Chapter 16 Past
I dipped a makeup brush into the small blush palette – Cheeky Glow, it was called – then brought it over to my face before running it along my cheekbones. Using the pad of my index finger, I then applied a shimmery shadow over my lids, and finished off my look with a wine-red lipstick.
The crooked overhead light in my bathroom flickered, casting hideous shadows on some of the cracked and discolored tiles in the room, and when I stepped away from my messy counter, the light shut down completely, dousing me in darkness.
I reached for the switch next to the mirror, fiddled with it a few times, and then looked up when the light refused to turn on again.
I took another step back and pulled at the straps of the crimson A-line dress I was wearing. It was from Mom’s old wardrobe, and she’d been nothing less than hostile when she’d given it to me earlier.
“You better not fuck this up for me,” she’d told me. “Marcus is a wealthy client. You will let him do whatever it is that he wants to you, and for however long he wishes to. By the end of it, you and I will have enough cash to last us at least the rest of the year.”
I’d said nothing in return. I never did. I simply did as I was told, or the beating I received for my defiance kept me up several nights on end with harrowing pain and flashes of dreadful memories.
I didn’t know where, or how, she found these clients. But she did, and they were always rich, middle-aged suburban men.
Marco was one of the many clients I’d had over the last two years – all of whom were fucked up to their very bones. I had three small suitcases full of costumes for them, because each and every one of them had different and very specific…tastes, for lack of a better word.
Someone wanted a nurse, while the other wanted a cop. Some wanted a barista, while the others wanted a schoolgirl. The list went on and on, and so did the nightmares I’d have after each of these encounters.
It wasn’t like this two years ago – when my dad was still alive.
It was easier to avoid Mom throughout the day because I’d be at school for most of it, and focus on my homework or assignments during the night.
The only times I had to endure her presence was during the weekends, and even then, we barely spoke or looked at each other.
She was always busy whining to my dad about how he didn’t earn enough; how she had to work double-shifts at the salon just to “put food on the table every single day”.
He’d avoid her, she’d yell at him, and he’d walk out of the house, only to return the next day.
Things changed when he died two years ago.
He was found dead at the end of the street where he worked as a mechanic.
The cops said he’d had too much to drink, had probably passed out on the sidewalk, and had ended up choking on his own vomit, which in turn had led to his death.
I’d cried for days – not because he was an amazing father, but because he was my only shield against my monster of a mother.
When he died, I knew I only had hell to suffer.
My dad may not have been the best, but he at least treated me like I was a damn human being.
Mom pulled me out of school after Dad’s passing.
At first, she started having men over as her clients, but when one of them saw me and decided to ditch her for me, she realized she could cater to fucked up men with fucked up fetishes with me as the scapegoat, and earn far more than she otherwise could.
When she’d proposed the idea to me all those months ago, I’d only been fourteen.
I’d protested when she’d tried to force me to comply; I’d tried to run away, too.
But she’d locked me in my room and had had random men come in and fuck me till I was screaming and bleeding.
And, when I’d pleaded with her to help me with the bruises, she’d declined me and left me to fend for myself.
After a few times, though, I’d had to give up on my protests and oblige her, because otherwise, I’d either end up dead and forgotten like my dad, or worse.
I’d thought about those outcomes a few times. Compared to the life I lived – one no
one should have to – death seemed like paradise. But dying would also mean that my mother would win, and I most certainly couldn’t let that happen.
The overhead light flickered on, and I finally got a proper look at myself.
My hair was slightly long, so I didn’t exactly need a wig, and my makeup made me look more disheveled than put-together.
I was sixteen, but it didn’t feel like that to me.
I felt weighed down and sullen, but I guess that was to be expected, given the life I led.
I fidgeted with the dress one more time – because the damn thing was itchy and uncomfortable – and when that did nothing, I sighed and decided to give up. I walked out of the bathroom and entered my disorganized bedroom, then looked up at the Green
Day poster on the wall next to my bed. It’s the only thing I had in my room as a “décor”. Everything else in there was bland, impersonal.
It was after 11, so the street outside was eerily quiet. There was not a single light to be seen – neither from a house, nor from the streetlamps. One of the many norms of living in the suburb, I guess.
With one last glance at the window, I swallowed and headed out of my room.
The only reason I was able to walk straight was because it’d been a couple of weeks since I’d had a client.
Usually, I could barely stand the first few days after one of these encounters, and it’d take me just as long, if not more, to be able to sit without screaming in pain, let alone take a shit without bawling my eyes out.
My bare feet pressed against the wooden stairs as I made my way down to the living room. I could smell cologne in the air, which meant that Marco had arrived already.
I stopped at the end of the stairway, and my heart hammered so fucking strongly against my chest when I saw my client.
Marco looked to be in his late forties. He was on the shorter side, and wore a lose grey shirt with black, ill-fitted trousers.
With a head full of slicked-back blond-and-grey hair, a face marred with fine lines, and the little beer belly he was sporting, he seemed like a suburban broker or something.
Mom, of course, hadn’t given me any details regarding him or his profession, but she had mentioned that he was willing to pay a shit ton of money for me, so maybe I was right in my assumption.
But who knows. These tedious tidbits wouldn’t get me out of this situation, and neither would Marco – who was grinning at me as I walked further into the living room.
There was no escaping this; there was only enduring.
“Ah, there you are!” Mom all but sang when she saw me. She had an awfully theatrical smile on her face – one I’ve seen her use in the presence of every man that visited us. One that made my skin crawl in fucking disgust.
She’d glammed up for this, too. Her curly hair was tamed into a too-tight hairdo, and her face was packed with makeup.
She was wearing a black-and-white sheath dress that did everything to complement her tall, lithe figure, but nothing against that cruel heart of hers – beating somewhere behind the confines of the dress’s fabric.
I sometimes wondered if she even had the organ inside her, or if she’d given it away in exchange for a few bucks.
I ignored her comment and kept my gaze downwards. When I was close enough to her, she roughly lifted my chin, gave me a quick, scrutinizing once-over, then grabbed my arm in a painful grip and all but shoved me toward Marco.
I stumbled a little – mostly because I wasn’t expecting her to do that – and stiffened when Marco placed his hands on my shoulders in order to prevent my fall.
“Now, now, Delilah,” he crooned at my mom in a smooth, almost velvet-like voice.
“Be careful with my toy, will you? I hate it when they’re rattled.
” He gave me a smile, and his eager eyes seared into mine.
“I prefer to have their complete attention, after all. It makes it so much more pleasurable to fuck their wholeness out of them.”
Ice rushed up my spine at his words. I was trying to keep my breathing in check, but I was fucking failing at it.
Marco took a step towards me, and every instinct in me was screaming at me to move back; to run away. But I couldn’t. I simply couldn’t.
He was slightly shorter than me, so he had to look up when he addressed me.
He brought a hand up and dragged a thick finger over my jaw, making me grimace a little.
“Aren’t you a pretty little thing…” he mused, then leaned in before bringing his nose to the side of my neck. He inhaled deeply, and my body jerked in response to it.
He chuckled. “See? You’re rattled – exactly like I’d predicted.” He shifted, and his nose touched my cheek.
Goosebumps rose throughout my body, but I didn’t dare move; didn’t dare make a sound.
He inhaled again, and again, and then groaned as if in ecstasy. “Exquisite,” he hissed against me, right before parting his lips and licking a slow line up to the right side of my face.
I wanted to gag, but instead, I just stood there and let him do what he wanted to. Why? Because I was helpless.
Marco grabbed my waist and pulled me to him. “You are delicious, toy,” he said with a manic grin, and pressed a sloppy kiss on my mouth. He then pushed his hard-on against my stomach, and I imagined it mustn’t take much for him to get a boner, given how he’d barely spent five minutes with me.
When I finally decided to lock eyes with his, he fisted the back of my hair and pulled my head back.
“You want my cock, don’t you, toy?” he asked.
I swallowed, and my eyes stung as I lied by saying, “I do.”
Marco’s expression sharpened all of a sudden. He scowled at me, then slapped me with his free hand – hard enough that my head began to swim a little.
“Master,” he spat, and slapped me again. “Call me your fucking master, you cunt.”
I could feel tears on my cheeks. I don’t know how they’d escaped, but they somehow had. Maybe it was because of how much my face hurt from his brief assault, or maybe it was because I felt sorry for myself. Either way, I had to make sure neither Mom nor Marco saw them.
“Master,” I said in a dulcet tone, then licked my bottom lip. “Please, I need your cock. Now.” My chest tightened when Marco’s entire demeanor changed at my words, and fear rushed through me when he chuckled and let go of my hair.
“Good,” he praised, then nodded around a smirk. “That’s good, my toy.” In one move, he turned me around and pushed my upper body over.
My breathing turned haggard, my palms turned cold, and I felt momentarily dizzy when the pain in my face multiplied upon my having bent forward.
I placed my hands on the living-room couch in front of me, and when I looked up, I found my mom standing on the other side of it. Her arms were crossed, and the grin she had on her face was nothing short of deranged.
She was going to watch me this time.
She wouldn’t always stay in the same room as me once the client got his hands on me. But sometimes, she would, and she’d witness every single bit of what was done to me – all the while touching herself right before me.
It never came as a surprise to me that she took pleasure in watching me get fucked by random assholes. I knew she was an unstable human being, and that she was driven by everything questionable the world had to offer.
I broke eye contact with her when the sound of Marco unzipping his pants filled the otherwise silent room. My hands clenched over the couch’s cushions as I braced myself for the inevitable pain, and my chest tightened in fear of what was about to happen.
It never gets old, this feeling. And I wasn’t stupid enough to pretend that I was okay with it, or that I was so used to it that it didn’t bother me anymore; that I was numb to it or something. Because I wasn’t. I felt everything these men did to me, and I felt it in fucking spades.
“I forgot to compliment you on your dress, didn’t I, my toy?
” Marco said. “How inconsiderate of me.” He ran his hands over the length of my dress, then yanked at it, making me suck in a breath.
“Delightful…” He roughly pulled the dress up and above my lower back, exposing my ass.
“Yes,” he all but groaned. “What a sight you make, my little thing. Absolutely mouthwatering.” He palmed my ass cheeks and spread them for his viewing, making me swallow.
“Marco.”
I glanced up at Mom’s voice, and saw as she grabbed a bottle of lube from the small table next to the couch. But as she straightened and threw the bottle over to Marco, something else on the table caught my eye.
A steel-made nail file.
My breathing quickened as I stared at it – lying there carelessly next to a couple of condoms Mom had set out for Marco.
It was there – right in front of me. A wordless beacon. A way.
A possibility.
And in that moment, I knew this was my only shot.
My fucking moonshot.
Marco shifted behind me, and the rustling of fabric indicated that he was pushing his pants down.
I couldn’t stop looking at the nail file, though. It was the only thing I could see; the only thing I wanted to see.
I felt no fear with it so close to my grasp. I didn’t feel remorse, didn’t even have the desire to second-guess anything.
Something heavy pressed against my back, and a second later, I felt Marco’s hot, stale breath over my ear as he whispered, “Are you ready, my little toy?”
For the first time in the last two years, I finally felt like I was.
I was so fucking ready.