15
Clara. Age sixteen.
My cheek scrapes along the detailed rug beneath me.
Reed's body is molded to my backside. Another rich asshole with a thick wallet.
His fingers dig into my scalp with a stinging throb.
He pulls at my crown as he rams deep inside of me; it hurts but the pain is welcome.
He grunts and slams into me with such force I see stars—or it could be the fact I haven't eaten again.
The coffee table next to us rattles sending pictures, trinkets and coasters toppling to the hardwood floor.
I knew what I was getting into. Reeds 3 AM calls only come with one thing.
Aggression. The other girls can't handle it.
Each hammered thrust reminds me I'm alive.
“You love to be used,” he rasps, fisting my hair so hard I feel a few strands pop out of place.
A quiet string of tears trickle down my cheek, landing on the rug.
I focus on the delicate patterns, numbing myself from the ache.
It's like a deep incision that never heals.
This perpetual cycle of sex, drugs, and abuse.
Another day. I'm alive. That's good, right?
My fingernails dig into my palm. I silence my cries.
I've learned to swallow my feelings over the years.
I had to. Nothing ever became of the weak, Mama said.
Those endless dreams of a white picket fence and a home are long shattered.
I'm a woman now, with a woman's body, Mama told me.
It doesn't take long for Reed to finish.
Unfortunately for me, I won't get to cum.
Reed is a one hit wonder. He has no clue how to please a woman.
Doesn't matter, I'm not here for self-pleasure.
How he manages to get any women under him is a flipping miracle.
It must be why he pays me so well for it.
I feel him pulse inside the condom then he collapses on my back, crushing me under his weight. He's a big guy–in more ways than one. It's a shame he doesn't know how to use it.
I concentrate on the carpet, the carved end table, the damn frosted glass windows.
Anything other than Reed. Of course I've thought about ignoring his calls entirely. Some sick part of me though demands I deserve it. Every last drop of pain he delivers keeps me numb. It's a way to punish myself for not being good enough.