The Contracted Stripper

Iris lay on the cold floor of the dimly lit room, her body aching from the relentless abuse she had endured. Her once vibrant figure was now frail and emaciated, a shadow of the strong woman she had been. Her belly, round with the life growing inside her, seemed to be the only sign of vitality left in her. But even that was fading.

For over three months, she had been locked away, held captive by faceless tormentors. She couldn’t remember who she was or how she had ended up in this living nightmare. The days blended, a cycle of darkness, pain, and fleeting moments of terror. Her only interaction with the outside world was the daily visit from a stern man who brought her meager food rations and a nurse who was there to keep her alive barely.

The door creaked open, and Iris flinched, her instincts honed by months of torment. The man entered, carrying a small tray of food. He placed it on the ground beside her, not sparing her a glance as he prepared to leave.

“Eat,” he ordered, his voice devoid of emotion.

Iris didn’t respond. Her hands and legs were tightly bound, leaving her unable to do anything but endure. The man didn’t wait for a reply, turning to leave as the nurse, a severe-looking woman in her mid-thirties, entered the room. The nurse’s eyes scanned Iris, her expression one of growing concern.

“She’s losing strength,” the nurse reported, her voice trembling slightly. “She needs medical attention, or she might not survive. We need to take her to a hospital.”

The man’s face remained impassive. “That’s why we’re paying you. You’re a nurse, so make sure she’s okay,” he replied coldly, before walking out and locking the door behind him.

The nurse turned back to Iris, her hardened exterior softening as she knelt beside her. “You’re really in bad shape,” she murmured, taking a cloth and wiping the sweat from Iris’s forehead.

Iris gagged suddenly, her stomach lurching as she vomited, the meager contents of her stomach spilling onto herself and splattering the nurse’s uniform. Disgust twisted the nurse’s face, and without warning, she slapped Iris hard across the cheek.

The force of the blow was too much for Iris’s weakened body. Her vision darkened as she lost consciousness, collapsing to the floor in a heap. Panic flashed across the nurse’s face as she realized what she had done.

“Oh no, no, no, wake up!” she whispered frantically, shaking Iris’s limp body. After a tense moment, Iris’s eyes fluttered open, tears streaming down her cheeks as she gasped for breath.

The nurse let out a relieved sigh and began to clean Iris up, her hands trembling slightly. “You poor thing,” she mumbled, her tone gentler now. “You still don’t remember anything? Not where you came from? Your parents? Husband? Siblings? What are their names?”

Iris stared at the nurse, her expression blank, eyes clouded with confusion. The nurse shook her head, resigning herself to the futility of her questions. “Forget it,” she muttered, “there’s no point. You’re never going to remember anything.”

After changing Iris into a fresh set of clothes, the nurse prepared to leave the room, gathering the dirty sheets and wiping the floor clean. Just as she reached the door, she heard Iris’s voice, faint and filled with desperation.

“Mum… Mum, is that you?” Iris’s voice was barely audible, yet it was filled with an emotion that caused the nurse to freeze in her tracks.

The nurse turned slowly, her eyes locking onto Iris’s. “What did you say? What’s your mother’s name?” she asked, her voice trembling with a mixture of hope and dread.

Iris’s gaze was distant, unfocused. “Mum…” she whispered again, her voice trailing off as the nurse stood there, waiting for more. But Iris said nothing else. The nurse’s shoulders sagged as she realized Iris was still lost in the haze of her fragmented memories.

With a heavy sigh, the nurse left the room, locking the door behind her. She had hoped that some part of Iris’s memory was beginning to resurface, but it seemed the woman’s mind was still as much a prison as the room she was locked in.

Flashback************

The memories of Iris’s abduction were a blur of horror and confusion. She had been taken out of town to an abandoned house, where she had regained consciousness, only to find herself locked up and starved for days. The first thing she had done was scream for help, her voice raw with desperation.

“Please, don’t kill me! Please, I need to go back to my mum she’s sick, and she needs me. I’m the only one she’s got! Please, let me go!” Iris had pleaded, but the walls of her prison remained silent.

Her cries had gone unanswered, and after hours of weeping and screaming, her voice had given out. She was left in a state of despair, her body aching from the strain, her hope fading with each passing moment.

One morning, she had heard voices outside her room. She strained to listen, but the conversation was muffled, and she couldn’t make out what was being said. But there was something familiar about one of the voices, something that tugged at the frayed edges of her memory.

She had tried to cry out for help, but her mouth was gagged. She knew it would be useless anyway-the guards were too far away to hear her. But that small sliver of familiarity gave her a spark of hope, a reason to keep fighting.

The next morning, when her captors brought her food and ungagged her, she had eaten hungrily, desperate for any strength she could muster. She noticed that the guards had become less cautious, assuming she was too weak to pose any threat. It was then that she began to formulate a plan.

As soon as the guards had left, she had worked on untying her hands and legs, her fingers fumbling with the knots until she was free. She had scanned the room for any means of escape. The windows were sealed shut, and she knew it would take hours to break through them with her bare hands. The door, she knew, would be heavily guarded.

But Iris was determined. She had found a small, rusted iron bar hidden behind the bed frame. Clutching it tightly, she had waited until she heard the guards outside her door. She had created a ruckus, knocking over furniture and making as much noise as possible.

When the door finally opened, only one of the guards had entered, cautious but not prepared for what was coming. Iris had swung the iron bar with all her strength, striking the guard in the head. He had crumpled to the floor, blood pouring from the wound, and Iris had made a dash for the door.

She had almost reached it when the other guards appeared, surrounding her. One of them had dangled a set of keys in front of her, taunting her with the promise of freedom.Content is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

“Looking for this?” he sneered.

“Please, just let me go,” Iris had begged, tears streaming down her face. “I need to go back to my mother.”

The man had grabbed her by the face, his grip bruising her delicate skin. “Aw, you wanna go home to your mummy? Well, your mummy will never see you again,” he had mocked before slapping her hard across the face.

Iris had fallen to the ground, her vision swimming with pain as the guards laughed. They had hauled her up, each one taking turns slapping her until she was barely conscious. Then, they dragged her back to the room and threw her onto the cold floor, her head striking the iron bar she had used to attack the guard.

They had tied her up again, this time more securely, and left her there to bleed and cry. But then, Iris had felt something else- a warm, sticky wetness between her legs. She had looked down and seen blood seeping through her clothes, and panic had gripped her.

“No, no, no… my baby… somebody helps!

Please, help me!” she screamed, her voice hoarse with terror.

The guards had rushed in, their eyes widening at the sight of her bleeding. They had quickly called for help, but the last thing Iris remembered was the darkness closing in around her as she lost consciousness.

Iris awoke to find herself in a strange room, her body aching and weak. She was lying on a bed, her legs tied to the bedposts, but only one of her hands was restrained. The room was clean and unfamiliar, the sterile smell of antiseptic in the air.

Her mind was a fog of confusion as she tried to piece together what had happened. Where was she? Who had brought her here? She couldn’t remember anything, not even her name.

When the door opened, a man in a white coat entered, a stethoscope hanging around his neck. He was followed by one of the guards from before, who stood silently by the door.

The man in the white coat approached her, checking her pulse and shining a light into her eyes. “She’s awake,” he said, his voice clinical and detached.

The guard stepped forward, his face twisted with concern. “Is she… is she going to be okay?”

The doctor nodded. “She’s stable for now, but she’s lost a lot of blood. We’ve managed to stop the bleeding, but she’s severely malnourished, she’s pregnant, and the worst of it all, she’s having memory loss.