The woman in the mirror is me—but I don’t recognize her. She wears a black lace ensemble- which I am one hundred percent sure costs the same amount as three months of my rent.

It’s clear from my face—I’m way out of my element in this getup. But I gotta give credit where credit is due. Whoever chose this garment has exceptional taste. The lace feels amazing, and the way it shifts makes it feel like soft touches against my skin.

Being a curvy Latina, I tend to be prudish about this type of clothing. Maybe life would’ve looked different if I had been more daring with my style. In my religious household, anything showing too much knees, elbows, or a hint of cleavage was sinful and according to my mother, just wearing the wrong piece of clothing would condemn me to hell. If she could see me right now, she would turn in her grave. not that she’s physically dead, but she’s dead to me, which is close enough.

I gotta admit, my chest and legs look damn good right now. The bustier corset piece cinches my waist just right, and it pushes my breasts until they almost spill over the scalloped edges. To complete my Lady of the Night look, a makeup artist applied iconic smokey eyes, and the hairstylist created beautiful Hollywood curls, like those seen on celebrities on the red carpet.

None of this is me. Yet, tonight it must be.

The room smells of the sandalwood incense currently burning over by the vanity. The smell should calm me, but this place shot my nerves the moment I stepped foot into it.

I make my way back to the beautiful vanity and trace my fingers along its edge. Furniture this beautiful should be in a home, not in El Santuario, which, that itself should be a crime. Everything in this place looks expensive, and, in my humble opinion, excessive.

The knock on the door startles me out of my thoughts, and by instinct I clutch the robe closed over my nearly naked body. Somehow, my mind is still trying to preserve some type of modesty. The thought seems absolutely ridiculous given what I have agreed to tonight.

“Come in.” I say so quietly it almost sounds like a whisper.

I half expect a crusty pervert to come and escort me to a stage or whatever they use for the auction.

Instead, a pretty young woman enters the room carrying a tray with a glass full of ice and a water bottle. Her uniform is a simple black dress with El Santuario’s emblem embroidered in gold at the collar.

Her movements are quick and efficient as she glides across the room, putting items on the vanity. Not once do her eyes linger on my current state of undress. Guess she’s seen more than her fair share of naked women, or men, around this place.

“Water, Señorita?” Her voice was gentle, with a soft Central American accent. Maybe Honduras or El Salvador? Either way, I find her voice comforting. She points to the water and glass. “Please, make sure to stay hydrated.”

“Gracias,” my voice is thin and uncertain, almost foreign to my ears. Papá raised me to be fearless and self-assured. A woman who let no one make her feel less than worthy. Right now, I feel like a failure and a let down for not being able to provide for my family in their time of need. Which is why I need to do this.

The young woman smiles and nods as she turns to leave, but I grab her sleeve. I’m not ready to be alone again.

“Wait…please,” the words tumble out in a panic. “What happens out there?” I beg. “Can you tell me anything? Please.”

She pauses and looks me in the eye. Her eyebrows draw together in confusion.

“El Heraldo did not assign you a partner or inform you of your role?”

“All I know is there is an auction, and I’m part of it.”

The woman’s expression shifts from confusion to what I believe to be concern. “Usually, they inform the participants of their roles before the show. The Ofrenda — that’s how they refer to the participants — will be paired with a male or female counterpart to show their talentos for Los Amos. Did someone check on you for a routine yet?”

“No.”

Her mouth bobs open and closed like she doesn’t know how to take my response.

“El Heraldo has you doing the auction alone.” Not a question but a statement. Her hand cradles my cheek, and I don’t move away from the small show of affection. Her expression morphs into a knowing smile.

“He sees something special in you. Solos are rare. Very rare.”

The knot in my stomach tightens, and I can feel the nausea coming back. I exhale and put some space between us in case I hurl my guts all over this fancy room— and her.

“What does that even mean?” I curl in on myself, and hug my abdomen attempting to soothe myself.

“Ponme atención, nena. I have one piece of advice for you. Let El Heraldo guide you through your performance. You doubt him, even for a second…” She trails off, she doesn’t need to explain. I know exactly what will happen. I won’t get what I came for and I’ll have shamed myself for no reason. My family depends on this and I will not take that chance.

“You’re scared, and that is good. Los Amos likes it when you are a little afraid it makes the bidding more exciting. So do yourself a favor and do not hide your fear from them.”

“I don’t think I could even if I tried.”

She sighs in relief, and a sweet smile graces her face. I hadn’t noticed, but she looks older this close up. Patting my cheek, she turns to make her way towards the door.

“Twenty minutes and I will be back for you.” I turn to look at the clock behind me. Okay, twenty minutes. I can totally handle that. It’s not that long, I’ve waited longer to use the restroom at work.

When the door closes, I sink back onto the velvet bench before my knees give out from under me. Twenty minutes until I offer myself to a room full of strangers, until I lose all sense of freedom, and sign my life away to become someone’s property.

The room spins once again, and I clench my eyes shut, willing the dizziness to disappear. I let my mind drift back to the reasons why I ended up in a place like this.