, I reached for the last piece that covered what remained of my dignity, shedding it with broken deliberation, just as a tree sheds its leaves in a desolate autumn, left entirely naked before the wind.

I stood there, stripped of everything, feeling the chill of the room gnaw at my skin and the doctor’s gaze piercing me as if I were a mere object on display for inspection, not a soul bleeding with shame and cruelty.

The doctor approached, and I felt her coldness like an icy wall closing in. She began staring at me in a strange, haunting way, then circled behind me to examine every inch of my trembling body.

Though I couldn’t see her, I felt her gaze piercing my skin like heated needles. She returned to stand before me, and after a heavy silence, spoke in a dry, evaluative tone:

”There are no deformities or scars... your body is as clear as a drop of water.”

Her praise felt like the foulest insult I had ever received; she spoke of me as if I were a diamond being graded for quality before a sale, not a human being standing before her, shattered and exposed.

Then, she spoke with a professional coldness that killed my remaining resolve:

”Lie on the bed... move your legs to the edge and open them wide, so I can examine your virginity.”

Her words struck my naked body like a whip. She demanded the very position that robs a woman of her dignity, leaving her entirely vulnerable.

I felt the ground shake beneath my feet; the examination was no longer a mere inspection of clear skin; it had become the violation of my last sanctuary, my most private secret all under the shadow of Robert’s threat lurking behind the door.

I walked with heavy steps, my feet feeling like solid blocks of unyielding cement.

I lay on that bed, which suddenly transformed into a forest of thorns pricking my naked flesh.

I tried to open my legs as ordered, but my deep-seated instinct of modesty forced me to do the opposite; I clamped them shut with desperate strength, as if closing the last gates of my ruined fortress.

The room filled with the sound of snapping rubber gloves a sickening sound that announced the beginning of the end.

She approached, gripped my knees with her cold hands, and forced them wide with a dry, professional strength.

”Like this, Julie... keep them this way,” she said.

I squeezed my eyes shut, turning my head aside as a scorching tear escaped, its bitter saltiness lingering on my lips.

Then, suddenly... I felt a sharp, invading sting deep inside. She had inserted her finger to examine my hymen that veil which, despite Robert’s public contempt for it, he knew very well increased my market value in the eyes of his filthy clients.

I didn’t feel the physical pain as much as I felt my soul being dragged and violated in the most hideous way possible.

Never in my worst nightmares did I imagine reaching this level of humiliation: lying naked on a strange bed, legs spread wide, while a doctor’s finger searched my vitals to determine my ”quality.”

I began to whisper to myself in a daze, trying to detach from this hideous reality:

”It’s okay, Julie... this is just a nightmare... I’ll wake up soon... it’s just a nightmare...”

She finally withdrew her finger, and with that movement, I felt as if my soul had been pulled out entirely.

Nothing was left not a single spark of the old Julie. I lay there, still as a desecrated corpse, and thought to myself with a bitterness that surpassed all limits:

”You no longer have a soul to burn, Robert... it has left me, leaving you with nothing but a hollow body, an empty shell with no life and no pulse.”

This emptiness was my final shield; while my body lay in that humiliating position, my spirit had flown far from this room, leaving Robert with a poisoned victory over a corpse that could no longer feel the strike of his whip.

I opened my eyes slowly, my eyelids feeling heavier than mountains.

The doctor stood there, stripping off her rubber gloves with a sickening ”click,” then looked at me with robotic coldness:

”Your hymen is intact.”

She didn’t stop at this cold report; she continued, inspecting me with an expert eye devoid of mercy:

”No infections... no fungi... no discoloration... you’re like a girl who just came out of the factory!”

”Out of the factory”... those words echoed in my mind like a sound from hell.

They summarized my entire existence, my childhood, my dreams, and my suffering into a sentence used for a car or a polished piece of furniture.

Then her dry voice returned:

”You can get dressed... we’re finished.”

I laughed inwardly a bitter laugh that felt like a wail.

Get dressed? After what?! What fabric in this world could now cover the stain of shame branded onto my soul? What garment could hide the fact that I had been violated in such a sickening manner?

I pulled the bedsheet with a hysterical motion, clutching it with all my might, wrapping my body tightly as if trying to hide within its threads.

But despite all the layers, I still felt naked... entirely naked.

It wasn’t the room’s chill that gnawed at me, but the feeling of exposure that wouldn’t fade the feeling that every atom of my body had been tainted by their gaze, and that all the clothes in the world wouldn’t provide warmth or cover again.

I heard the sound of her footsteps fading as she left the room, leaving behind a silence more painful than my muffled screams.

I remained there, stretched out like a victim on the bed, helpless, a body void of life and a soul weighted with shame.

I was fighting a losing battle on two fronts: struggling internally to stop myself from total collapse and madness, and clutching my trembling body from the outside with that pathetic sheet to delude myself with cover... but I failed at both.

I remained in that state for hours, drowning in a bitter daze broken only by the ticking of the clock.

Suddenly, the door opened again and the cook entered, wheeling in the food trolley.

The sound of the wheels announced dinner time with a cold indifference, as if nothing had happened, as if the world hadn’t just collapsed over my head.

She placed the food and left in an eerie silence, leaving behind the smell of food that turned my stomach.

I couldn’t endure it anymore; I couldn’t bear their ”trace” remaining on my skin. I rose with a heavy body, every muscle aching with exhaustion and humiliation, and headed toward the bathroom.

I turned on the tap, letting the water flow abundantly as if trying to wash away the filth that had colonized my pores.

I looked at my pale reflection in the mirror, my eyes burning with a spark that hadn’t been there before.

I stood under the rushing water, indifferent to whether it scalded or froze my skin; I only craved to feel anything other than their lingering touch.

I lathered the soap with violent desperation, scrubbing my skin until it turned raw and crimson, nearly bleeding, in a futile attempt to wash away the memories branded upon my body like shameful marks.

Gazing at my trembling, wet hands, I wondered: How can this body carry such a crushing weight without shattering?

How can my heart continue to beat after every sanctuary within me has been violated?

In that moment, amidst the thick shroud of steam, my brokenness calcified into something solid something dark and unyielding, like coal that, under the agonizing pressure of humiliation, hardens into a diamond sharp enough to cut.

I whispered in a voice sharp as a blade:

”I will have my revenge, Robert... I swear by every moment of humiliation I lived, I will have my revenge.”