by Adriana Law
“How do you—”
While we wait he gives me the same heart stopping smile he gave the little girl at the mall. I realize now he can produce the fake smile whenever it’s needed. It’s effortless. The smile can be charming or ruthless, depends on the circumstances.
Right now it is ruthless.
“How do I know who the important people in your life are?” he says, “I’m not sloppy. I do my homework. Oh.” With an evil chuckle, he says, “I can’t believe I almost forgot about the brother. We can’t leave him out.”
His face is a mere inch from mine as he holds up his index finger and thumb with a crack left between them. “I do believe…there is a tiny amount of interest there, isn’t it, Love?”
“You saw me talking to him at the mall? You spied on me?!”
The back of his hand comes down across my face, the sound of the slap reverberating in the quiet. I stumble, catching myself before I fall off the side of the porch into the elegantly sculpted bushes.
My vision blurs.
Ricin grabs onto my upper arms and squeezes, yanking me up against his hard chest. One of his large hands goes to my throat, his long fingers crushing until it’s nearly impossible for me to swallow. I think of the father that day in the mall and humiliation.
At the time it had seemed appropriate. Sexy even.
Now.
Not so much.
“You ever disrespect me by making eye contact with another guy again,” Ricin warns. “I will slit this pretty throat without hesitation. I am your boss. I control your life. I control your thoughts. You belong to me and no one else. You are my girl from here on out. Do you understand?” I slowly nod. Then he puts me away from him, growling, “You smell like fucking piss.”
We meet more of Ricin’s friends only this time it’s different—I’m an object meant to decorate the room instead of an invited guest. Ricin and the men drink liquor from expensive crystal. They smoke and tell vulgar jokes. At the end of their crudeness their eyes seek me out and as good as undress me right there in the den.
I wait in a leather seat.
As far away from them as I can get. In the torn, soiled red dress.
I have trouble sitting. It hurts too badly.
I feel nasty. Dirty.
I can’t stop violently shaking, afraid of what comes next.
Purplish bruises are already showing up on my wrist. I rub my wrist with anxious hands. Everything about this night has been wrong.
Ricin stands.
I hold my breath. I feel the men’s gazes on me.
Ricin sits down beside me. He pulls a small glass table over and pulls a baggie from the pocket of his dress pants. “This will make you feel better,” he explains. Like every time before he sucks the film off of a blue and crushes it into powder giving me instructions to snort it.
“I don’t want it,” I tell him pulling away when he goes to brush the hair out of my eyes.
“Are you going to be difficult?”
“Are you going to make me have sex with those men?”
“Not tonight.”
I give him a sideways glance that says I don’t believe him, and he shrugs. “You wanted an honest answer and I gave you one. You’ve had enough excitement for one night. You need time to recover.” He holds the rolled hundred out for me to take. “We can do this easy way…or the hard way. It’s your call.”
“Nothing about this night has been my call.” I swipe the rolled up bill and inhale the line. Afterward, he hands me another pill. “What is it?” I ask.
“The Morning After pill. Just in case.”
Thank God there is that at least.
One of the men calls out, “You will love staying with us.”
My eyes widen. “Staying?”
“Well, you can’t continue to live with me.”
“I don’t want to live with you.”
“Where else do you expect to go?”
“Home.”
Deep laughter comes from Ricin’s chest. “Home? This is your home.” His words send a chill down my spine. The men must sense my hesitation; one calls out, “we will be your family. Family looks out for one another.”
I’m given a room for the night.
I shower, scalding my skin with the hot water and scrubbing until I bleed. After that I curl up in the silk robe I am provided, and cry myself to sleep. I learn early on to have no eye contact with another male and to keep my mouth shut.
I’d always assumed the only kind of girl dumb enough to get sucked into this world was a naive attention-seeker in hoochie mama clothing.
I was wrong.
They prey on desperation and poverty.
They tempt you with a “better life”.
I always thought I had a reasonable amount of sense.
That nothing like this could ever happen to me.
I was wrong.
***
There comes a point when you no longer scream or fight. There comes a point when you are so emotionally dead and empty on the inside that you no longer care. There comes a time when there is nobody to hate but yourself.
I only have one friend in this place.
Her name is Mattie. We share a room and have become the closest thing to sister without being actual blood kin.
Mattie is unusual looking with blonde hair and hazel eyes. She is absolutely beautiful. Young and vibrant no matter how much they try to snub it out of her. She is kind—inside and out. But she will fight the “bottom bitch” in a heartbeat if she ever tries to steal our share of the food. The men love to refer to Mattie as “nigger pussy” because they get off on the flare of anger and hatred in her eyes.
She’s the one that taught me how to do it properly, how to please the men. I don’t hate Mattie because of it. She only did what she was made to do. She also taught me how lie with a straight face. Most of the men want us to tell them how they’re the best fuck we’ve ever had. Not only are we expected to stroke their small cocks, but we’re also expected to stroke their sore egos. They want to be told they are a Sex God. Yeah right. Here’s a clue: WE ARE LYING WHEN WE TELL YOU YOUR’RE A SEX GOD. It’s called working, and we’re expected to work it to its full potential.
“Johns want us to build them up while they tear us down,” Mattie explained. She taught me how to be very convincing.
Mattie takes it better than I do. She’s strong and knows how to turn it off as if it is not even happening. She’s smart enough to never let them see her cry. I respect her for that. Occasionally, I break. I think it’s mostly accepting it. That this is it. My life. That this is the only love that I’ll have in my life—love for Mattie. Not for them. I’m not saying the love I feel for Mattie isn’t enough. I just wish…
Mattie has one flaw though and this it:
“How did you come to be in this place,” I ask her one evening.
“You know how,” she returns, tight-lipped.
“No. I don’t know. Tell me.”
We’re painting our toenails. Ricin approves of us taking care of ourselves. He demands it. Mattie stands and mimics his stern, cold demeanor. “Get over here, bitch.”
She imitates him perfectly, and I snort. It’s nothing to joke about, but God it feels good to laugh. Most days I don’t even feel human. Laughing reminds me there is still goodness out there.
Somewhere.
“Yea, he is such a dick,” I mutter once the laughter dies, and reality settles in. No. It’s nothing to joke about.
Rule # Two) live by “Pimp or Die.”
“He wasn’t like that in the beginning though,” Mattie says, flopping down on the bed next to me. “He was very…affectionate, loving even.”
Hearing her say it stings. Ricin never touched me. I’m glad now that he didn’t.
Mattie continues, “He said he loved me, and I believed him.”
Another thing he never said to me. Why do I feel shunned?
“I’ve already forgiven him.” Mattie shrugs. “Everyone is entitled to a few mistak
es.”
A few! My mouth gapes. “Why would you forgive him?”
“He’s never had anyone that cares,” she reasons.
“We all cared at one time or another. He drew us in, lied to us, and treated us like we were crap.” I shake my head.
“That’s not true,” she says.
“Which part. Forget it. To be so smart…how can you be so blind and passive?”
“Because I love him,” Mattie answers. “That love just doesn’t go away because he’s not perfect.”
“How can you even say that? He is A PIMP, Mattie. He doesn’t love you. He doesn’t love me. Or any of the other girls he tricks into this. He’s a con-artist with a sexy smile. He makes mad money off of us being flat on our backs so that he can afford his expensive car and designer clothes. And he gives us what? Fucking nail polish so we can look good while we turn tricks. Open your eyes.” I find myself tearing frustratingly through my hair.
Mattie is so intelligent and strong, why is she so “neutral” when it comes to Ricin. Okay. Yes. I fell for his bullshit too but come on; it is so blatantly obvious to me now. She calls it love. I say she has a bad case of Stockholm syndrome.
She tunes me out, putting a clear coat on her polish. “You know,” she mutters in a snippety tone. “Everyone always assumes it is the guys fault, because he is a piece of shit, right? Have you ever thought that,” she screws the lid on, “he is as much the victim as us?”
“No. Can’t say that I have ever felt sorry for him.”
I want to shake her. Instead, I settle with shouting.
“He’s not a victim!”
“Maybe he wouldn’t even be here if he’d had a home, a good family that loved him. Admit it. You wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t been searching for something your life lacked. Don’t you think it’s odd that this, what we’re doing, is referred to on the streets as “Family”? You and I are “Family” Starr, and we wouldn’t need a made up “Family” if we ever had a decent one.”
“So now it’s our family's fault?”
“I’m just saying.”
I open and shut my mouth, speechless. I love Mattie to death, but when it comes to Ricin, she makes way too many excuses.
CHAPTER SIX
Barbell
The following evening Ricin takes Mattie and me for a ride. He drives us to a rundown house on the outskirts of the city. The instant we step out of the car a Doberman lunges at us and is jerked back by his chain. The dog appears vicious and hungry. Mattie and I grab onto one another, scared.
Ricin—being the gentle and protective guy that he is—puts himself between the beast and us, guarding his…investment.
I’m certain we’re here to meet a John and turn tricks. No doubt, a John that likes two girls at once. I’ve done it with Mattie before, I prefer her there. It’s less lonely. Besides she lies better than I do.
Weird thing is Ricin never goes with us while we work. I mean never. And never once has he drove us to our customer. If I’ve learned one thing it is this: there is always a first time for everything. Maybe Ricin is feeling neglected and wants to watch. He does like to watch on occasion just usually from the comfort of his fancy home.
Ricin opens the screen door that is about to fall off its hinges and raps his knuckles and wood. There is a “shut up!” barked on the other side of the door. Chains rattle and then the door opens to a shady guy with a barbell piercing through the bridge of his nose. His black hair is spiked, blue at the tips. His lip and tongue pierced. He’ll want to do things to our “snatch” later with that tongue ring.
That’s how it always goes down.
And Mattie and I will have to lie our faces off, forcing out fake moans while he “pleasures” us with that tongue ring. We will have to tell this guy how he makes us quiver like no other guy before him. All lies. Lies. Lies!
I barely have clothes on. Tiny everything. I’m freezing. The heels are killing my feet, and I gotta pee. “Are you going to invite us in or not,” I say dryly to barbell guy.
“Oh. Fiesty. I like,” he replies, smiling and stepping out the way and ushering all three of us inside. “Mi casa y su casa…enter pretty ladies.”
At least this guy is tall and thin as opposed to jiggling with excess fat rolls. A timid woman lingers in the doorway to what I can only assume is the kitchen. She is pale, skin and bones. Drab and homely looking. Her eyes lifeless and sad. Poverty sucks. “What are you standing around for, bitch,” barbell guy says to her. “Go get my friends a beer.”
The woman slips quietly out of sight.
Barbell guy motions for us to follow him down the slender hallway. The shag carpet is dark and ugly just like the paneling lining the walls. I pause, asking, “Mind if I pee first?” Barbell guy eyes slide over me, and I explain, “Might as well get the peeing out of the way before the real excitement begins.”
Ricin gives me a warning glare.
I want to throw up my hands and say “What? I’m miserable.” But he won’t think twice about backhanding me in front of this dude. I would rather not warrant any bruises tonight, I’m just now getting over the ones I had last week.
Barbell guy points at a dark doorway.
I don’t even bother with turning on the light in the small bathroom, leaving the door cracked enough to see plenty. I work the skirt up and sit on the seat because refusing to touch the seat with my bare ass would be just ridiculous.
I count the dark as a blessing.
In the dark I don’t get an up close look at the guy’s bathroom. I’m sure it is just as nasty as the rest of the house. Sometimes it is better to not see what you’re sitting on.
I fumble around in the dark and find no toilet paper.
Great! I stand and allow the super short skirt to slide back into place. It does give me some small amount of pleasure that later, when barbell guy is getting off on “pleasuring” me with his pierced tongue…I will be the only one that knows I dripped-dry.
Barbell guy takes us to the last room at the end of the hall. Rubbing his chin and staring at me as if he is already seeing me naked, he motions to the funny chair that is basically…a leather glove. Seriously, the chair looks like a hand. “What we doing,” he asks of Ricin instead of Mattie and me.
Ricin’s hand shoots out, grabbing my upper arm and dragging me front and center. He sweeps the hair off my shoulder and forces my head at an angle for barbell to see. “Get rid of this,” he says, brushing the outline of the star tattoo behind my left ear.
“Wait. What?”
“Can do.” Barbell guy rolls a stool over beside the glove chair and readies what he needs. “Know what you want over it?” he asks Ricin, making the gun buzz
“An r.”
I shake my head.
“Lower or upper case?” Barbell asks.
“Upper,” Ricin says tapping out of Marlboro. He holds the filter between his teeth, lighting the tip of the cigarette and inhaling.
“I’ll have to shade behind it to completely get rid of the star outline. I can make it work though.”
“I don’t give a shit.” A cloud of smoke is blown into Barbell guys face. “Just do it.”
“No,” I assert. Ricin pushes me down into the glove chair. I go to get up, his wide palm over my chest stops me. It’s the significance that bothers me and has me fuming. Ricin wants to obliterate what small part of me there is left. He wants to wipe it out completely. Suggesting that my only identity now…is him.
“Fuck no. You’re not branding me, Ricin.”
“I already have, hotcakes.” He flashes me a hateful smile behind his Marlboro. He is a malicious, spiteful person, and I hate him!
Mattie reaches for my hand. She squeezes telling me, “Don’t worry. It’ll look good.”
“Sounds like the lady isn’t sold on the idea,” Barbell says.
Ricin steps into Barbell guy’s personal space. “Do I look like I give a fuck what she wants?” He jabs a finger in Mattie’s direction without ever removing his eyes from th
e guy. “Put one on that one too. I want both finished by the time I get back.”
***
Ricin makes us all take the pill. He’s smart enough to know we’re no good to him knocked up. Pregnant—we don’t make him as much money, although some of the men like ‘em pregnant. Ricin says he is looking out for our best interest. He’s only looking out for himself. He has no emotional attachment to any of us what-so-ever. Thankfully, except for the occasional rape, most Johns always wear a condom.
“Checking in on my property,” Ricin says casually strolling up one night. He stares down at me from the sidewalk.
Stepping up on his domain “the sidewalk” would cause me to be reprimanded. You may not get it but there are rules you don’t break here. “How did we do tonight?” Ricin takes my cash and counts it, lifting a brow. My quota for the night is five hundred. I brought him eight. For a moment, he almost forgets and smiles. Reigning it in and returning to all business he says, “It was a very profitable night.”
“What can I say...I’m fast,” I return knowing the sarcasm will get me slapped.
Instead, he kisses my cheek. “Good girl.” The stony set of his jaw says there is no real emotion or admiration behind his praise. He pets me. Like a good, obedient puppy. And then moves down to the next girl.
Oddly I prefer the slap. Ricin not taking the opportunity to correct me when I overstep the boundary, leaves me cold inside and wondering what is going on.
Tonight Shelly is by his side. Shelly is a bottom girl. Bottom girls are responsible for luring in new girls. Along with Shelly and Ricin is “the new” girl. She is no older than fourteen if that. Her breast are well developed for her age; a blessing in school, out here they are a curse. Her purple lipstick is too purple for her pale complexion. She’s what’s considered a “kiddie stroll”—any girl under fourteen.
Seeing her causes a familiar sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. It never gets easy. I want to snatch her up, put her in my pocket and take her home. And then slap her parents for being so careless with their daughter. Sometimes, when they are as young as this girl, it’s all I can do to remain still.
