Kuzco

Fighting for her soul 'YONKERS, N.Y. — She remembers being given so many drugs that she would sometimes drool on herself. The drugs kept her loose, so she wouldn't be able to fight. Or escape. She remembers the men who came to the door, bringing cash, expecting sex. She wasn't allowed to refuse. She remembers being locked in a room as punishment. She wasn't allowed out of the apartment alone. She couldn't eat until her captors were hungry. She remembers being forced to watch those men tie another young woman to a chair and beat her. The beating was a warning: She'd get the same if she tried to run. Lynda Marie Oddo sits at a picnic table in her aunt's backyard under a cloudless sky, and she loses her breath. Her eyes narrow, staring at something unseen. Her voice tightens. 'I get so sick to my stomach, I'm ready to curl up in a ball and cry, or scream and let it all out, ' she says. 'At the same time, it doesn't come out. It doesn't come out.' What are you seeing? 'Everything that happened. What went on.' She is trying to talk about the years she spent with two men who had been friends from her Yonkers neighborhood — until they decided to become pimps and sell her and two other women for sex. The men moved them to Rhode Island in 2006 after learning about a loophole in state law that allowed indoor prostitution. They lived in an apartment on Urban Street in North Providence and then an apartment in Providence at 123 Pinehurst Ave., a block from Providence College ″I'm ready to deal with it, because it's destroying me inside and out, and it's only going to continue to get worse.″It's rare that any sexual-assault victim is willing to speak publicly, often because of feelings of shame. Survivors of sex trafficking are a special type of victim because they've been forced into prostitution, raped multiple times, and endured psychological trauma that makes it difficult for them to rebuild their lives. 'I'm ready to deal with it, because it's destroying me inside and out, and it's only going to continue to get worse, ' Lynda said. 'I'm tired of having to be strong, when it's taking it all out of me.'But she's trying now. 'It is hard. Right now I'm like' — she suddenly exhales — 'I'm holding it in. I feel my throat closing. I just want to cry and go hide. 'At the same time, that's where I don't solve anything, ' she says. ' I was 16 but looked younger. She said he told her to lie about her age, to say she had a baby face. Some men weren't fooled, Lynda said. 'A lot of times, they were like, ‘You're 12, you're ugly, you're not my type.' They'd leave and Andy would be like, ‘What the [expletive], you didn't get the money? '' She didn't fight. She did attempt to leave She escaped a few times. Once, she ran to a bakery in North Providence, where the owner realized she was afraid and let her use the phone to call a relative to pick her up. Another time, while the men went out, she stole money and called a taxi to take her away. Lynda has turned 24. She is back in the neighborhood where she was raised. Some of the old friends are still around. Her family is worried she will fall into trouble. But McNulty sees promise. 'The light that I see is she wants to discuss this with other victims and start on the right path, ' he says. ‘Now or never' Lynda has spent the last four years trying to find her way. She's had jobs, but they haven't lasted. She has gone from having her own apartment to being homeless. 'You're 24 years old, and it's now or never, ' Lynda tells herself. 'You are going to end up dead, or somewhere you may not come back from. You can have a loving family to support you, or good luck to you. I really need to figure out my past and get it behind me...' 'It'll always be there, ' says her uncle, 'but you don't have to dwell on it.''I say no.' Then one afternoon, she is told about another woman who was trafficked by another pimp from Rhode Island. The man is in prison, but the young woman is struggling to regain herself. She told a reporter about what the pimp stole from her: her sense of self, her freedom, her independence, her ability to be comfortable in her own skin. When Lynda hears the woman's story, she doesn't hesitate. 'Tell her to call me. That way she won't feel alone.' They can talk about things that only those who've been through this can really understand, she says. They can help each other. She adds, wistfully, 'I wish I had someone who would do that for me.'