Chapter IV
4:16pm
After spending the entire morning napping with her son and almost all afternoon cleaning and tidying up the apartment while Noah played with his toys and watched his favourite cartoon - Curious George - to which she shamelessly enjoyed, she finally had a chance to sit.
Motherhood is hard as hell. Being a single mom is even more difficult. At least to Erin it is. She didn't expect it to this difficult.
She knows there are plenty of single moms who manages to do it all by themselves and do it perfectly but for Erin, she's threading on thin ice.
She's doing it alone for what was designed to be a two-person job. Working two jobs, cooking their meals - mostly Noah's - since she hardly ever eats and when she does, it's always just toast (because she's - she doesn't want to say ... lazy, but that's an accurate depiction), cleaning, looking after Noah - performing her duties and responsibilities as a mother in the best way she knows - and the cycle repeats itself.
At times, she feels as though she's trapped underneath a mountain of responsibilities that wouldn't allow her to invest in anything else but being a mother.
She needs to feel loved again, she craved to be loved. She wants to find her great love, her companion for life but she can't; she's afraid of bringing strangers into Noah's life, afraid of people rejecting her because she has a child, afraid of giving Noah false hope of a father, she's afraid of sharing him with anyone else. She wants her son all to herself.
She feels guilty that she has to bring Noah up this way, as a single parent. Every child deserves to have two parents.
Look what Bunny's single parenting had done to her!
She have tried, god knows how hard she've tried to give him everything he needs but sometimes, that's just not enough.
She often finds herself feeling physically, emotionally and spiritually worn out. And she's certain Noah noticed it too. No wonder he hates being with her.
She would hate being with a Debbie Downer too.
All she has to do right now was to clean up the mess he've made. If clanging and throwing toys across the apartment and biting every toy he could get his hands on was called playing, he, sure as hell, had done a superb job.
But it's ok. She've learned to take a breather.
He's just overly excited, which was good since he's hardly happy at home.
He's also learning new things every single day, processing fascinating stories and information, it excites her to watch him figure out the world.
He's a genius.
She's certain he's the smartest baby on the planet. She've never seen a baby who spends most of their time with a book, flipping through pages with their chunky little fingers like Noah does. He loves to read. In other words, he loves to force her to read to him.
"Mama. Mama." he would hold his favourite book in his tiny hands, either crawling or stumbling on his chubby legs before handing her the book, signalling her that it's story time.
He would gurgle and coo for her to read for him. And, sometimes, scream and squeal when she wouldn't listen. Leaving her no choice but to.
But when she's extremely tired, she would completely ignore his pleas. She knows she shouldn't but after a long night at work, sometimes all she wants was to sleep forever. It's as simple as that.
One day, she'll regret it. Sooner or later, he'll learn to read by himself. It's then that she'll want to read to him. She'll miss these moments.
So here she is, having just realised her baby had fallen asleep on her lap with his thumb in his mouth. She had been so immersed in the witty story that she had completely blocked out her surroundings.
Holding him close to her chest, his head falling onto her shoulder, she slowly got up from the couch before gliding down the hall to their room. She walked quietly, not wanting to startle him since he had just fallen asleep and not to mention, he've been on his best behaviour today. He hasn't even cried yet, which was odd as ever since he was born, he have done nothing but cry.
Erin laid down on her bed and placed Noah next to her, wrapping him up in a warm blanket. Since the heater still wasn't functioning, they both had no choice but to sacrifice another day.
With what had happened this morning, she was too scared to leave the house today. Hence, she hadn't left the house to pay any bills like she had planned to.
She's two months behind on rent, she still hadn't paid this month's water and electricity bills nor did she pay for a plumber to fix the heater. And now, she had to buy herself a new cellphone. Another added cost to her bills.
Great!
Sighing, scared or not, she has to hit the streets again tonight. She doesn't really have a choice.
How else was she going to earn money?
She propped herself on her side looking at the perfect baby boy next to her.
What if she had gotten hurt?
What if he had murdered her? Or raped her? Or both?
She would be gone forever.
What would have happened to Noah then?
There's no way in hell she'll ever entrust Bunny in taking care of her son, even if she's family.
No way. Over her dead body.
Bunny could hardly even take care of her own kids.
Brushing the few strands of caramel hair that had fallen onto his forehead, this isn't the kind of things she would want to think about. She would like to think about vacation, taking Noah to Disneyland or somewhere hot and sunny. But in her line of work, it's only fair that she thinks of the 'what if' since any day she could be walking right into a trap.
Just glancing at his face calmed her.
Whenever her baby's relaxed, she's relaxed too. He looks so peaceful, his face void of stress.
She knows every mother says this about their baby but he truly is one handsome boy. Everyone says so too.
Her heart seized as she stared at her creation. His deep dimples, his long dark lashes, his chubby cheeks, his light blue eyes that were now hidden by his closed lids, she can't help but think that he doesn't look much like her, though everyone insisted that he does.
His features were different, only the hair colour and those deep dimples resembled her. Her eyes were green, almost hazel whereas his were a shade of light hollow blue.
Erin brushed through his strands, wiping away a fat tear that threatened to fall on his face. Erin laid back down, pulling Noah even closer to her and inhaled his comforting smell of baby shampoo.
It's just them against the world.
She doesn't want him to ever grow up. She wants him to stay young and innocent forever. That was one of her greatest fears in life. She feared the kind of man he'll turn out to be.
She doesn't want him to be a criminal or a wife beater.
She's wants him to be a feminist, to know what's right from wrong, to respect one and other, to treat people how he would like to be treated.
But that has to start with her.
She can't be a hypocrite.
She has to first learn to respect herself, to love herself enough to know that the lifestyle she's living at the moment isn't going to be a good influence on Noah's future.
How is she going to preach about respect and dignity when she's allowing men to toss her around like a joint?
4:46pm
After spending the entire rest of the morning with the District's sketch artist, describing every inch of her face to the artist as best as he could remember, they had an exact match from the database and had finally gotten a name. She's no longer Jane Doe.
He remembered her like it was yesterday since, in some ways, it was yesterday that he saw her; in his head. She have never left his mind. She have been there, at the back of his mind, for the past month or so.
As creepy as it may sound, he remembered everything about her face, from every lines that made up her beauty to the bruise under her left eye. Her dimples as she smiled, every crinkle on her face and even the beauty mark that rested below her right eye on her cheekbone had been etched into his brain.
But why?
Why does he feel like he the urge to protect her?
She's merely a stranger whom he had a conversation with that lasted less than a minute.
Just thinking of that bruise made his blood boil, someone was hurting her.
He have been feeling as though the walls were closing in ever since he had finally put a name to that stranger.
He's panicking inside. He wants to help her but he doesn't know how or where she is.
As he studied her file, reading through every arrest report and statements back to back, he had practically memorised it. He now felt like he knew her. He felt as if he've known her for years already.
She had been reduced to a typical troubled teen.
Erin Lindsay
8th July, 19xx
24
A serial juvenile offender, typical teenage offences.
Possession of a Controlled Substance
Possession of Alcohol Under the Legal Age
Possession of Marijuana
Simple Battery
Shoplifting
Her last offence was seven years ago of another battery charge which, to him, indicated that she had gone down the right path in life, stayed out of trouble and had gotten help for her anger issues. He was happy that she found a silver lining. She looked to be a somewhat friendly woman when he had bumped into her.
She's alive, that's all that really mattered at this point.
5:51pm
Having spent the last two hours driving through streets after streets at the neighbourhood where he had bumped into her, every store, bar and restaurant near and around Morgan Street said that they did not recognise her.
As instructed by Voight, Jay and Adam were now canvassing the area Jay had last seen Erin Lindsay. It was a long shot of finding her this way, a possibility of one in a a million.
Intelligence had to find her since she probably saw the killer's face, she had witnessed Emily Kmetko's murder and they needed her for her statement, possibly ID the killer so they could get on with their lives.
Everyone at the Unit had thought he was crazy for worrying too much about a girl he barely knew or saw. He's driving himself crazy by every waking hour. But he has to find her, even if it will take him days, he won't rest until he does.
He doesn't know if she felt it too but he felt a connection that day. He felt a spark ignited the second he laid eyes on her. Maybe this was his fate, to help her stop whomever was hurting her.
Since no one has ever seen her at Morgan Street, they might as well head to another street.
5:56pm
"Hey. Think we should check out that bar?" Adam suggested, pointing at the dimly lighted pub across the street.
PODMoskovye
The second they walked into the almost empty bar, every single men and women in skintight dresses that were sitting by a tattered black wooden table, sticky with multiple layers of stale alcohol, stared at them. Dozens of piercing pairs of eyes were on the duo.
The bittersweet smell of hard liquor travelled straight up their nostrils and into their brain, so certain that even the slightest whiff could make them drunk.
By the manner in how they were staring at them, they were sure that they've already been made - they knew that they were the police.
It was like a bikers' pub, the only difference was that these fellas were Russians. A dead giveaway was the huge white, blue and red three-striped flag that was on display behind the bar and the now silent chatter of the Eastern European language.
Jay walked in cautiously and slowly, weary about his surroundings, watching as a man sneak out to the back.
She doesn't seem to be the type of girl who hangs with these big men.
But then again, what does he know?
Something about everything in this bar did not sit right with Jay.
"Not open." the bartender said sternly, wiping a glass with a washcloth.
The detectives flashed their alloyed badges, "We're looking for some information." Jay said.
"Don't know information." he said, his tongue curling in a thick Russian accent.
As he barely even glanced at the detectives, he continued on cleaning the tumblers and glasses that were sprawled out on the counter.
Jay huffed, it was clear to him that he did not want to help or get involved in any way. He understands; no one wants to get involved with cops. But not all cops were dirty, not all of them use underhand methods. He's a good cop. He likes to think he is.
He ran his hand down his face; it could be the frustration of the fact he still hasn't found her or the fatigue plagued by lack of sleep, he was so ready to draw out his gun and pull the trigger.
Adam stepped in, taking lead to keep Jay from lashing out in a bar filled with men twice their size. He was really taking this case personally.
"We're looking for a female, brown hair, green eyes, about 5'4''." he said, pulling out his phone before showing the bartender a picture. "Have you seen this woman?"
"No."
He had barely lifted his head.
Jay rolled his eyes and snickered. He's definitely testing his patience, "It's easier if you actually looked at it."
Jay was starting to get very annoyed.
The barkeep slammed the glass that he was trying to clean spotless onto the countertop, causing a few heads to turn and tiny gasps emitting from the women, whom were clearly hookers, at the establishment.
"You telling me I'm stupid! I don't look at no bitches! I serve drinks! If she come here, I don't know! I don't care! I do my job!" he shouted, leaning on the counter to get up close and personal with the equally pissed detective.
"Ok. Ok. Whoa..." Adam held his hand out, telling the other guys behind them to relax and seat back down, that they mean no harm, that they weren't here to cause any trouble. "Just calm down, alright...We're leaving, ok. You don't know her. We get it."
Adam wasn't stupid he knew the bartender knew more than he was admitting to.
Why else would he have such a reaction?
If he really don't know her, he wouldn't have blown up the way he did. He could've just said no.
Unlike Jay, who was ready to throw punches, Adam knows better than to also be a hothead. He knows that the both of them, alone, can't fight off a dozen not-so friendly giants.
"We're leaving."
Adam elbowed him but Jay continued to stare deathly the Russian.
"You might wanna have that license checked." Jay said before storming out of the bar.
11:18pm
"You're in my spot, pizda." Yasmine, one of the older girls, spat, her hands on her hips.
The tall amazonian Russian with a body to die for, glared down at Erin with her large brown eyes. Her eyes held an innocence that was almost childlike. No wonder the randy men in this club were so fond of her.
It was as if they could almost fulfil their sick fantasy.
Rolling her eyes, Erin simply went back to adding another coat of lip gloss on her red lips.
Her new tactic was to ignore. The six years she've been in this industry, up until she had Noah, were filled with drama, sabotage and meaningless fights. Half of the time, she don't even know what the fight was about.
She's too exhausted of taking their words to heart. Their words don't mean a thing to her anymore. She's here to work and that's it. They can say whatever they want about her, they are entitled to their own opinion as much as the next person, but she's not going to grant them the satisfaction of knowing that their words hurt that it had an affect on her.
She wasn't born yesterday, she knows what they've been saying behind her back; that she gets special treatment since Bunny, their boss, was her mother, that she gets all the good paying clients, that she's a dirty hoe, that she have slept with almost every men and women in Chicago.
You know, the normal catty stuff.
Old Erin would've started a fight, she would've thrown the first punch, she would've beaten up anyone and everyone who talked behind her back. But as time progressed, old Erin did as well, she realised she's just too old to be petty.
And Yasmine was no different. She has and will always be jealous of Erin. A couple of years older than her, Yasmine was deemed Double Dzz's number one dancer. That is until Erin came along. Erin was bringing in big money and suddenly she became relevant and good for business. And now Yasmine's thrown to second place.
Erin can't help it, it wasn't her fault why men were always requesting for Dandelion.
"Suka, blyad." she cursed under her breath and Erin still didn't feel the urge to punch her in the face.
She must have grown to be more mature.
Six years into this business and she still doesn't know why she haven't quit. It's easier said than done.
Well, this pays better than regular jobs and she has a mountain of debt that needs to be paid.
But wouldn't she want to be respected and dignified?
A job that doesn't require her to strip and twirl around a pole and sell herself for sex.
Wouldn't she want Noah to be proud of his mother?
She was also doing this for him. She wants to be able to give him everything he needs.
At twenty four, she feels like a senior citizen, she's too old to be doing for this. But this was all she knew and exposed to, this was all she had grown up with, this was the norm.
But maybe it was the fact that she's just tired. Tired of being tired all the time, tired of being passed around like a joint, she's tired of sex in general. She was certain if she did quit this job today and if she did find her Mr. Perfect, it wouldn't make a difference. She still won't ever have sex again. It wasn't that hated sex. It was because she was afraid of it being completely and utterly meaningless.
Somewhere deep down, she knew will never find someone who would change her for the better.
Somewhere deep down, she knew she will never be able to quit this job.
This was the only job a girl like her could have.
Her father, rest his soul, wouldn't want this life for his baby girl. If he was still here, she knows she wouldn't be living this life.
Erin examined herself in the mirror, she's no longer Erin Lindsay but Dandelion instead.
At least for the night and early morning.
She doesn't know whether or not she should like this persona, Dandelion.
Dandelion does things that Erin cannot.
Dandelion is much prettier than Erin.
Dandelion is much sexier, confident and sluttier.
Being Dandelion can, in some ways, be eye opening. She sees things most people don't see. On the contrary to popular belief of men being a sweaty, hormonal mess when they bought her for the night, sometimes, thirty-nine percent of the time, they're just lost. They just want someone to vent to, to talk to, about their life, wife, kids, job, etc. If anything, she's just like a therapist. Only cheaper.
Sixty-one percent of the time, they just want her for the sex. And that was what Dandelion's for.
11:53pm
Two lap dances and four hundred one dollar bills later, she still has the energy for a few more rounds.
She should since the night's going so well for her. A few more spins on the pole then she would be making over a thousand dollars tonight.
It's almost twelve and Dandelion's ready for her second dance. The music was pumping, the crowd were cheering and screaming; tonight was huge for Double Dzz. Other than the fact being it Sunday, a bachelor party was taking place.
After this, she's hitting the streets to compensate for the clients she bailed on this morning. This time she knows better than to go through Garfield Park.
As she stood backstage, waiting for Dandelion to be called out, she thought about calling Annie to check up on Noah. But then, she remembered that her phone was broken.
She sighed and looked over at herself one more time. There was nothing modest about Dandelion. She left nothing to the imagination.
Her heels were an inch higher, her goodies were pushed up twice as much, her shirt was almost transparent and her skirt rested just under her butt cheeks.
Rubbing her bruised wrist that the cabbie had so kindly left, it was now in a deep shade of purple and was tender to touch. There was nothing she could do to conceal it, this bruise was one that she can't hide.
"Want one?" Amy, a kind young blood, held out a shot glass containing a clear substance.
Erin willingly took it. Downing it in one go, shaking her body as she slammed it back to Amy.
She needed that.
She needed liquid courage.
12:00am
"Our number one Double Dzz Doll, Dandelion!"
Taking a deep breath, she took a step towards the curtain but just as she was about to strut the catwalk, Bunny grabbed her by the arm. "Erin, Misha wants to see you."
"Why? It's my turn up. Can't this wait?"
"You know Misha, he doesn't like waiting."
"Seriously, Bunny." she rolled her eyes at her boss/mother, who looked oddly unfazed by her reaction. Normally, she would scold her for her disrespect but tonight, she's too quiet.
Sighing, she walk back to the dressing room to grab a sweater, not wanting to be too exposed in front of the owner, and reluctantly walked to his office amidst the booing of the crowd.
When Misha asks to see him in his office, it can only be one of two things; it's either good or bad. It can never be somewhere in between. And it's always bad. That was why she don't get on his bad side, she don't talk to him, don't interact with him or even look at him.
Her heart pounded harshly in her chest. The last time she was in his office, it didn't end well. For her mostly.
She hates him.
He ruined their life.
.
The nightmare happened again, only this time, she wasn't sleeping.
She was locked in her room, curled in a corner with her arms wrapped around her knees, her cheeks against them as she tried desperately to cover her ears with her hands.
As much as she tried to block out the horrible screams coming from downstairs, she just couldn't. It was so loud, so deathly that it sent shivers down her spine.
She wanted to do something. She wanted to help but she was scared.
She didn't know what to do or how she could've helped. She would've just made the situation much worse than it already is.
"Misha, please stop!" she heard her mother beg her newly wedded husband of three months.
After months and months of dating, her mother had said yes to his proposal.
Of course she did.
But then again, she too was excited for him to be her father. He was nice, caring and loving. She was happy to have someone to call dad again. After her father had died, it was just her and her mother.
Misha would take them out for meals - breakfast, lunch and dinner - vacations and even Disneyland.
And of course, that sealed the deal for an eleven year old.
He was the only boyfriend that her mother brought home that was decent, who actually cared about family, who bought her gifts.
Or so she thought.
Three months ago was when everything went downhill. She doesn't know what it was or what made him this way but it was like he was a whole different person.
It didn't happen overnight, he didn't just snap and became the devil. He slowly showed his true colours with a few nasty comments here and there, a little shoving once in a while, a slap every once in a full moon. But now, this, it was too much, too much hurt for them to take.
He, Mikhail ''Misha'' Vetrov, was no longer was the nice and caring man that her mother had once married.
He's a cold blooded violent abuser who takes pleasure in beating his helpless wife and stepdaughter senseless. He beats as though he couldn't hear any of their imploring requests.
It was then, with a deep shaky breath, that she got the courage to open the door to her bedroom and grab a field hockey stick that was in her room.
Field hockey was the one sport that she loved. It was the one thing that she could immerse herself in and forget whatever horror that had happened at home.
Holding the stick tightly above her head, "If you don't stop hurting my mother...I, I will kill you..." she stuttered with zero conviction in her voice.
He was dragging her mother across the kitchen by the hair.
Her face twisting into a painful sob at the sight of her mother. Her heart was racing in the confines of her chest; she was frozen in terror.
What could an eleven year old do to fight a grown man who's thrice her size and age?
She doesn't know who this man was anymore.
Her mother had always had a thing for guys with accents and it was always the Europeans that caught her heart.
This man was no different, an immigrant from Russia.
It was horrifying for her to have to speak to him in this way because she knew he had way more strength than her. At 6'5", he weighed a little over two hundred pounds, of which were mostly muscles. He could knock her out in a blink of an eye.
He laughed menacingly at her, "You, little girl, threatening me?"
He turned to face her. The irony in his voice was evident. The smell of vodka from his breath was disturbingly strong.
She looked at her mother, lying there; on the kitchen floor, with healing bruises all over her face and fresh ones forming around her right eye, a bleeding nose and a split lip.
This was it. He's going to kill them tonight.
"What are you going to do, huh? Hit me with that piece of shit?" he paused, looked at Bunny and then back at her. "You know very well that what coming next will be much worse. Much much worse, Erin. So go, go ahead hit me."
She trembled and tears stung her eyes, only because she knew she had brought what was about to happen upon herself.
How can someone change so much?
What if he was never a nice man?
What if he was just using them?
But what for?
They didn't even have much.
Standing idly with her shaky legs, she glanced back and forth between her mother and stepfather.
If only her father hadn't died.
"Erin, go to your room!" her mother shouted.
"No. Don't, Erin."
He got up from where he was on the kitchen floor and she took a step back, she took another and another and another until she felt the cold wall against her back.
She's trapped.
She whimpered when he snatched the hockey stick from her.
"Ungrateful dermo!" he grabbed fistful of her long caramel hair and slammed her head against the solid concrete wall.
A stream of warm, red liquid ran down her face but she did not cry. Knowing full well that this was her fault.
Her eyes pleaded at her mother to do something, to stop him like she had, but her mother just sat there as if she didn't care, as if she was glad that he was beating her for a change.
That was the beginning, the catalyst of all the agonies in her life.
Almost thirteen years ago.
.
"You wanna see me?" she stated coldly as she crossed her arms, slowly walking into his office.
Looking up at her, she can see that he was sizing her, licking his lips at the view before him. She averted her gaze to look out the window.
Pervert.
He's a horrible man.
"Have a seat." he said, getting up from his and walking behind her as she took a seat on one of the chairs.
She heard the click of the lock on the door echo, indicating her that she's trapped in this box.
She's scared.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, "What am I doing here?" she asked, sounding calmer than she really felt inside.
He slowly made his way over to his desk, still he haven't said a word, the heels of his boots scuffing on the linoleum.
He sat on the edge of his desk crossing his arms and stared down at her for what seemed like forever. "You wanna tell me why the police are looking for you." his thick Russian accent seethed.
Looking down at her lap, fear ran up her spine, the colour from her face disappeared, making her look even more pale under the paint she had on.
She parted her lips as if she was about to say something but nothing seemed to be coming out of her mouth. With his nostrils flaring and fists clenching, she knows he's beyond angry.
"I, I, don't know. I swear I don't know." she shook her head fiercely as she looked up at him with pleading eyes.
This 'meeting' was about to go south really quickly.
Nothing good ever happens at Misha's office.
"You lying bitch!" he spat as he harshly backhanded her left cheek.
She let out a pitiful cry, the pain radiating against her skull as she landed hard on her side along with the heavy chair that had toppled over her. With a hand to her stinging cheek, she shook away the stars that threaten her to a haze.
12:09am
She knows not to scream as he continued with his painful kicks to her abdomen, it will only get worse. She knows not to scream because this has happened so many times before.
Anyway, with the music blaring so loud, no one could ever hear her screaming.
With every kick and every punch, she braced herself for the next. With every blood that he drew, she begged for her stepfather to stop, pleading for him to listen to her, that she had no idea why the police were looking for her.
Though she knew, she wasn't going to let him know that. She knew it was because of what she had witnessed. She had an inkling that it was because of that. But they were so quick, too quick to find her. She didn't even left her name.
How could they have known it was her?
It'll only be a matter of time before they show up at her doorstep.
"Misha, please please stop!"
She lay on the ground, clutching her stomach. Aches and pains were radiating throughout her body as he continued his assault. Blood was seeping out of her mouth and nose. Her make up was smudged and smeared all over her face.
She's no longer Dandelion. She's back to her real self, Erin.
"Don't lie to me! You've been talking to the police, blyat!" he yelled, snatching her harshly by her hair and slamming her back against the wall over and over again. Knocking oxygen right out of her lungs with every blow.
"Why else would they come to the bar and looking for you?! Huh?! Answer me!"
She shook her head; she don't know.
She didn't even try to fight him, she couldn't. She didn't even look at him, she's too weak, too scared. She can't help but cry out loud instead.
"I should kill you!"
Closing her eyes, she wished he would.
She let out whimper when she felt his thick fingers jag at her throat, choking her.
"I should kill you!"
That was the one thing he always say but never seem to follow through.
"You know better than to talk to cops, Erin! You threatening my business!"
His grip grew tighter around her neck. She can feel the blood trickling down her face as she gasped for air.
She knew what he was talking about; his 'business' that he conducts behind the closed doors of this strip club and the bar he owns on the west side. But if only he knew that the police couldn't care less about his 'business'.
"Pizda!"
He let go of her and she found herself struggling for air, slumping down to the ground as her knees gave out, curling herself into a corner. Tears fell in torrents and she buried her face in her hands as she choked on sobs.
She heard the distinctive sound, the sound she hated, the sound she heard one too many time; the sound of his zipper and belt.
She felt like she was that helpless fourteen year old again.
"Lozhis na krovat." he sneered and she did as she was told and laid on the flimsy mattress.
But he doesn't seem to be satisfied with that, because he roughly turned her around, hard enough for her to make a pained gasping sound, and shoving her face down.
Before she can react, he was a weight crushing on top of her. She tried to swallow but her throat always feels tight - always feels paralysed when hands are pushing her face down.
One hand dug into her back, the other reaching between her legs and sliding into her panties. She doesn't move; she never moves as he ruts against her lower back and biting flesh that must be her shoulder, clawing at her body.
She's hardly thinking right now.
She doesn't do anything to resist, to cooperate. She had learned it the hard way.
She's weak as a geese. She's not as strong and confident as she makes herself out to be. She bit her lip. One might think she would've gotten used to this by now, considering her profession.
But all the same, shame crushed her lungs and she gasped for air. She couldn't get herself to open her eyes and see that it was her stepfather; not wanting to look into his familiar light blue irises.