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February

The night was dark; a thick sheet of clouds covered the waning moon. I pulled at the denim skirt of my trashy little outfit and adjusted the cut up t-shirt over the scars on my back. My feet ached as we neared 2^nd street. Though not my first time, the feeling of blood pulsating throughout my body and adrenaline roaring through my veins was a ceaseless, merciless feeling.

       The sidewalks were littered customarily with papers and trash. Sometimes I feel as if I belong there, or perhaps I belong somewhere unknown, my face posted on a MISSING sign like those at my feet or those layered on the side road poles. I wonder if you would even bother to print my face out, but then I suppose you would. For without me you have no mind dulling dope, or the bitter whiskey that you swigged from the bottle as we walked down the desolate road. No, you wouldn’t have that without me, or without the men that come so amply to trade me off.

On these nights I became a tramp, a scared little puppy following closely and obediently behind her tempered master. There were often more tramps among me pacing the vacant streets, they, dressed in similar clothes, wore the same frightened faces, and watched with the same hopeless eyes as they walked into the arms of men that they were meant to forge some type of temporary, fictitious trust with.

       We continued to walk farther on, a few more blacks and we would soon reach our destination, assumedly. My predictions were confirmed when we reached the single familiar beaten blue door covered by cheap rod iron. Goosebumps covered my arms and legs like brail lettering. Secretly, I grazed my fingers along my forearm, reading the solemn messages of anxiety and desperation.

       You clicked open the door, grabbed my arm and pushed me inside before you. The stench of cat litter and marijuana filled the air. Forcefully you pulled me over to a man reclining on a loveseat in the front room, he was also familiar.

David, we often came across him when we went to this building, always reclining on the loveseat with his legs resting atop a coffee table that looked to expensive for its environment.

       He sat there and slowly sipped his Heineken as if he was sipping extremely hot tea. He acknowledged us, but only when we stood in front on the table did he take the bottle from his lips and reach his hand out to you.

       “Josef, how are you?”

       “Good. Any rooms open?” you leaned forward and shook his hand nonchalantly

       “Yea of coarse,” he leaned forward in the loveseat and pulled out a drawer from the table, shuffled around for awhile and pulled out a slender red zip tie with a key attached. “Thumb,” you set your hand out towards him and he attached the zip tie to your finger, “Red, second floor, rooms written on the tie. Do you need me to refresh you on the rates?”

       “No.”

       “Good,” David dropped back down onto the seat and began sipping at his bottle again. You pulled me forward to the right and down the hall, once we had reached the short distance to the stairs and climbed a few steps David’s raspy voice echoed down the hall.

       “Stay here,” you said, and silently I stood there in the stairwell as you walked back down the hall to the front room. I heard you call me, at first I thought I imagined it and a momentary thought of going home without any trade ran through my mind, but was soon absorbed by the common knowledge that you would never let that happen. Again your voice reverberated down the hall, slowly turning, I made my way down the stairs, following your path back to the entry room.

       A short man staggered around near to coffee table, looking up at the ceiling.

       “Here she is,” the man stopped and intently focused himself on the two men in the room, and then turned his gaze towards me.

       “How much more is it if I want to bring her to my place?” he asked nervously, but I didn’t sense it was because he had never been here before.

       “Depends,”

       “I got some money on my, fifty? Or two gram of snow?” he paused for a moment and took his eyes off of me, turning his direct attention on to you.

       “A hundred and the two grams,” the man’s intent expression broke for a moment, and even a chuckle escaped David’s lips that were still tightly clasped around his bottle.

       After a few seconds of staring the man fidgeted around on his feet and nervously spoke up, “This isn’t any escort service that your giving me, I’ll give you the fifty and a gram,”

       Your expression remained stoic the whole time. “Alright,” you said and grabbed my wrist, shoving me into his clumsy hands that hastily made their way down to my waist.

“You look nice,” I could smell the ripe stench of alcohol on his breath as he spoke in his low nervous tone. I didn’t think to answer him as he rubbed his finger on my cheek, “what’s the matter lady, you grumpy?” peering up at him, he watched intently back with foggy, withdrawn eyes, waiting for my words “I won’t bite darlin,” he said with a crooked smile as he leaned closer to my face. I leaned away from him and he jerked away, “He akwardly adjusted his balance and we walked down the street for a moment with no words shared between us. He grabbed my chin roughly, and kissed me on the cheek with wet lips. “Get in the car b***h.” He said, his tone quickly changing. He opened the door to a rusted ’97 Chevy and shoved me in to the passenger seat.

       After a few moments of silence I felt him turn towards me, “I would like you to cooperate with me,” he raised his eyebrows and placed his large hand on the inside of my thigh. Motionless, I sat sitting, looking out the window of a ’97 hell, and felt his hand that didn’t fit his small body rub against my skin “Just say something real quick for me, one thing, I’ve yet to hear that voice of yours”

       “I’m Lada.” I said in submission with a smile on my face.

We eventually arrived in a neighborhood where he chugged the Chevy up to a small blue house with cracking paint, and a yard of dirt and weeds. Cigarette butts and broken glass covered the driveway, and a putrid scent filled the air.

       He left the car and started walking towards the house, lifted the garage door and continued on inside. I could see the kitchen of the house through a screen door, and the putrid scent that had escaped hit me once again. I heard the shower turn on, and the door slam shut. (it was never below these men to assume our submission to their authority. What one of us would ever even think of running away? They themselves never even had those kind of thoughts) I had placed my hand on the rusted doorknob, and breathed in heavily. Breathed in a thought. He left the keys in the car, I could run. Half a tank of gas, money in my purse, key in the ignition. I could run. I could run and never have to see any of you ever again.

       I began to walk away from the house; I could feel the adrenaline racing against the surfaces of my veins. My arms felt heavy as I tugged the door open, the vinyl car seat sat far from the stirring wheel. When I tried to push it forward it refused to budge, by this time it felt as if the adrenaline in my body was going against gravity, forcing every piece of me to the ground. The sound of the shower turning off bounced off the walls and into my ears like a drum, he was stepping out the shower, wondering where I was. I slammed the seat forward and jumped into the truck, scrambling with the ignition. It made a loud chug, again I tried and again the engine only revved. I turned the key harder and slapped my hands against the wheel; I could see the man at the door with an enraged look lain across his face, all sense of nervousness gone.

       “What the f**k are you doing,” he yelled and slammed the door behind him, trudging towards the Chevrolet. I was frozen, my mind screaming at the rest of my body to move.

       Just as I slammed the door shut I fumbled to find the lock with one hand as I turned the keys with the other. He got to the window of the truck and pulled fiercely on the door, my weak arms nothing against his. I leaped for the back door as he whipped the driver’s door open and gripped my leg in his wet hands. I let out a scream as he grabbed hold of my waist and cupped my mouth in one of his hands.

       I was lying on a bed in the middle of a dark room, the only light coming in from a crack in the curtains in the bathroom which slightly illuminated areas of the mostly dark room. I could only make out him hanging over my lifeless body. My hands were tied together to a beaten headboard, my legs hanging over each side of the bed. He wore a crooked smile, I closed my eyes as he leaned in close to the side of my head, whispered something in my ear, and chuckled to himself…

 

Reviews

[Raya Avans]

I think I tend to say the name in the dialogue to much because that is how I speak, but I get what you are saying! Defiantly change that up a bit. :) Thank you all for your reviews! I'm trying to find time to repay you I just haven't had that yet, but I will as soon as I can.

[flippyblue]

I was surprised when I saw that you had written a few lengthy parts in second person. Daring, but you made it work :) This is really well-written. The dialogue is good, but Chris and Lada mention each others names a lot when talking to each other, which isn't very realistic. But that's just about it! I enjoyed this!

[Joe Shetina]

Thanks for the read request. Interesting read.

[RienKelsoCinema]

I am liking what I am reading. Really great pieces of literature you have on your profile! I really enjoy it! Good job! Thank you for referring me this!

[Gobinder Singh Dhindsa]

I read whole writing and like whole wording!
Really lovely writing!
Keep it up!
God bless you!
Lucky!

[Shep]

Where to start. The story has potental with some work. Like taking it putting it into third person. Adding details about charactors that include the word "I". Other than that a nice begining.

[Dove]

wow. cool write. I hope this isnt about your life though and i know its true for many people. You did a really good job on this :)

[patricia]

Phew! A well written-heart wrenching write. I hope this is a work of fiction and not auto-biographical. Your writing is dramatic and faultless and sadly true to life for many people. You have talent and material enough for a full length book. Thanks.

[Raya Avans]

I think I got most of the grammatical errors, I know some may be left in there.. Please review and tell me what you think so far