The Beast Around the Block

To my best friend, this one's for you.

By Maddie Roth with art by Brooke Lambrecht

When I was 16, I lived next to a family that had a girl my age. She was my best friend, a diamond in a world full of rocks. From the time she moved in, she and I were inseparable. Wherever she went, I was two steps behind. I admired her because no matter what life threw her way, she was always smiling. The sun envied her, making sure the light beams dripping from the sky were always pointed in her direction. The trees sang whenever she blessed them with her beauty. The stars grew jealous that she could shine brighter than they ever could. She was everything. That is until she met Jake. 

Moments turned into hours, hours into days. I went from seeing her every day to not seeing her for a month. She disappeared, and her parents became riddled with concern and worry over where she had gone. Without a trace, she had vanished. After five months, the search for her slowed to a halt. Everyone around me began to lose hope that we would ever see her again. I started to lose hope, too. 

Eight months after she disappeared, I went out to coffee with a friend of mine. Nothing was out of the ordinary. I ordered the same sugar-infused drink I always do and sat in my designated spot. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of a somewhat familiar face, except something was different. Something was terribly different. Black lipstick covered every square inch of her chapped and bloodied lip. Gobs of black falling off the cliff of what some people call eyelashes. Heavy darkness drew on her eyelid. A thin black stripe grasped onto her neck. The tiny bit of fingernail she has left painted crimson. A black shirt clinging onto any indication that there is flesh underneath it. A piece of metal wrapped around her nostril. Black, black, black. Black had swallowed her whole. 

It was her, sitting with the man she claimed was her boyfriend nine months ago. I had met him briefly, telling her he seemed like bad news. I almost did not believe it was her, and the only reason I knew it was her was that I knew the distinguishable features that made up Jake. But she did not look like her. The veins on her arms were begging to be freed from her skin. The graveyard underneath her eyelids was seeking more victims. Ghosts were surrounding her, screaming secrets into her ears. All it took was a small gust of wind to blow her away completely. 

Her and I made eye contact for a moment. When her pale gray eyes fell onto mine, I could hear her pleading for help. I knew her, and I knew she needed me. Before I could formulate any type of coherent words, she was gone. Behind her, she left the presence of darkness.  

Little did I know, darkness was not the only thing that had swallowed her whole. 

According to the U.S. Department of State, between 14,500 and 17,500 U.S. adults are trafficked annually. According to the Minnesota Department of Public Safety, Minnesota is the third-highest-ranked state for human trafficking cases involving adult and minor victims. The Twin Cities is the 13th highest-ranked hotspot for sex trafficking and prostitution. This is happening around us every single day. 

When you think of human trafficking, what is the first thing that comes to mind? I think of sketchy white vans hidden in an alleyway with old men who seem to be missing several teeth asking if I would like a piece of candy. Human trafficking is more than this, though. A majority of the time, victims are taken from bars, restaurants, and nightclubs by being drugged. Other times, a man and woman will be together claiming that their car broke down. When you go over to help, they knock you out and shove you into their car. 

Victims of human trafficking are psychologically and emotionally manipulated so as to keep them from attempting to escape. Pimps will usually tell the victims that they will kill them or their families if they try to break free. Depending on the pimp, oftentimes, victims are also physically abused in order to enhance the scare tactics. In order to cope with the pain of their reality, victims will turn to drugs just to get through their day. There is no freedom, there is only hell. A nightmare that is repeated over and over with no end. 

When my friend told me she was a victim of human trafficking, I did not know how to react. I wanted to hug her and wash away every ounce of pain coursing through her body, but she did not want to be touched. She was a shell of who she used to be. Her body was meant to carry her from place to place, but there was nothing inside. She was forced to have sex with a different man two times a day and injected her bloodstream with heroin before every encounter. She told me no matter how many times she tried to overdose, her pimp ensured she did not die. He always told her Hell was not ready for her just yet. Last year, my friend was found in her bathroom with her wrists slit. In her suicide note, she wrote “I cannot forget the past no matter how hard I try.” 

I pose these questions to our audience: would you know if someone in your life was a victim of human trafficking? Would you notice the signs if you witnessed them happening in public? I encourage you to look into resources by learning how to pick up on human trafficking behavior. If something seems wrong, there is a hotline you can call. There are thousands of charities you can donate to in order to spread awareness. Spread as much awareness as you can. Human trafficking is not talked about enough. There are thousands of people who are suffering as you are reading this feature. Be a voice for them, and make the world aware that this is an issue. 

The most important part of this, though, is being there for victims. Be a shoulder to cry on and a pair of ears to listen. Hold them if they want to be held or give them space if that is what they need. Tell them they are worth something when they tell you they feel worthless. Victims are not defined by what happened to them. 

Human trafficking is all around us, happening right in front of our eyes every single day. For all we know, the next-door neighbor who you see with bruises on her arms leaving her apartment at 3 A.M. in scandalous clothes could be a victim. Have you ever wondered why she does not come back from days at a time? And why that creepy man is always with her when she does? For all we know, she is a victim.

I had no idea my friend was being trafficked. I thought she ran away with her boyfriend because life at home was too much for her to handle. Not a day goes by when I do not think about her. I think about her at the coffee shop and how I should have done something, anything to help her. I think about her pale gray eyes and the cry for help behind them. But I could not get to her in time. Instead, she fell victim to the beast around the block.