Amara has learned more than enough about the mechanics of sex to understand what will give pleasure. All that matters now is severing herself completely from her body. She runs through the repertoire, the line between fear and anger stretched taut across her heart. The only time panic threatens to pull her into the present is at the end when he tries to wrest her onto her back. She cedes control, telling herself it will be quicker that way.

Afterward she doesn’t wait to see if his reaction will be gratitude or indifference. She turns her back and walks to the pool. Down the steps, the water rises past her waist then higher as she plunges all the way in, swimming to the window. Amara looks out to the sea. If she didn’t know the scene behind her, if she couldn’t hear it, she could imagine that the horizon stretching out ahead belonged to her. Instead, she knows that she is as confined here, in the air and the light, as she is in the narrow darkness of her cell.

11

“Do you regard yourself as chaste just because you are an unwilling whore?”

—Seneca, Declamations 1.2

Amara holds Dido as she cries. They sit huddled together on Dido’s narrow bed. Over her friend’s heaving shoulder, she can read the Thrust SLOWLY! command she carved into the wall. She cannot imagine now why it ever seemed funny. Beside it, the curtain is half-drawn to give them a little privacy. She doesn’t dare pull it across completely. Victoria’s voice is loud in the corridor, praising some man to get him in the mood. At any moment, they will be interrupted by a customer. The women have no time for themselves at night, not even for grief.

“I can’t live like this,” Dido gasps out between sobs. “I can’t go on. I can’t bear my life; I can’t bear it.”

“But you did so well at the baths earlier,” Amara says, stroking her hair. “Second most popular after Victoria. All those tips.” At the time, she had felt a stab of jealousy, but now she wishes Dido had out-earned her by twice as much. She holds her closer. “You just need to keep thinking about making enough to escape. Nothing else matters.”

“We’re never going to escape!” Dido says, pushing her away. “This is it! It’s all our lives will ever be.” Her voice is rising, almost hysterical. “If I had any real virtue, I would have killed myself before allowing any man to touch me!”

“Please don’t,” Amara says. “Please don’t say things like that.”

“Everything good about me died in this cell; Felix made sure of that,” Dido puts her hands over her face, either to stem the tears or to blot out the memory. “Eight Denarii. That’s what he was paid for my virginity. That’s what my honor was worth.”