by Paige Dearth
“Hands to your sides,” Aron said as she sat back and relaxed in her chair.
Joon shook her head. Before Aron could say anything, Deen snorted. “Did you hear what my mom told ya to do? Put your hands to your sides. Do I need to come over there and punch ya in the gut?”
Joon reluctantly dropped her hands, exposing her naked body to the three of them. Dobi quickly averted his eyes, but after a few seconds, his curiosity won out, and he took a long look at Joon. It made him feel like a rotten person, and he peeled his eyes away from her body.
“Look at those tits, guys. I bet that Joon is the president of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee at school,” Aron said, taunting her and cackling a high-pitched laugh like Joon imagined a witch taking flight on her broom would.
Deen sat on the edge of the sofa. “So, is what my mom said true? Are you sucking guys off? Do you use the boy’s locker room to do it? Is that where you take them?”
Unable to control her embarrassment, Joon let a sob escape. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please stop doing this to me. I didn’t do anything wrong, I swear. I would never do anything with the boys in school. I don’t even like them.”
Aron watched intently—her hateful soul was being replenished with the anguish of a twelve-year-old soul. The woman smiled and stood. “Come on, you two. I want you to help me make dinner.”
Joon bent down and reached for her jeans, but Aron stopped her by banging her foot on the floor.
“What do you think you’re doing, Looney Jooney?” Aron hissed.
“Putting my clothes on so I can start my chores,” the girl mumbled, still blubbering openly.
“No, no, no. You’ll stand there naked until I say you can cover up. That way, every time one of us walks by you, we can gawk at that disgusting body of yours.” Aron leaned in so close to Joon’s face that she feared the rotten smell of Aron’s breath would make her faint. “See, you ruined yourself when you acted like a slut at school. Ain’t no decent boy ever going to want you now.”
Aron left the living room, and Dobi practically ran to keep up with her. He felt uncomfortable for Joon and wanted the torment to end. Deen, however, took his time walking across the living room. When he was only a few feet away from her, Joon covered her breasts and crotch with her hands.
Deen grabbed her wrists. “What were you told about keeping your hands at your sides? Don’t you know how to listen?”
Joon could barely breathe, she was bawling so hard. She felt subhuman.
Deen pulled on the arm over her breasts and pushed it to her side. Then he did the same with the hand covering her crotch. He started to walk away but stopped and turned back to her. “Since you’re already ruined, I figure a little taste won’t hurt anything,” he said. The boy shoved his fingers inside of her. Joon reared back against the wall behind her. Deen pulled his fingers out and stuck them in his mouth. “Yummy. I guess little whores taste good too. Don’t worry. I’ll be back to taste more.”
That night, alone and naked on the dirt floor of the basement, Joon couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t the rodents and bugs keeping her awake—Deen’s threat had scared the hell out of her. She lay awake all night, morbid thoughts of Deen consuming her now that Aron had opened a new door for her twisted son. Joon knew enough about sex to be very afraid of what he might do to her.
Over the years, Aron had severely abused and neglected her. But now Deen was about to bring her torture to a whole new level—one that made her need for safety as important as the air she breathed.
Chapter Seven
The following morning when the basement door opened, Joon looked up at that shadow standing at the top of the stairs. She blinked against the light from the kitchen and held her breath as she waited for what came next.
“Get up here, Looney Jooney,” Aron screeched.
Joon ascended the stairs with trepidation. She was cold and self-conscious. When she reached the top, she looked at her foster mother. There was a frosty deadness to Aron’s eyes as she stared back through narrowed slits, her lips tightly pressed together. Aron grabbed a handful of Joon’s hair and pulled her into the center of the kitchen.
“Put your fuckin’ clothes on, you animal,” Aron said, pointing to the T-shirt and jeans on the kitchen table.
Joon quickly dressed and turned back to Aron.
“What are you looking at? Move it. Go wash your ugly face and get ready for school.”
Joon moved quickly through the house and into the bathroom. She shut the door behind her and leaned over the sink as she splashed water on her face. She ran her fingers through her hair and tucked the long strands behind her ears. When she opened the bathroom door to leave, Deen was standing just outside.
“Did you hear?” Deen said. He snarled at her, his facing turning into a twisted mass of pimply flesh.
“Hear…hear what?” Joon stuttered.
“Mom is going out tonight with her friends. So we’re on our own after dinner and I’m in charge. I’m gonna make sure that Dobi goes over to that little asshole’s house down the street to play, so that you and I can be alone,” Deen whispered.
Joon’s legs felt weak and she steadied herself against the doorjamb. Her voice was trapped deep within her belly, but she willed herself to speak, finally forcing out: “I don’t want to be alone with you.” She took a deep breath. “If you touch me, I’ll tell your mom,” she said, her voice cracking.
Deen smiled at her. “My mom doesn’t care what I do to you. She’s let me do whatever I want to you for years. And here’s the deal.” Deen leaned into Joon with his mouth next to her ear. “If you say a fuckin’ word, I’ll kill you. Who cares if you’re dead or alive? Nobody, that’s who. From now on, you’re gonna be my little bitch. You’re already a slut, screwing around with every guy you meet. So instead of you slutting around with the boys at school, you can slut around for me. Ya know, like my private sex slave.”
Her blood felt boiling hot as it flooded her face. Her hands shook and her mouth drew downward. She shook her head, as if refusing to let his words sink into her brain. “No,” she managed. “No. I won’t let you.”
Deen put his arm around her waist, pulled her close to him, put his mouth over hers, and grabbed her ass. Then he grabbed one of her breasts through her shirt. “You ain’t got no say. You’ll do what you’re told. Period.”
He gave her a hard shove, and she flew backward into the bathroom and fell to the floor. After Deen stomped off, she sat on the bathroom floor and cried. What am I going to do? I would rather die than let Deen touch me again.
On the walk to the bus stop, Joon was sick with worry. She stood in her usual spot, off to the side, away from the other kids. She took in the neighborhood she had lived in for the past four years. The street was narrow. There was an endless line of battered row homes. They all blended together, with their dark-red brick and stained, beige stucco. The small lawns in front were uneven, with overgrown grass in some yards and barely any in others. Litter from overflowing trash cans clung to the edges of the uneven sidewalks. Joon followed a woman’s voice and watched as a bone-thin lady in an oversized housecoat screamed at her grown son for not coming home the night before.
She was surrounded by chaos, a tornado of unstable and erratic activity. Joon had been so caught up in her own hopeless situation she hadn’t noticed anything outside of the house where her life was pure hell. Now, she saw things clearly, and while the neighborhood was in shambles and nothing seemed cared for, neither people nor structures, Joon felt less alone. The buildings and broken-down cars, the trash on the streets, and even the emptiness and hopelessness gave her a sense of peace, for she was the same as her neighborhood: broken, neglected, and longing for repair.
Joon got onto the bus and took a seat near the front. She leaned her head against the window and watched without really seeing as the scenery buzzed by. She took in a sharp breath and held it as a thought hit her: The worst poverty isn’t about not having enough money to survive. Real povert
y is when there is no one in the world who loves you. When there is no other human to make you feel like you matter. As if you aren’t worth the air you breathe. Poverty of love is the worst thing you can be deprived of.
As the hours passed in school that day, Joon’s dread of going home heightened. When the bell rang for the end of school, Joon walked outside into the sun. The school buses were lined up and down the city block, Joon’s bus sixth in the line, as always. As she walked toward it, she suddenly stopped short and turned around, heading in the opposite direction.
Just like that, she walked off of the school grounds and kept on walking. Joon didn’t know where she was going nor did she care.
Chapter Eight
Joon walked for an hour and a half before she stopped to sit on a bench at Carpenter Hall on Chestnut Street in Center City, Philadelphia. She looked around at the old but well-maintained buildings and the skyscrapers beyond. The air was filled with the sounds of people talking and laughing. In the distance, there was music playing. The aroma of hot dogs and popcorn floated through the air, pulling people toward the smells and making Joon’s belly rumble. She felt as though she were in another world. It wasn’t the dreary streets of the neighborhood where she had lived with Aron. It was filled with life, and there was an exciting energy all around her. She took comfort in all the strangers nearby, feeling camouflaged inside the sea of people.
As dusk covered the city and the tall shadows of the buildings thrust night upon Joon, her serene afternoon faded. The crowds of people milling about had thinned. She looked around her, wondering where to go. The shade chilled her, and she rubbed at her bare arms to generate heat. She looked around again and began panicking, taking in gulps of air through her mouth. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. The thought of having nowhere to go now scared her.
Joon sat and sobbed. She cried for all that she had lost in her real mother and father and all that she had endured at the hands of her foster mother. Then, she laid on the bench until she cried herself to sleep.
“Hey, girl, what are ya doin’ here?”
Joon opened her eyes. It was so dark, at first, she thought she was in Aron’s basement. But then the cool, gentle breeze of the night air brushed across her face. She sat up quickly and looked at the black lady who stood over her.
“What?” Joon said.
“I asked what you’re doin’ here.”
Joon put her hands over her face. “I came here to…I had to come here.”
“You a runaway?”
Joon nodded. “I guess so.” She started fidgeting and looking around, a bit worried that the woman would drag her back to Aron’s house.
“You okay, kid?”
Joon nodded. Her body was tensed so hard that her muscles ached. “What are you gonna do to me?”
“I ain’t gonna do nothing to ya, kid.” The woman cocked her head to the side and placed her hand on Joon’s shoulder.
Joon flinched and put more distance between them.
The woman gave her a tender smile. “You ain’t gotta be afraid of me. Now, let me ask you: Are you runnin’ from your daddy? Did your daddy touch ya in your private place?”
“No. My daddy was great. He died a long time ago,” Joon said.
“Your momma givin’ ya a hard time?”
“No. My mom died too.”
The woman sat on the bench next to Joon. “Then who ya runnin’ from, girl?”
She stared at the woman for a few seconds and finally admitted, “My foster mom and brother.”
The woman scooted closer and put her arm around Joon’s shoulders. “What they do to ya?”
Joon leaned away and looked closely at the woman. Her clothes were weathered and her long dreadlocks went to the middle of her back. But her honey-colored eyes were warm and made Joon feel safe.
“My foster mom has been mean to me since I moved in.”
“And your foster brother? He mean to ya too?”
Joon nodded. “Yeah, but he did something to me and I can’t stay there anymore.”
“How they mean to ya?”
“Aron, my foster mom, she beats me and doesn’t let me eat. I sleep on the basement floor. When I’m really lucky, the dog sleeps down there with me. Dobi’s nice to me, but he’s too scared of Aron to help me.”
“Wait! Hold on now. You tellin’ me this woman—bitch I mean—beats ya, starves ya, and makes ya sleep with the dog? What kinda no-good, rotten whore is she?”
Joon stared into the woman’s eyes. She liked how outraged the stranger was by a few simple facts about her living situation. “Aron isn’t normal. I mean, she looks normal, but when no one is watching, she’s a monster. Nobody can see how she really is. She’s tricky and people believe her lies. She’s selfish. I think she’s ugly. I hate her. And she does and says things to me and never feels bad about it. It makes her happy to see me in pain.”
The woman’s mouth pinched tight. “What about your foster brother? What he do?”
Joon’s face turned red. “He touched me in my private place. Then he said he was gonna do more to me later, when Aron went out tonight. So after school today, I left and came here.”
“When did he touch you?”
“Last night. Deen and Aron said I’m a slut.”
“Do ya even know what a slut is?”
Joon shrugged and nodded. “Someone who does dirty things with boys.”
“Lord have mercy. People are so fucking fucked up,” the woman said.
Joon thought about how violated she’d felt when Deen touched her. She lowered her chin to her chest and cried.
“Come on, now. Ya don’t need to cry. Look here, my name is Ragtop.” The woman ran her long, slim fingers over the bandana covering her head, holding her dreadlocks.
The girl wiped the tears from her eyes and gave her a small smile. “Nice to meet you.”
“Well? What’s your name?” the woman asked.
“Joon.”
“Joon…that’s a great name. Is it your real name?”
Joon nodded. “My mom and dad named me Joon, J-O-O-N. Aron hates my name. She says it’s stupid.”
Ragtop pulled Joon closer to her. “Aron is a piece of donkey shit.”
Joon giggled. “Yeah, she smells like donkey shit too.”
“See that, baby girl, now you’re catching on.” Ragtop leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees. “So, here’s the thing—if you wanna come stay with me tonight, you can. I got a couple blankets I can share with ya. I ain’t got much to offer, but I’m willing to share what I got.”
Joon considered her options—she was cold and hungry, and she could stay on the bench or go with Ragtop. The thought of staying on the bench alone all night scared her. However, she didn’t know Ragtop. What if the woman was out to hurt her and she fell for it and walked right into her trap?
“I don’t know you,” Joon said.
“So what? There’s lots of people on the street that don’t know each other. Ain’t mean we don’t try to help people out. Listen, girl, out here”—Ragtop waved her hand to the vast city around them—“you gotta find your people and stick together. There’s all kinds of crazy on the streets, but it ain’t usually the people who live on ’em that’s crazy. It’s the assholes that got themselves a home to live in and just like messing with us. You can stay here if ya want, that’s fine with me, but don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”
Ragtop stood and looked down at Joon, but the girl didn’t move from the bench. “Okay, have it your way. Maybe I’ll see you around.” She turned and walked away.
“Wait!”
Ragtop turned back. “Well, are ya coming or not?”
Joon got to her feet and joined the woman. She was relieved that Ragtop was so nice to her but also scared to be walking off with a stranger. Her senses were on high alert, but with nowhere else to go, she had to follow the woman.
They walked silently through the streets of the city and eventually turned down a d
ark alley. Even in the dark of night, Joon could see sloppy graffiti on the walls. There was a man lying on his side, his back to the brick wall, and she stopped short, staring at him.
“Where are we going?” she asked as she watched him.
Ragtop looked over at the homeless man. “You ain’t gotta be afraid of him. His name is Thatch. He sleeps there almost every night. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. In fact, he’ll be the first person to help someone out when they need it.”
“But where are we going?”
“See that underpass?” Ragtop pointed down the alley, and in the distance, Joon saw where the highway rose above the street. “That’s where we sleep. I got my stuff tucked up in there so nobody steals it. Besides, most of the people around here know it’s my spot, so they don’t fuck with it.”
As they approached the underpass, Joon looked at the steep ledge, where black plastic was hung. She followed Ragtop up the incline, and at the top, the woman pulled the plastic to the side.
“Go on in,” Ragtop said. She lit a candle and let the plastic swing shut. The small space was dimly lit by the solitary flame.
Inside the confines of the concrete-and-plastic home, Joon looked around. To the left, two blankets were folded neatly on the ledge. To the right, across the remainder of the ledge, she noticed two water bottles, a bar of soap, an old cooler, and a small cardboard box.
Ragtop shifted to the cooler. “You hungry?”
“Kinda,” Joon said.
“What do you mean ‘kinda’? Did ya eat today?”
“Yeah, I had lunch at school. I only took three bites though, in case I chickened out and went back to Aron’s house.”
Ragtop tilted her head and scrunched her nose. “What?”
“Aron only lets me take three bites of my lunch at school. She said if I eat more, she’ll know. Then I have to go through a washout when I get home.”
“A washout?”
Joon fidgeted, scared to tell anyone what Aron put her through. “She makes me drink this yucky stuff so I throw up until there isn’t any food in me.”
