The list could go on and on of members who were always there for me growing up but right down to it… I’m nothing but their President's daughter, and that makes me hot off the press for picking with just one nod from their big boss. My dad’s closest crew, guys I’ve known my whole life, roughly grab my legs to spread them open. Hands tear at my clothing as I kick, buck, shout, anything to get away, but it’s useless as fingers tighten to hold me still. It doesn’t do me any good as criminal eyes stare down at my exposed body with uncontrollable lust until I look away. My gaze catches on the ceiling, seeing the crooked nail, the imperfection, and for the next few hours, grunts sound in my ears, and pounds of my flesh is taken from. My mind leaves to another place that isn’t here, somewhere anywhere else but here. My screams never fade, they still echo in my head along with my sore throat that feels raw.
A sudden hit to my lip has me reeling back with the force, my face swinging to the side as the blow was delivered. Blood pools on that single split but I can’t focus enough on why it doesn’t seem to hurt. My body is moving without me controlling the movements, back and forth my back scrapes across the cold cement. I know one of the club members is grunting over my body, as he pushes inside me, I don’t bother to look. It’s as if I’m not really here, even though I can feel whoever is inside me with each dry thrust causing me unbearable pain. That hurts, having someone shove their way inside of your body when it’s dry. That’s when my own haunted screams reach me, breaking past the barrier I tried building around myself until it’s over. Being tossed around like a rag doll, touching me in places I’ve never thought of being touched with my innocence that is no more. Payne was right, this is a man’s world and I’m feeling the effects of it.
Someone tosses me onto my stomach, my body limp, and not really mine anymore at this point. I wish I could keep staring at that nail, to see something that will keep me partially sane. A hot breath bears down on my ear just as something small, sharp, and cold is placed on my back. My focus sharpens to that one object while my whole body tenses up after what feels like hours of having loose limbs.
“You're going to feel this, remember this, and you can’t escape me after this. Tell me, Tillie, have you ever dreamed of your ass getting fucked?” Cruz chuckles just as he starts carving something into my shoulder blade.
My screams aren’t screams anymore, they’re howling prayers for the devil to come already and take my battered soul away. After some point he stops carving my skin, breathing heavily on top of me and giggling like a schoolgirl when the rest of the men clap in loud applause at his artwork. Every breath is like my last but it stops altogether when something hard touches between the line of my butt cheeks, somewhere a girl my age considers forbidden. Searing, unbelievable pain is all I can feel after that. A small, quiet voice reaches me and it makes me jolt as I realize it’s me repeating the same thing over and over out loud.
“Please, God, let it end. Just let it end.”
I must have blacked out at some point or I could have been wide awake the whole time but not really seeing anything because once again I’m staring up at that crooked nail. The sound of the basement door slamming shut with their echoing laughs makes my cold, stiff body start to shake as reality comes back like a splash of cold water. I wish it didn’t. My mind is broken, beyond repair, and any innocence I possessed is long gone.
Laying here in the dark shivering, my body feels like it’s made of stone and lead. Bleeding from wounds that have long healed over, buried so deep inside my soul that even I don’t want to look but they seem to keep deeply cutting open.Filthy, dirty, never clean,keep repeating through my head as the semen between my thighs and every exposed part of my body starts to dry. I wish I could scrub it away with bleach, and as much as I try, tears can’t form in my eyes. I’m all cried out and everything is numb inside until it comes crashing down as I try to sit up with a groan. I catch myself on my palms, my arms trembling and everything is blurry as if looking through a haze of smoke. My body jolts with a cry escaping my mouth when a hand lands on my shoulder but the weak, pathetic cry cuts off when I notice the sweetbutt crouched in front of me, eyes filled with rage and pity. Doris. She is like the mother hen of sweetbutts for the club, been around for years, and yet never once tried to leave. Maybe she has no place else to go like me.
“I have you, Tillie, I’m going to help you up and we’re going to take one step at a time. When we walk out that door, don’t you dare look down, and chin up no matter what happens. Don’t give them that fear and each painful step will give you strength.” She puts her arm around my waist and helps me towards the door, not once grimacing as I cry out with each shuffle of my feet.
I can’t go through that door, monsters wait for me in leather vests. Blaring music comes from the other side of that steel door, sweetbutts getting dicks wet even with my smear of blood still coating club members' dicks, like it’s a normal Saturday night. But it’s not a regular day for me, it’s the day I lost one part of me I thought I would be able to give away when I was ready.
Ripped away.
Torn.
Just gone.
Bikers wait for me to do a walk of shame I have no control over with excited breaths that will just grow deeper as they take in their masterpiece of work.
“One day you’ll get out of this hell hole. I’m going to help you soar so high that the only thing these bastards will see is the faint glint of your wings just as they kiss the sun. It’s so close, I just need you to wait a little bit longer. I’m going to teach you what it takes to bring a man to his knees and have him crawling. Those who are patient, waiting to receive the sweetest revenge, are the ones who send the hounds from the depths of hell at their heels and see the world burning around you as a smile blooms on your face,” Doris says in a hard voice, making me want to believe that not everything is shadowed in black and one day I'll see more than what is in front of me now.
She opens the door to the stairs, a sealed tight promise clear in every word, but the thing about promises is that they don’t last forever.
The question is… do I stand tall or fall to my knees until I have nothing left to give anymore?
Tillie
You would think that I would get used to the music, the lights, the smell of spilled alcohol seeping through the dirty linoleum floors, and smoke lingering in the air, but I never do. The smell still turns my stomach with each small inhale. Luckily for me, the color of flashing strobe lights across my face blind me from seeing anything beyond the stage, making it almost bearable, and blocking out the view of eager men sitting before me. Hoots and drunken clapping fill the space as dollar bills fall onto the stage like confetti just as I jump up and grip the pole near the top with both hands to perform a fireman spin. The back of my right leg clenches the shiny, slippery metal as I swirl around seductively. My calf muscle burns from the grip I have on the pole as I descend to the stage floor, my neck arched back and my hair almost grazing the floor when I slide down slowly.
Just as Cardi B sings through the speakers ‘Oh he’s so handsome what’s his name’,my long, slender legs touch the ground, ending the song in the splits, my seven-inch platform stilettos glittering in the lights. Sweat coats the back of my neck making my long, brown hair curl at the ends and all I can hear is the ringing in my ears, my chest heaving after that grand finale.
“That’s right, baby! Shake that ass!” Some random guy shouts, laughing when his friends make catcalls.
Faceless, drunken, rowdy strangers reach out to grab me with their filthy hands but I’m already heading towards the stage exit in a slow stride. The yearning to run always hits me hard after each time I’m on stage. If I broke into a jog, it would get me attention I don’t want or need. Sometimes I wish my body wasn’t curvy, that my five foot seven didn’t make my legs look shapely and long. That my body would have stopped growing mid-teens, instead of growing breasts that drew every guys’ eyes there, and a bubbly ass to make my Latina side stand out. Slightly big breasted, round ass, slender waist, and legs for days brought me attention I have never wanted. What it means to be a woman, the attention you get when you least want it.
Jimmy, the money grabbing sleazeball, comes out of the darkened corner left of the stage and has a broom in his hand to sweep up the rest of the flying dollar bills when I am finally able to step off the platform behind the curtain. I don’t bother collecting any of the money I’ve earned with my body. It all just goes to the Joker's club members, I never see a dime and am only allowed the necessary items, like for instance the skimpy outfit I’m wearing tonight or my tennis shoes that are being held together with duct tape. I’m basically on display, lined up under the lights like a meat market and it’s only a matter of time before I’m sold into the right greedy hands that Payne approves of.
My hands shake uncontrollably as I step into the dressing room and head right to the vanity just before my shaking legs collapse under me. I sit down on the small stool, staring at my reflection under the bright bulbs and grimace in the mirror at my caked face. Scrubbing viciously on one side of my face like I’m trying to peel a layer of skin away, I wipe the coats of foundation off that I’m demanded to wear. Seeing the stranger looking back at me, it’s me but it’s not. Who is the girl with one side of her face fresh, natural, and the other side hiding behind heavy coats of powder with red stained lips? I can’t let myself stare too long at my face because rage always consumes me without knowing who the hell I am. I see a girl with a heart shaped face, wide lips with a small indent in the middle, high cheekbones from her father's side along with a natural-born tan skin, smooth as whiskey, but littered from the neck down with deep scars inside and out. The worst of my scars that were inflicted onto my body over the years are now covered up with tattoos. Can’t have a girl roaming the school hallways with scars covering her body, too many people asking questions and it all comes back to me with a beating from dear old Dad.
Tattoos make more sense for someone like me because it’s expected with my background. Everyone at school knows where I come from, it doesn’t go unnoticed that I’m always surrounded by men in vests and bikes. It’s another reason why I don’t have friends. They go running in the other direction even when I keep my head down, fear stretched on their faces from being within walking distance of me. Appearing to be a normal girl during the day and stripper at night is like living with roommates. Bravo to Payne because he got what he wanted. A walking vessel with no one to turn to. My wide, dark brown eyes say one thing in the mirror when I look back at my reflection but they're screaming at me to run, to find a new life before it’s too late. Calling to me, telling me to just get up and leave, and never look back, but where would I go?
I’m so deep in thought, trying to find the girl who has a glimpse of something, anything, living inside her that I nearly jump out of my body when a hand grips my shoulder, jagged nails digging into my skin.
“A lady never shows her true face so put that fucking makeup back on.” Mom sneers down at me as she leans over my shoulder and grabs the tube of bright red lipstick, sitting down next to me on another stripper's vanity seat.
She grabs my chin forcefully and twists the lipstick cap off, forcing the tube of red back on my full lips with a trembling hand that shows signs of years of hard drug use as it eats away at her. She does the same thing, grabs foundation, swiping it across my face without looking me in the eye.
“Lorrie, I’m done for the night. I just put on my last show until next Tuesday. I have school in the morning.” My voice comes out calm and reasonable even though on the inside I’m scared like a newborn baby with its first thunderstorm.
Lorrie, Mom, the lady who birthed me is a cold hearted bitch who happens to be a snitch. She always has great pleasure when she reports back to my dad with every little thing I do, even though she would like nothing better than to pretend I don’t exist. It was bad enough when I was a kid, having to figure out how to survive on my own while she was snorting cocaine up her nose with the dollars she used to earn on stage.
