Confessions of a Catholic Prostitute
Casey's behind the scenes tell all.
Rating for sexually explicit and violent content including domestic abuse and rape.
This is my story. It's not the story you think you know or even the story you want to know. It's the truth, and I live with it every day. I live with everything I've done and haven't done, all of the missed opportunities and the darkness and the light. I live with the love and the hate, the one night stands screaming his name from my skin. It's such a vivid memory, all of it, that I don't understand how people could ever forget, how they keep telling me I can move on one day. I may keep going. I may even move forward, but my choices, these choices, shaped the path offered to me. The world is not limitless to anyone once they are born. Even before they are born. I know that now. You can't do anything. Your options are limited, and I've only limited mine more. You aren't going to like this, but I'm going to tell it anyway. I'm not going to start by apologizing or asking you to understand. If, at the end of this, you hate me, I understand. If, at the end of this, you don't understand, I understand. I understand because I hate me. I don't understand. But, it's my story. And, it's what I have to hold on to.
The night started on the wrong note. It started badly, and I knew it. I knew it when the District Attorney called me into his office, when he shut the door behind me, smile plastered on his face. DA Branch did not smile. Not like that. That was his bad news smile, the smile he gave to ADAs that were more likely to quit than continue. And, I thought, I will not quit. I will not turn my back on justice, even if it is only white collar justice. Of course, years in white collar didn't mean anything in the wake of Alexandra Cabot's death. A fellow ADA had been shot, and we all knew someone had to take her place, her unit. Sex crimes was something we all shied away from. Even Cabot hadn't embraced it, though we had all noticed her passion as time wore on. And anger. She might as well have been prosecuting homicide. She was so angry. I couldn't be like that. Could I?
I barely heard Branch as he announced his decision to put me in her shoes, to make me walk that path. It was that path that had gotten her killed. That didn't mean that other crimes hadn't killed other ADAs. I'd met one a year back who was shot on a bike path the night after I met him. He would have survived if someone had found him, but no one ran that path at two in the morning, not even in New York City. I liked white collar very much. Most of the defendants on my docket didn't try to kill me. We negotiated whether or not they got to keep their diet in prison for an extra fee on their part. In comparison to what the violent crimes dockets did, white collar was a joke. I liked my joke. I liked it very much. But, I was not senior enough to veto Branch. Only a select few ADAs were. And, of course, McCoy, the DDA, but he had his own rights with a political rank. Me? I was, am, just a peon, a pawn in the great political game.
I'd left the office late, trying to close up as much as I could with the cases I was on. It wasn't as though it would be difficult for someone to step in and take over. White collar is both easy and difficult. They're all the same, and most end in plea bargains. I hadn't seen trial in over two months which, by New York standards, was a long time. I couldn't help but shake the feeling that Branch was punishing me for that, so I stayed. I worked that last little bit. I cried. I never cry, but as I sat staring at my computer, I cried. Not loud. Not dramatic. I just felt like I was about to lose something inside of me, some sort of innocence. I couldn't avoid the demons of the world anymore. I would be pursuing them. More than anything, that scared me. That scared me because I knew about demons.
The down side about leaving the office so late meant I was home much later than I was normally. It was nearly eight when I walked through the front door to the apartment complex I lived in in midtown. I could afford an uptown apartment, yes. My salary was exceptional for a public servant. I didn't have family money. My mother had been a stay at home mom and substitute middle school teacher. My father had been in the military. I admired them both for it, but I had been on my own in amassing what wealth I had. Still, I had chosen midtown. It was closer to work, and I refused to buy a car. I lived in New York City. No one needed a car here. That didn't stop the traffic from backing up for miles, but no one needed a car. I was a bit of a one girl environmental campaign. I was losing to pollution, but I was trying.
"Casey." One of the women in my building was headed out for the night. My head snapped up. I swore she was into clubbing too much for her own good, but she was like me. She had a high paying job and lived in midtown. She could afford to go clubbing every night without batting an eye. I offered her a tired smile. "Come out with me tonight, Casey," she pleaded.
"I can't, Jenna. I'm already late getting in. I just want a hot bath and to go to sleep." I switched hands with my briefcase. It was empty tonight. I started with Manhattan's Special Victims Unit the following morning and had no case files to read over the night. I felt a pang of fear choke my throat and tried to smile through it.
Jenna frowned, pushing her blond hair back behind her ears. "Come out, Casey. One night. One night to be free." It was a familiar plea. It should be mentioned that Jenna lived below me, her bedroom directly below mine with a connecting heating unit. I could hear nearly everything that happened in her bedroom above a certain volume. She could hear everything in mine. Sometimes, I wondered why she went out every night. I am not loud during sex. I am quite the opposite if it's good. If I have to pretend, it's loud. Men seem to equate loud with good. I never did understand that.
She held her hand out to me, but I turned toward the stairs. "Another night, Jenna."
"You'll be dead soon," Jenna answered, her voice quiet, face sad. I smiled at her like I hadn't heard it. I wanted to tell her she wasn't psychic, but no gifts of prophecy were needed. Like I said, I knew a lot about demons.
I was barely through the front door which had been left unlocked despite me locking it on my way out the door in the morning. "David, I'm home," I called to the man who currently shared my bed. For him, I was loud.
"Casey, thank God." His voice met me with a strange sound to it, halfway between worry and anger. I rounded into the kitchen to see a young police officer standing with him, his pen still resting on the paper. "When I couldn't get a hold of you by cell or at the office, I panicked." He hugged me. I let him, still watching the officer.
"I'm okay, David. I stayed at the office late, working. I, uh, I got a promotion of sorts. More work." Technically, it was a promotion. I just liked my smaller station in white collar. "Sorry I didn't call. I didn't mean to worry you." I realized I hadn't taken my eyes off the officer. Shaking my head, I set my briefcase down on the floor near the kitchen table. "I'm sorry to have disturbed your shift, Officer."
"Not a problem, Ma'am. Just glad you're safe." He tipped his hat and left, his eyes still on me. I knew what he was thinking. I had attended the same lecture. Controlling, abusive men keep tabs this closely on their partners. Normal men don't get that worried. I just smiled.
The door barely shut when I felt the hand over my mouth. I had known he would be mad. I nearly took Jenna up on her offer. "You made me look like a fool, Casey."
I pulled away from him and locked the door, locked the police out. Locked me in. "David, I'm sorry. It's been a hell of a day."
He frowned. "You say you got a promotion."
"Of sorts." I frowned. Would a demon want me pursuing demons? I didn't know. He didn't see himself as evil. I was the fool even though I knew better. Why did I stay again? "Starting tomorrow, I'll be working sex crimes."
"Sex crimes?" he questioned. "Isn't that the unit whose prosecutor was just killed?" I nodded slowly, not sure where he was taking this. "Great, my girlfriend is taking a promotion that's going to get her killed."
"That was a freak case, David," I argued, "She prosecuted hundreds of cases before that."
He had moved forward and I had moved back without noticing it. It put my back flush up against the wall, his hand firmly beside my face. I swallowed. "All the same," he growled, "You're not taking it. It's bad enough that you walk home from work in the dark. You're telling your boss tomorrow you refuse."
I shook my head. He implied that the dark was when the monsters came to play. The monsters played in the daylight, too. We were just happier to ignore them. "I can't, David. I wasn't given a choice. Besides, I wouldn't tell him no." Maybe I was just being defiant. If I could have told Branch no, I would have. I did not want this change.
But, I didn't have time to take that back and explain to David that my heart was breaking about leaving white collar. If I could have, I would have stayed. But, I didn't have the time. My face was always an open hand, a slap. Bruises in visible places meant it was more obvious that I was living with just such a monster. The force was hard enough to send my face to the side, though, pivoting on my neck until my opposite cheek hit the wall. The hairs on his arms brushed my mouth. "David," I whispered against his arm. "Please, don't. Please. I'm sorry."
I didn't know what I was sorry for. I was sorry for staying, for being too afraid to throw him out. The apartment was in my name. He didn't split the rent with me. I had an income. I had the means to survive without him. I could get the locks changed. I could. My eyes caught the medals he'd hung over the bureau in the living room, the Marine Corps hat, shined and cleaned with pride. My father had been so happy when I had brought home a military man. So happy until I said he was a Marine. Then, the frown had played over his face. My father was an army man, but he did not seem thrilled with the Marines for more than just a friendly rivalry. He never said why, though. Now, I knew.
In battle, some Marines were fantastic. They fought for this country tooth and nail, not like humans, not with regret. At home, if they didn't know how to turn that feature off, they brought that animalistic drive with them. David didn't have the switch. I had left him once. He had nearly killed me. I had changed the locks. I had told the landlord he was persona non grata. That hadn't stopped him just after midnight from breaking in to my bedroom through the window.
The second blow drew me back from the memory. He grabbed my shoulders and shook me. "Are you even fucking listening to yourself? Compose yourself, Casey. You're fucking worthless."
I had been mumbling pleas. I never remembered doing it, but I knew it was what I had been doing. It was standard. Just like indictment follows arraignment, I began to beg with the first strike. "David, stop. You're hurting me."
That had been the wrong thing to say. He picked me up and threw me on the couch. Only a few inches taller than me, pound for pound, David was always much stronger. I am not cut out for the military. I'm a good softball player, but I am not a fighter. I am not physically strong enough. I panic. I don't fight back. I freeze up. Sometimes, if I'm lucky, I remember to run. I've never remembered to grab the softball bat in the closet. If I fought back, I wonder if he would stop or if he would kill me. My head cracked on the arm of the couch. He had thrown me hard enough that the momentum pushed me through to the wood supporting the arm.
He was on top of me, legs straddling my hips as his hands closed on my neck. "David, stop," I yelled, "I'm pregnant. Please, stop."
He did. I slammed my hands over my mouth. I couldn't believe I had just said that. I hadn't wanted to tell him. I had only found out that morning. I had taken two hours off work to go to the doctor. My physician had given me information for abortion clinics without even asking. I'm Catholic, but even I would not bring a child into this, assuming the baby would even survive the beatings. Of course, the doctor had known that the moment I lifted my shirt for the ultra sound. I had a black and blue ring around my hips, and nothing could explain that away as an accident. I was either into some really kinky sex or-
My revelation only stopped him for a few seconds. He recovered and grabbed my wrists, pulling my hands away from my face. "You're what?" he barked.
"Pregnant," I whispered, my eyes turning away from his face. The anger had been pushed back by the shock, but he would either return from that more angry or this baby would be my saving grace. I didn't know, and I was terrified. Thoughts of work fled my mind. I hadn't processed the baby yet. I hadn't been able to. I'd gone back to work numb with an appointment for an abortion already scheduled for the next week. I was already going to hell for premarital sex according to my mother. Why not add murder?
He tore my shirt off, ripping the buttons off. His hands touched my porcelain white stomach flecked with black, blue, green, and purple. "How far?" he asked, his voice still between anger and grace.
My heart was pounding in my throat. Talking around it was not easy, and it took me three tries to actually bring words out of my mouth that were sensible. "Six weeks," I whispered. He back tracked like I had done. There was no guarantee he was the father.
"Do you want it?" His voice was neutral. I couldn't tell what answer he wanted from me.
I was quiet for a while, too long, though, because he grabbed my throat and slammed me back down. Choking, I clawed at his hand. He held on. The blackness began to creep into my eyes. I was familiar with the sensation of blacking out, but I feared it every time. What if he forgot to let go when I passed out so I could breathe again? I pulled at his hand with mine, but I was gradually losing control over my own muscles. "Da-vid," I managed to crack out.
He let go. I coughed, sucking air in. It was not easy. He had moved his weight to my chest with his hands, leaning against me. "Answer me, Casey." There was warning to his voice. No matter what my answer would be, he would find away not to like it. I understood that with a wave of terror. I was trapped, and I was about to get seriously injured.
"Before I do, David, I have to be in front of a new squad tomorrow, a squad of detectives who know violence very intimately. Don't give them an excuse, David, please. No matter my mistakes-" I had been about to say more, but he shifted a knee under my ribs and pushed up. I cried out.
"Answer me," he said, "And, Casey, you know I hate repeating myself."
"Not like this, David. I don't want it like this. I don't want a baby like this." I was sobbing, barely able to catch my breath. "You put a gun to my head, David. You put a gun to my head and told me to have group sex with your friends after the game." He glared at me. His friends hadn't known about the gun, the death threat. I hadn't been willing. They hadn't known that. Only David. Only David knew, and he had captured my absolute humiliation on film. He hadn't been in the film. I don't think his friends had known about the camera, either. The three of them had just had fun fucking me, and there was no other way to describe it.
David had thrown me in the shower after they had left, rinsed me off and scrubbed until I bled. Then, he'd raped me. That, I could call rape. What he had done was rape. And, all because I'd turned him down a week prior to that and had fled to spend the night working in the office.
I was numb when he pushed me off the couch. I heard my body land but I didn't feel anything. "You fucking whore," he snapped, "You fucking whore."
I was panting, gasping for air, as I rose onto all fours. "Me?" I asked, "Me? You ass. You put a gun to my head. You said you'd kill me if I didn't do it. If I didn't fuck them all. I didn't want it. I didn't want to do that." I wrapped my anger around me. It drove the fear back like a blanket driving away the cold. His heel connected with my spine as he stomped me down, pushing me with his foot back to my stomach.
Somehow, I rolled out from under him. I pushed up and ran for the front door, my fingers working the lock as he grabbed the lamp off the side table, ripping the cord out of the wall. He may have had strength, but dammit if I didn't have short bursts of speed. Short bursts off speed to make the bases. I slammed into the stairwell so hard that I fell down it, scrambling to my feet once I hit the floor at the bottom. I broke out into the frigid air of the New York night swearing that I could feel his hot breath on my shoulders.