*****
I looked at the face in the mirror, it was me, but I was changed
*****
CHAPTER TWO
"Bittersweet Freedom"
Night soon rolled upon her. She had been driving for five hours,
not knowing where the hell she was going, but concluding that any
place was better then the one she left. The stars were out in vast
amounts, shinning like glittery diamonds in a silent ebony sky.
There was no one else on the road but her, and it both comforted
and scared her. She had been around strangers for so long she didn't
know if she could deal with people on the same level as she had before
her capture. The innocence had left her the same night of her virginity.
Now all there was a shell of her former self, filled with the horrific
reality that was her every waking moment for three prolonged years.
It had made her hard, unfeeling at times, and uncaring of her body,
so long as it held up enough to keep her alive.
The happy go lucky teen was dead. She had survived and escaped, but
now she was changed. And she had to live with those changes. The scenery
of rolling oak trees that had been planted in 2012 to 'rebuilt the forests'
receded, and the outline of buildings appeared on the horizon.
The car sputtered and jerked on the last mile before the first
sector check in Seattle. After turning over one last time, it
finally quit. She looked at the fuel gage. The needle was pointing
to the 'E' Swearing she climbed out of the car. She took a tentative
step forward. Muscles still ached, but the telltale trickle of blood
had stopped for now.
As she neared the sector check the guard at the gate eyed her
suspiciously "Need to see your pass."
"I don't have one," she informed, not making eye contact
with the man.
"Then you better get the hell outta here." he ordered "Cities
already full of dead beats." he shoved her in the direction she
just came from.
Surprising herself, she whipped around and shoved him back "I just
came from back there. I don't want to back track, I want to go
forward."
The guard was not happy. "I can't let you in without a pass kid."
he glowered at her.
"Come on" she sauntered up to him, putting the years of beaten
in lessons and practices of making men happy to good use "I don't
have a coat or anything, I'll freeze." she shivered to drive her
point home. "No one has to know." she slowly traced his arm with
one finger.
The guard's breathing hitched ever so slightly at her touch.
"I could get fired for this." despite his words, he raised the
orange and white-stripped barrier. "Get outta here."
She gave him a ten-megawatt smile, and walked into the city.
First impression, more poor then rich. They lined the streets.
Some residing on benches under newspapers, others huddled by fires
fueled by trash and fallen crates off of supply trucks. And still
more hiding in the shadows of crudely built shanties houses.
She roamed aimlessly through the road, catcalls and whistles
making themselves known all around her. She still had on the sheer,
barely there dress and stiletto heals her pimp had bought, and
demanded that she wear. She knew what they thought she was. She
continued her journey, the spikes of her shoes clicking on the
streets filled with pot holes and cracks from the years of acid
rain produced right after the Pulse.
She soon chanced upon some sort of open area market. Wooden booths
and makeshift tents lined the expanse. Only a hand full of people
meandered their way through the maze, in search of items that once
filled supermarkets, but now resided here.
She stepped into the labyrinth of decaying wood and plastic.
No one shot her a dirty look here, or even one that screamed
'gimmie'. They paid her no notice at all, ignoring everyone but
themselves. A stall in front of her displayed garments, simple
items like jeans, sweaters and t-shirts. The clothing change would
give her the transformation she needed.
Stepping up to the enclosure, she was greeted with the face of
a chubby Vietnamese man, who looked like he had seen better days.
"What can I help you with?" Despite his ragged, and worn looks, he
always cheered up at the prospect of impending business.
She selected some jeans, a sweater, and pair of cheaply made,
leather hiking boots, but they would be better then the agonizing
pain of stilettos.
The elderly man rang up the items, and calculated the
total:" $120.00"
She yanked out the hundred-dollar bill from her fading cream
wire framed bra. One customer had foolishly paid her for doing
'good work' after he left, and she had successfully hid it all
this time.
"I only have a hundred," she announced, showing him the wadded,
dirty currency.
Something flickered across the man's face, and he gazed at her
long and hard for a moment. "You look like a hooker, and I steer
clear from selling to them, but there's something about your eyes,
they look sad. Like you've been there and back." He snatched up the
hundred and put it in his dented and rusty cash box. Although she
was twenty dollars under the amount, he handed her change of fifty
dollars. "Half for the clothes. The rest you keep. Food will not buy
itself."
She didn't question her luck, and took the money and clothes,
heading back in the direction she came from. She started roaming
around, looking for a place that wasn't out in the open to change.
She had enough of undressing in front of people to last a lifetime.
An immense fruit storage crate seemed to suit her needs. The jeans
were slightly big, but they stayed on well enough to satisfy her.
After lacing up the last boot she stood up again. Reaching her full
height of 5'4 she felt strange. Constantly wearing two or three inch
heals day in and day out had made her forget how tall she actually
was. She crawled out from behind her makeshift dressing room and
headed back down the road.
Now people paid her little notice, just like at the market.
There were still the occasional "Hey baby" remarks, because she
had been told that she was an attractive girl, but not on the same
over done level as before. The white sweater helped warm her
chilled body, but she was still cold, and sore, and feared that
she would collapse out on the filthy streets if she didn't find a
place to rest soon.
An establishment directly in front of her seemed to boast of warmth,
and being a bar it also promoted drowning out your shit infested life
in alcohol. She headed into the building and sat down in a torn and
falling apart stool at the long wooden counter.
She shifted uncomfortably in the stool, missing the bar tender
approach her "Whatcha need?"
Her head whipped up to face a tall man, with deep green eyes.
Memories of the sandy haired man flashed in her mind, and she fought
the urge to run away screaming.
"Glass of whisky" she ordered, making eye contact for only a
brief moment.
The man quickly filled the order. He didn't even ask her age.
She easily could pass for nineteen, and in this day and age even
the little kids had reasons to drink and the bartenders wouldn't
have minded, if it meant more business.
Her drink was slid to her and it tapped the hand that had been resting
on the bar. "Four bucks."
She didn't look at him and shoved him the money. She sipped from
the glass, getting use to the taste of the alcohol, and then slammed
a third of it down. It tasted bitter and strong, but it fit her mood.
When she had been at home, she had been the good girl, staying out of drugs,
going to church, singing in the gospel choir. But that was before, her life
was to full of jagged edges and gray areas now. If her mother was here,
she would tell her not to drink, but she hadn't seen her mother in ages,
and this whisky helped take an edge off the pain.
Her senses became duller as the alcohol took affect, and she welcomed
the difference. The glass was soon emptied, and she remained seated,
feeling the lingering soreness of the abusiveness of the last customer.
Her thoughts wandered to her musical talent. She hadn't sang in forever.
Never being able to muster up enough strength to get the notes to
leave her lips. A song sprang unbidden to her mind, and the lyrics
tumbled out of her, as if on their own accord.
"My right hand holds matches
My left holds my past
I hope the wind catches
And burns it down fast
I'm gonna step into the fire
With my failures and my shame
And wave goodbye to yesterday
As I dance among the flames-"
Once she started signing her vocal cords made up for the years of
neglected use. Her tone was a deep, velvety rich soprano, changing
pitch during climatic moments with beautiful vibrato
"So don't try to save me now
Let the walls of my world all burn down
Just stand back and wail 'till the smoke finally passes
And I will rise
From the ashes
From the-"
"This isn't church!" a patron interrupted her song. "I like silence
when I'm plastered," he informed drunkardly. "Belt out that crap
somewhere else."
"Girl's gotta right to sing when she wants scuzz." an anonymous
voice pointed out. The voice belonged to that of a woman who
stepped out of shadows. She shot a scowl at the drunken patron and
took a seat at the empty stool beside the other girl.
"Locals here love dissin' anybody and everybody when they're tainted."
the woman informed. Her raven hair hung off her shoulders that were
covered in a nice, well worn, black leather jacket. "Don't take any
offense, they're dolts."
The black haired girl adapted a ghostlike smile on her face.
"Thanks for the tip."
"Another piece of 411." the woman went on "Your voice is awesome."
she complimented in all honesty "Almost shattered the mug at my
table." her chocolate brown eyes gazed into the girl's matching set
"A friend of mine wants to meet the artist behind the music." she
nudged her head in the direction of a woman seated with a group of
people in a far corner table "That is if you don't mind."
She looked over at the woman, who was locking eyes with her from
across the room. She was attractive, wearing a lime green sweater.
And although she wasn't a lesbian, this woman would be a possible
date if she were. The thought of sex and relationships with men
scared the shit out of her, but women were a relatively safe area.
They had been the prisoners, not the abusers. She turned to face
the woman beside her "Only if you don't mind me joining your party."
"It's not a party," the woman informed standing back up again,
and she did the same. "We're just a couple of worn out stiffs
taking a break from the rat race."
They reached their destination. "Guys," the woman addressed
her companions "I got the backstage pass and snagged the artist."
she looked at her female friend "Original Cindy this is-" she
broke off when she realized that she didn't know the girl's name.
"Cree." the other girl finished for her.
"You got a hell of a voice boo." 'Cindy' smiled at her, gesturing
for her to sit.
Cree sat in an empty chair, and the other woman resumed her seat
beside Cindy.
"I haven't used it much." Cree informed of Cindy's remark "Not
for a while." she reached for the pitcher of pale yellow beer
that was a fixture in the center of the table.
Max snagged the pitcher for her, kicking Sketchy under his seat
"Stop drooling, and hand me that empty glass beside you."
After he gave it to her, she poured the girl a generous amount
in the glass. "There may be such things as starving artists,
but as long as I'm around there'll never be a thirsty one."
Cree took the drink from her "Thanks." she sipped slowly,
wiping the foam off her top lip with a quick tongue.
"So Cree.." Sketchy looked at her "Did your parents want to
name you 'creek', but decided the hell with the 'K' at the end?"
Cree might be intimidated by men, but not this one "If that's
your pick up line for all the girls you meet, you probably can
count all your dates on one hand." she held up a closed fist in
the age-old mocking fashion of zero.
"Crash and burn." Cindy quoted looking at the other girl
"So-" she tried to strike up a new topic of conversation
"I haven't seen you in here before, so I'm guessin' you aren't
from around the area."
Cree didn't know what to say to that. The woman had spoken the truth,
but she had discovered that lying would deal you better hands then
honesty. "Just got in yesterday-" she started to spin a fictional
yarn "Got out of a real bad relationship with a guy who like to bang
my body up more then the gong, so I split." she took another sip of
her drink.
"Abuse be the work of de devil my sister." Herbal moralized, "It is
a good thing you got away from da source."
Cree didn't make eye contact with him, but responded "More then
you'll ever know."
The sound of a beeping pager cut through the air. Max looked at the
source of the noise clipped to her waist briefly, already knowing
who it was.
"Gotta connect with your squeeze?" Cindy asked, in more of a
statement then a question.
Max shot her friend a look, and stood up from the chair "Need to
take this." she left in search of a payphone.
"Didn't deny it this time." Cindy re-filled her glass, leaning
back in the chair.
"Maybe because you heckle her so much she developed some sort
of immunity." Sketchy diagnosed.
"Or she knows I'm right." Cindy returned
"I feel the love when my friends talk about me behind my back."
Max walked back over to the table.
Cindy ignored her remark, and went straight for open
territory "Bouncin' over to see him?"
Max glowered at her slightly. Logan had paged her, and when
she hit him back; he said he needed to see her. But, she knew
this would just add more fuel to the fire of an ongoing argument.
"Yea I am." she began, going for the old standby defense next
"And he's just a friend."
"Riight." Cindy drew out the middle syllable "And I'm going
straight tonight so me and Sketchy can kick it."
"I see possibility in that." Sketchy defended, ducking when Cindy
threw old sugar packets at him from the condiment tray.
"As much as I love debating this topic everyday of my life with
you all, I gotta blaze." Max stated, laying down a few bills to
cover her split on the tab.
"See ya at work tomorrow suga." Cindy said as a good-bye, as
Max left out the door.
"My boo sure loves waddin' in the river of Denial." Cindy turned
to Cree "The 411 on Max is-" Cindy began regaling the new comer
on her take of her girl's situation. "She's had it real bad for
the same guy for months, but always lays on it thick on the
'friend's aspect'"
"Good friend's are hard to come by." Cree argued "I'd rather
have a friend for life, then a lover who'll ditch me to screw
the next thing that crosses his path on two legs." there was
a tone of experience in her voice. It was a supposed 'lover'
or boyfriend, as her innocence use to call it that had baited
her into a trap at a restaurant three years ago. The presumed
'roll model' youth had gotten a cut of five hundred dollars to
sell her to a brothel.
"A philosopher be amongst us." Herbal smiled in Cree's direction.
Cree shrugged off his praising remark "Not a job that earns any
green." she was intimidated at first, but then managed to make
slight eye contact with Herbal "Do you know where there is one?"
Cindy laughed lightly "Suga, there's plenty of ligit work out
there, that is if you don't mind puttin' your ass to the grindstone."
"I'm not picky." Cree stated "I don't mind getting my hands dirty.
With me it's survival before living out my dream."
Sketchy leaned over at looked at her "Then we have the perfect
job for you."
I looked at the face in the mirror, it was me, but I was changed
*****
CHAPTER TWO
"Bittersweet Freedom"
Night soon rolled upon her. She had been driving for five hours,
not knowing where the hell she was going, but concluding that any
place was better then the one she left. The stars were out in vast
amounts, shinning like glittery diamonds in a silent ebony sky.
There was no one else on the road but her, and it both comforted
and scared her. She had been around strangers for so long she didn't
know if she could deal with people on the same level as she had before
her capture. The innocence had left her the same night of her virginity.
Now all there was a shell of her former self, filled with the horrific
reality that was her every waking moment for three prolonged years.
It had made her hard, unfeeling at times, and uncaring of her body,
so long as it held up enough to keep her alive.
The happy go lucky teen was dead. She had survived and escaped, but
now she was changed. And she had to live with those changes. The scenery
of rolling oak trees that had been planted in 2012 to 'rebuilt the forests'
receded, and the outline of buildings appeared on the horizon.
The car sputtered and jerked on the last mile before the first
sector check in Seattle. After turning over one last time, it
finally quit. She looked at the fuel gage. The needle was pointing
to the 'E' Swearing she climbed out of the car. She took a tentative
step forward. Muscles still ached, but the telltale trickle of blood
had stopped for now.
As she neared the sector check the guard at the gate eyed her
suspiciously "Need to see your pass."
"I don't have one," she informed, not making eye contact
with the man.
"Then you better get the hell outta here." he ordered "Cities
already full of dead beats." he shoved her in the direction she
just came from.
Surprising herself, she whipped around and shoved him back "I just
came from back there. I don't want to back track, I want to go
forward."
The guard was not happy. "I can't let you in without a pass kid."
he glowered at her.
"Come on" she sauntered up to him, putting the years of beaten
in lessons and practices of making men happy to good use "I don't
have a coat or anything, I'll freeze." she shivered to drive her
point home. "No one has to know." she slowly traced his arm with
one finger.
The guard's breathing hitched ever so slightly at her touch.
"I could get fired for this." despite his words, he raised the
orange and white-stripped barrier. "Get outta here."
She gave him a ten-megawatt smile, and walked into the city.
First impression, more poor then rich. They lined the streets.
Some residing on benches under newspapers, others huddled by fires
fueled by trash and fallen crates off of supply trucks. And still
more hiding in the shadows of crudely built shanties houses.
She roamed aimlessly through the road, catcalls and whistles
making themselves known all around her. She still had on the sheer,
barely there dress and stiletto heals her pimp had bought, and
demanded that she wear. She knew what they thought she was. She
continued her journey, the spikes of her shoes clicking on the
streets filled with pot holes and cracks from the years of acid
rain produced right after the Pulse.
She soon chanced upon some sort of open area market. Wooden booths
and makeshift tents lined the expanse. Only a hand full of people
meandered their way through the maze, in search of items that once
filled supermarkets, but now resided here.
She stepped into the labyrinth of decaying wood and plastic.
No one shot her a dirty look here, or even one that screamed
'gimmie'. They paid her no notice at all, ignoring everyone but
themselves. A stall in front of her displayed garments, simple
items like jeans, sweaters and t-shirts. The clothing change would
give her the transformation she needed.
Stepping up to the enclosure, she was greeted with the face of
a chubby Vietnamese man, who looked like he had seen better days.
"What can I help you with?" Despite his ragged, and worn looks, he
always cheered up at the prospect of impending business.
She selected some jeans, a sweater, and pair of cheaply made,
leather hiking boots, but they would be better then the agonizing
pain of stilettos.
The elderly man rang up the items, and calculated the
total:" $120.00"
She yanked out the hundred-dollar bill from her fading cream
wire framed bra. One customer had foolishly paid her for doing
'good work' after he left, and she had successfully hid it all
this time.
"I only have a hundred," she announced, showing him the wadded,
dirty currency.
Something flickered across the man's face, and he gazed at her
long and hard for a moment. "You look like a hooker, and I steer
clear from selling to them, but there's something about your eyes,
they look sad. Like you've been there and back." He snatched up the
hundred and put it in his dented and rusty cash box. Although she
was twenty dollars under the amount, he handed her change of fifty
dollars. "Half for the clothes. The rest you keep. Food will not buy
itself."
She didn't question her luck, and took the money and clothes,
heading back in the direction she came from. She started roaming
around, looking for a place that wasn't out in the open to change.
She had enough of undressing in front of people to last a lifetime.
An immense fruit storage crate seemed to suit her needs. The jeans
were slightly big, but they stayed on well enough to satisfy her.
After lacing up the last boot she stood up again. Reaching her full
height of 5'4 she felt strange. Constantly wearing two or three inch
heals day in and day out had made her forget how tall she actually
was. She crawled out from behind her makeshift dressing room and
headed back down the road.
Now people paid her little notice, just like at the market.
There were still the occasional "Hey baby" remarks, because she
had been told that she was an attractive girl, but not on the same
over done level as before. The white sweater helped warm her
chilled body, but she was still cold, and sore, and feared that
she would collapse out on the filthy streets if she didn't find a
place to rest soon.
An establishment directly in front of her seemed to boast of warmth,
and being a bar it also promoted drowning out your shit infested life
in alcohol. She headed into the building and sat down in a torn and
falling apart stool at the long wooden counter.
She shifted uncomfortably in the stool, missing the bar tender
approach her "Whatcha need?"
Her head whipped up to face a tall man, with deep green eyes.
Memories of the sandy haired man flashed in her mind, and she fought
the urge to run away screaming.
"Glass of whisky" she ordered, making eye contact for only a
brief moment.
The man quickly filled the order. He didn't even ask her age.
She easily could pass for nineteen, and in this day and age even
the little kids had reasons to drink and the bartenders wouldn't
have minded, if it meant more business.
Her drink was slid to her and it tapped the hand that had been resting
on the bar. "Four bucks."
She didn't look at him and shoved him the money. She sipped from
the glass, getting use to the taste of the alcohol, and then slammed
a third of it down. It tasted bitter and strong, but it fit her mood.
When she had been at home, she had been the good girl, staying out of drugs,
going to church, singing in the gospel choir. But that was before, her life
was to full of jagged edges and gray areas now. If her mother was here,
she would tell her not to drink, but she hadn't seen her mother in ages,
and this whisky helped take an edge off the pain.
Her senses became duller as the alcohol took affect, and she welcomed
the difference. The glass was soon emptied, and she remained seated,
feeling the lingering soreness of the abusiveness of the last customer.
Her thoughts wandered to her musical talent. She hadn't sang in forever.
Never being able to muster up enough strength to get the notes to
leave her lips. A song sprang unbidden to her mind, and the lyrics
tumbled out of her, as if on their own accord.
"My right hand holds matches
My left holds my past
I hope the wind catches
And burns it down fast
I'm gonna step into the fire
With my failures and my shame
And wave goodbye to yesterday
As I dance among the flames-"
Once she started signing her vocal cords made up for the years of
neglected use. Her tone was a deep, velvety rich soprano, changing
pitch during climatic moments with beautiful vibrato
"So don't try to save me now
Let the walls of my world all burn down
Just stand back and wail 'till the smoke finally passes
And I will rise
From the ashes
From the-"
"This isn't church!" a patron interrupted her song. "I like silence
when I'm plastered," he informed drunkardly. "Belt out that crap
somewhere else."
"Girl's gotta right to sing when she wants scuzz." an anonymous
voice pointed out. The voice belonged to that of a woman who
stepped out of shadows. She shot a scowl at the drunken patron and
took a seat at the empty stool beside the other girl.
"Locals here love dissin' anybody and everybody when they're tainted."
the woman informed. Her raven hair hung off her shoulders that were
covered in a nice, well worn, black leather jacket. "Don't take any
offense, they're dolts."
The black haired girl adapted a ghostlike smile on her face.
"Thanks for the tip."
"Another piece of 411." the woman went on "Your voice is awesome."
she complimented in all honesty "Almost shattered the mug at my
table." her chocolate brown eyes gazed into the girl's matching set
"A friend of mine wants to meet the artist behind the music." she
nudged her head in the direction of a woman seated with a group of
people in a far corner table "That is if you don't mind."
She looked over at the woman, who was locking eyes with her from
across the room. She was attractive, wearing a lime green sweater.
And although she wasn't a lesbian, this woman would be a possible
date if she were. The thought of sex and relationships with men
scared the shit out of her, but women were a relatively safe area.
They had been the prisoners, not the abusers. She turned to face
the woman beside her "Only if you don't mind me joining your party."
"It's not a party," the woman informed standing back up again,
and she did the same. "We're just a couple of worn out stiffs
taking a break from the rat race."
They reached their destination. "Guys," the woman addressed
her companions "I got the backstage pass and snagged the artist."
she looked at her female friend "Original Cindy this is-" she
broke off when she realized that she didn't know the girl's name.
"Cree." the other girl finished for her.
"You got a hell of a voice boo." 'Cindy' smiled at her, gesturing
for her to sit.
Cree sat in an empty chair, and the other woman resumed her seat
beside Cindy.
"I haven't used it much." Cree informed of Cindy's remark "Not
for a while." she reached for the pitcher of pale yellow beer
that was a fixture in the center of the table.
Max snagged the pitcher for her, kicking Sketchy under his seat
"Stop drooling, and hand me that empty glass beside you."
After he gave it to her, she poured the girl a generous amount
in the glass. "There may be such things as starving artists,
but as long as I'm around there'll never be a thirsty one."
Cree took the drink from her "Thanks." she sipped slowly,
wiping the foam off her top lip with a quick tongue.
"So Cree.." Sketchy looked at her "Did your parents want to
name you 'creek', but decided the hell with the 'K' at the end?"
Cree might be intimidated by men, but not this one "If that's
your pick up line for all the girls you meet, you probably can
count all your dates on one hand." she held up a closed fist in
the age-old mocking fashion of zero.
"Crash and burn." Cindy quoted looking at the other girl
"So-" she tried to strike up a new topic of conversation
"I haven't seen you in here before, so I'm guessin' you aren't
from around the area."
Cree didn't know what to say to that. The woman had spoken the truth,
but she had discovered that lying would deal you better hands then
honesty. "Just got in yesterday-" she started to spin a fictional
yarn "Got out of a real bad relationship with a guy who like to bang
my body up more then the gong, so I split." she took another sip of
her drink.
"Abuse be the work of de devil my sister." Herbal moralized, "It is
a good thing you got away from da source."
Cree didn't make eye contact with him, but responded "More then
you'll ever know."
The sound of a beeping pager cut through the air. Max looked at the
source of the noise clipped to her waist briefly, already knowing
who it was.
"Gotta connect with your squeeze?" Cindy asked, in more of a
statement then a question.
Max shot her friend a look, and stood up from the chair "Need to
take this." she left in search of a payphone.
"Didn't deny it this time." Cindy re-filled her glass, leaning
back in the chair.
"Maybe because you heckle her so much she developed some sort
of immunity." Sketchy diagnosed.
"Or she knows I'm right." Cindy returned
"I feel the love when my friends talk about me behind my back."
Max walked back over to the table.
Cindy ignored her remark, and went straight for open
territory "Bouncin' over to see him?"
Max glowered at her slightly. Logan had paged her, and when
she hit him back; he said he needed to see her. But, she knew
this would just add more fuel to the fire of an ongoing argument.
"Yea I am." she began, going for the old standby defense next
"And he's just a friend."
"Riight." Cindy drew out the middle syllable "And I'm going
straight tonight so me and Sketchy can kick it."
"I see possibility in that." Sketchy defended, ducking when Cindy
threw old sugar packets at him from the condiment tray.
"As much as I love debating this topic everyday of my life with
you all, I gotta blaze." Max stated, laying down a few bills to
cover her split on the tab.
"See ya at work tomorrow suga." Cindy said as a good-bye, as
Max left out the door.
"My boo sure loves waddin' in the river of Denial." Cindy turned
to Cree "The 411 on Max is-" Cindy began regaling the new comer
on her take of her girl's situation. "She's had it real bad for
the same guy for months, but always lays on it thick on the
'friend's aspect'"
"Good friend's are hard to come by." Cree argued "I'd rather
have a friend for life, then a lover who'll ditch me to screw
the next thing that crosses his path on two legs." there was
a tone of experience in her voice. It was a supposed 'lover'
or boyfriend, as her innocence use to call it that had baited
her into a trap at a restaurant three years ago. The presumed
'roll model' youth had gotten a cut of five hundred dollars to
sell her to a brothel.
"A philosopher be amongst us." Herbal smiled in Cree's direction.
Cree shrugged off his praising remark "Not a job that earns any
green." she was intimidated at first, but then managed to make
slight eye contact with Herbal "Do you know where there is one?"
Cindy laughed lightly "Suga, there's plenty of ligit work out
there, that is if you don't mind puttin' your ass to the grindstone."
"I'm not picky." Cree stated "I don't mind getting my hands dirty.
With me it's survival before living out my dream."
Sketchy leaned over at looked at her "Then we have the perfect
job for you."