Part 2: Sold to the Monster

The night came—the night I will remember for the rest of my life.

August 13, 2003. Everything was ready, and I was prepared. My father put baby cologne on me, the one my mother saved for special occasions, so at least we smelled nice. It was 6 p.m., but already dark. Our house stood in the middle of the fields, and at night the only thing you could see were the city lights, two hours away on foot. The nearest house was about a 40-minute walk. We were far from our neighbors.

We walked out of the house without saying a word. Both of us were nervous, and something about my father felt strange to me. He hadn't even changed his clothes, but I didn't ask why.

We were walking in the wrong direction.

That's when I asked, 'Pa, where are we going?

To a friend," he answered, his voice hesitant.

After about 30 minutes of walking, a car approached—an old white Toyota Corolla I knew well. I had often seen it parked out in the fields.

The car stopped, its body almost brown with dirt.

My heart panicked when I saw the man who stepped out. It was the Kabo.

I moved behind my father to hide.

'Go with him. He will bring you to Don Rafael,' my father ordered.

But I knew something was wrong. It felt like they had already planned this.

The back door was open, and while the Kabo waved for me to get in, my father wouldn't look at me. Instead, he pushed me toward the car.

I froze with fear as I passed him. The Kabo's eyes followed me like he already owned me.

I slid into the seat and the door slammed shut.

The only sound in my ears was the growl of the engine.

They spoke quietly, and then I saw the Kabo hand my father a paper bag.

And then—my father walked away.

I almost cried because I didn't understand what was happening. Was I going to meet Don Rafael alone? Or was I being left with this monster in the car?

The Kabo got in and immediately started driving. It was a long ride, and I had no idea where we were going. I didn't recognize the place, and by then it was almost 8 p.m. All I could see were the tall sugarcane fields on both sides of the road.

We finally stopped at a house in the middle of the road. The Kabo got out to open the gate. The house looked dark and abandoned. When we entered, the car stopped inside, and then I heard the loud clang of a steel door closing—like I had been trapped in this place.

Some lights came on, and the car door opened. The Kabo told me to get out.

Slowly, I stepped out. All I saw was a huge pile of sacks, maybe fertilizer, and the smell was worse than carabao dung.

I realized it was a large compound filled with old, broken trucks and cars. There was no one else there—only the two of us.

The Kabo looked uneasy, moving around like he was securing something, desperate for a reason I couldn't understand.

I asked him, 'Where is Don Rafael?'

He didn't answer. Instead, he grabbed me and forced me into a room.

It was the worst room I had ever seen—dim, dirty, scattered with clothes, cigarette butts, whiskey bottles, and a small TV.

At that age, I could feel fear, but I was too innocent to realize my life was in danger.

The Kabo told me to sit on the bed, but it was a mess. Parts of it were sticky with wax.

He knelt down and smelled my hand. I pulled it away.

Then he stood, locked the door, shut the windows, and came back to me.

He began doing strange things, touching every part of my body. I tried to get up and run, but I was trapped. There was nowhere to go. It was that same strange feeling again—the kind where all you can do is cry.

I begged him to take me home.

But he grew more aggressive and forced me to undress. That's when I felt shame, fear, and complete powerlessness.

Then he took off his pants and undergarments. I refused to look.

That night, I wished to be blind, deaf, and dead.

It was the most unbearable moment of my life. In front of me, I saw a monster.

He crawled above me while I lay there helpless. Goosebumps spread across my body, mixed with a deep disgust. It felt worse than lying in mud filled with dung.

In that moment, every dark feeling rose inside me—I wanted to curse the world and everyone in it.

I felt the monster's mouth on me, licking every part of my body until I was completely covered in it.

That's when I began to feel uneasy. I felt that warm thing pressing against me again, but this time it was closer to my soul—like a reaper waiting to take my life at any moment.

I was starting to lose control, and as powerless as I was, I couldn't stop what was destroying me. It was the most painful feeling I had ever known, like my soul was being dragged into hell.

He kept doing it again and again, and he seemed to enjoy it. I swore I would never open my eyes again.

His strange voice echoed in my ears, like demons haunting my sleep.

Am I dead? I felt nothing. I heard nothing. I saw nothing.

I think I am.