I watch silently from across the street. I stand on the grounds of my high school campus. It is the last day of school, three o'clock, sophomore year. I am a hormonal, uncontrollable sixteen years of age. I have to squint to keep the sun out of my eyes, as it is a warm, sunlit summer day and I'm straining to see who it is across the street that keeps signaling me to come closer.
I have always been cautious, so I don't move immediately. I'm trying to see who they are and if we've met before. As the clouds leisurely start to obstruct the sun, I am able to see clearer. I do not recognize him. He's older obviously, and not from the school. He leans on his car, a black 1995 Lotus Elan. I watch, entranced as he beckons me with his finger, smiling invitingly. I don't realize it then, but he is exactly my type at this stage in my life. Young, but older than myself (and therefore more experienced), a bad boy (prone to getting into heaps of trouble), and of course, somebody unattainable by all means.
He smiles at me from across the way, and I know without a doubt that he can't be looking at me. I turn, looking behind me to see which gorgeous female senior he belongs to. But I find that I am the only girl out in the front, as the football team is practicing several yards behind me. And therefore he's gesturing to me. My heart stops as I turn back around and I see him crossing the street, he is still smiling, only now it has turned into some sort of smirk, and I find it exceedingly attractive.
That is, I find him, exceedingly attractive. He has auburn, unruly curls and a pearly smile. His facial hair is rugged and grown-up; more mature than the smooth-faced baby boys who barely notice me at school. I am flustered by him immediately, and I find my knees are steadily giving way to my heart which is swelling with my fast pumping blood and estrogen.
He speaks to me, and I go numb all over. Except for my face, which is hot with blush.
"Do you go here?" He asks me, pointing to my high school. It is an ancient building, it's been around since 1943, and has a rich history. I am usually ready to spout all of its information to a curious passerby, because I have become a nerdy bookworm of a teenager; or in my mother's words- "a smart mouthed know-it-all". But now I cannot speak. He has literally taken my breath away in a matter of four words and a smile. I am stricken by his flawlessness.
I cannot stop staring dumbly at him. I force myself to say-
"I do." It sounds like I've just accepted a wedding vow.
He holds out his hand, so as to shake mine. "I'm Christian…Chris."
I hesitate; my palms are starting to sweat. I take his hand anyway. "Rivielle."
"What?" He cocks his head to the side in confusion. Either I have spoken too softly, or he doesn't understand how to pronounce my stupid name, which is a Persian name; although I haven't the slightest bit of Persian in my blood.
"Rivielle." I speak up, pronouncing each syllable slowly and correctly. "Just call me Elle." I tell him, so as to cease confusion.
He shakes his head. "Can I call you sweetheart?"
I laugh; I can't understand why he's flirting with me. Me! Of all people. Of all the easier girls who are available at school, of all the older, more beautiful, more experienced girls…
Still, before I know it, I'm sitting next to him in the passenger seat of his Lotus, he lets me control his car stereo, and he's driving me home. He drops me off, opens my door, and walks me to the complex. He is an absolute gentleman. He asks for my number, and I tell him honestly that my mom doesn't always keep the phone on. He says he understands and gives me his number instead. Within a month, he has driven me home every single day and even bought me a cellular phone.
"Why are you doing this?" I ask him, holding the shiny black cell in my hands. "I'm just a kid…I don't have anything to offer."
He apparently finds this hilarious, because he starts laughing at me exuberantly.
"Oh babe," He almost never calls me by my actual name. It is always a sugary pet name, something cute and exchangeable. The more I think about it, the more it bothers me. It's almost as if I'm not myself around him, I'm someone he can mold to his liking. The woman in me wants out. The girl in me wants to be molded to his liking. In this short month, I've fallen for him. "You just don't realize how much you can offer yet. You've got it."He says the last part in a whisper. I believe him.
It? What is it?
-
Chris and I begin dating behind my mother's back. Not that she would take action if I told her. She'd put me down like usual, then shut herself up in her room, and drink until she passes out. So I prolong my habits, staying out late with Chris and barely coming home. Before I know it, Chris is asking me why I even bother coming back at all.
"I don't know why I do…I just don't want to move into a group home."
He scoffs, "What the hell, baby, you do know you can move in with me right?" He stares at me, questioningly.
I bite my nail. We sit in front of my building in his Lotus, and he gives me a moment of contemplation.
"I could…" I say, still thinking it over.
"But you won't."
"I didn't say that, Chris."
"You will. Or you'll probably say yes and then chicken out at the last minute." He looks out his car window and shakes his head. "Just admit that you're still a baby girl," He then turns to me and pinches my cheek condescendingly. "Too scared to grow up."
I fold my arms, and glare at him. "I'm not a baby."
"Prove it." He dares me.
-
I run up four flights of stairs and then I reach my floor. I brace myself, and open my front door. My mother is sitting at the kitchen table, smoking and watching a soap opera. I jet past her, Chris's duffle bag in hand, and run into my room. I throw all the clothes within my reach inside. Then I grab fifty dollars I've saved, a silver necklace that Chris bought me, and an old photo album which contains an old, ripped photo of my father in 1987. I toss these things in the bag, and by that time, my mother has come snooping in. Her eyes catch mine and she sees the panic and urgency. She then notices the duffle bag on my shoulder.
"Where…" Her voice is roughened from the years of inhaled smoke. "The fuck do you think you're going?!"
I don't speak, I try to shove past her, but she pulls my hair back. I scream. I can hear Chris running up the stairs in the hall out side. I throw my bag out of the room and spin frantically in her grasp.
"Get off of me! Get off!" I'm fighting her off. She takes her lit cigarette, pulls up my shirt a few inches, and presses it to my bare waist. It sears me agonizingly, and my screams are cut off by my gasp of shock. Chris is banging on the front door as I scream for him. My mother is now holding my hands behind my back, as well as the tight grip she has on my hair. I am crying and screaming myself hoarse. Chris finally knocks in the door and bolts in.
"Who the hell are you!?" My mother yells, Chris doesn't respond to her. He tackles the both of us, and I am able to wrestle myself free. I take Chris' hand and together we escape from the room, grabbing my bag of items before my mother can compose herself. Just before I leave, I turn with tears in my eyes to see the defeated woman lying in a heap beside my bed. Chris urges me not to stop but I hold back on his grasp for the quickest second.
"Mom!" I call her; she stirs, and looks at me from the room. All rage gone from her countenance. I can barely speak, I'm completely distressed. "I'm sorry." I mouth to her. Chris pulls me out of the apartment. The door slams, and we are racing down the stairs. I am laughing and crying. For the first time in my life, I feel free. But I know, even then, that I will never see my mother again.
-
"Whooooo!" Chris is going 70 on a highway that goes into the next state. He rolls down the windows and turns the underground rock metal radio station up loudly. He is excited. He whoops and hollers out the window in abounding exhilaration. I stare drearily out mine. I rest my head on my fist and watch him. I can't understand why he would be so excited about some boring minor living with him. At this point, we have never ever touched each other except for a greeting, or good night kiss. Chris is always extremely careful of how far we go with each other. I take that to mean that he wouldn't want to end up in jail, as I am just short of seventeen, and he's somewhere between twenty four and thirty. He's never specified his age to me. We barely have the same interests in movies, or music. We disagree on world issues, and we even hate each others food preferences. Even after months, I still haven't the slightest idea of what he sees in me. All I can comprehend is that I believe I'm in love with him, and how grateful I am that he's saved me from my mother, and myself. My knight in shining armor.
We arrive in the next state four hours later. Chris checks us into a gorgeous hotel room, and my stomach turns. I look down at my too-big black shirt, my tight blue jeans and my ragged converse sneakers, I know I don't belong here, and so do the guests. They stare at me and Chris as he struts over to the clerk and asks for a room. He pays with a Platinum card and my eyes widen.
"I thought you worked in a deli. How the hell can you afford this place?" I whisper up at him. He pretends he didn't hear me. And for the first time since I've been with Chris I consider leaving him.
But I know I can't now. He's driven me two or three states away, I can't remember. I have fifty bucks in my bag, and no place to go besides with him. I am no idiot. So I smile at Chris and then at the clerk, who calls on a busboy to take my bag. I hold it closer, protectively, to myself, shaking my head when he offers to carry it. The busboy looks to Chris, who takes my bag from me. "Its okay, they don't look through people's things here." Letting my guard down, I watch as Chris hands the busboy the bag. They exchange a look that appears strange to me, and I furrow my brows suspiciously. The busboy leads us to the elevator. I resolve to be extra cautious from this point on.
-
I find myself sitting on a large, luxurious bed with pearl-colored, Egyptian cotton sheets. Chris is showering in the bathroom. The suite is undoubtedly the most expensive place I've ever seen in real life, let alone sleep in for the night. I stare at the big, flat screen television that I refuse to watch, and I am very anxious. By the way things have been presented to me tonight, I have now come to the conclusion that Chris wants something more than a goodnight peck on the cheek. As I listen to the running shower, I suddenly feel my life being irrevocably distorted. And I am afraid. I have a sense of something ominous approaching. I wonder if I can make a run for it. I look quickly for the door. Then, the shower stops suddenly, as if Chris can feel my fickle feelings, and all my hopes for going back disperse instantly.
"Baby," He calls.
"Yeah love?" I say instinctively.
"Why don't you clean up, and change? I want you to meet some people." He says from inside the bathroom.
My heart stops. Who could he possibly want me to meet at this hour? I look at the clock, it says 12:24.
"Sure babe." I respond blankly.
-
I step into the shower gingerly, turn the water on and begin hyperventilating. My side pains me and I look down to notice the cigarette burn I have forgotten about. It has begun to turn a painful dark purple hue on my waist. A bit of blood seeps out of it. I resolve to disinfect the wound after I shower. My legs ache and so I run the warm water on them first. I ease myself into the water slowly.
I wash quickly, listening for anything unexpected.
"Babe?" Chris calls from outside the bathroom.
"Yes?" I answer.
"Make sure you wash your hair, I'm gonna go get you some nail polish." I can hear him grabbing his keys.
"Um…O-Okay."
I write the strangeness of it off as his care and desire to pamper me on our first night together. I lower my head into the water stream. I open my eyes to see several strands of my hair falling out and running down the shower drain. I close my eyes again to see my mother grabbing my hair and wrapping it around her hand to restrain me from Chris. I begin washing my hair.
I wrap a towel around myself; it's big, white and fluffy. I turn to see myself in the bathroom mirror. The lighting in the room is nice, and it makes my skin appear to glow. I feel pretty. I dry my face with a hand towel and then kneel in front of the sink to have better access to the cabinet below. Inside there is spare toilet paper, cotton swabs, women's toiletries, and a first aid kit. Exactly what I was looking for. I open it on the bathroom counter, inspecting the contents.
I remove a band aid, a small tube of antibiotic ointment, and an alcohol pad. The latter I open, and open my white towel to expose my waist and the cigarette wound that blemishes it. I clench my teeth and run the alcohol pad across the wound, it stings mildly but I know it is necessary to kill the germs. I then apply the ointment and tape the band aid over it. The burning is dulled, but my emotional scarring will continue.
I comb my hair out and tie it up. I open the bathroom door to find a clean outfit waiting for me on the bed. It is trashier than I'm used to, but I suppose if Chris likes it, then I should too. I pull my own underwear from my duffle bag. I slip into the denim miniskirt with the frayed ends, and then into the black tube top. I also find a pair of black heels sitting on the nightstand by the bed. I try them on, and they are exactly my size. I have never worn heels, and when I stand, I find they are as difficult to walk in as everyone says. I try and walk gracefully around the room, but to no avail. I kick off the heels bitterly and go find my own comfortable converse. As I'm tying them, I hear the beep of the hotel card key in the door. I stand quickly, smoothing my hair as Chris enters leisurely and looks me over.
"You. Look. So good…" His grin falls when he stops, notices something off, and then asks in an irritated tone-
"Where are your heels?"
I freeze; I didn't think it would matter.
"I-I…I couldn't walk in them baby…" I speak as softly and as apologetically as possible.
"What?" He shakes his head, apparently disappointed in me, like I had ruined some plans he'd arranged. "Just- just go get them and throw em' in your bag there. You will learn to walk in them."
I hesitate in picking up the shoes. "You…you're telling me what to do?"
He looks at me sternly. He cocks his head to the side, staring at me with disapproval. He folds his arms. "Yeah…" He muses, "Yes I am telling you what to do. And no, you don't have a choice."
He walks up to me casually, smartly, almost threateningly. I can feel my knees going weak. My heart pounds and my hands shake.
"I'm the one taking care of you now, not your lousy excuse for a mother." He whispers close to me. His eyes are dark. Menacing. I could've cried. He had changed so much in a matter of hours. This was not my knight in shining armor. More like used tin foil.
"Now come on." His tone brightens, as if it was never said. "Bring the shoes, we're gonna make some new friends."
-
A woman with bleach blonde hair and black lined eyes greets me. Well, I wouldn't call it a greeting. It was like a sour acknowledgement. A large black Rottweiler sits beside her obediently. He drools, and the name on his tag says Roscoe.
"What's her name?" The woman asks Chris. His arm drapes my shoulder, I feel falsely comforted.
Chris hesitates; it's almost as if we don't know each other. He looks to me.
"What's your first name again baby?"
My jaw drops. I stare at the floor in disbelief, my eyes sting and I can feel my face flushing.
"You're my boyfriend, Chris. How could you forget-"
"Forget it babe, this is Brenda-"
"My name is Rivielle, NOT Babe." I break out of his grasp.
Brenda studies me. "She's too feisty, too much moxy. You'll have to fix her first. My girls are not so…insolent. Teach her a manner or two, and then bring her back to me." She turns swiftly on her heel and heads over to exit the small room in the old secluded, menacing edifice Chris has brought me to.
"What the hell is she talking about Chris?!" I have mustered the courage to yell. I back away from him, looking for the door, only to find myself being restrained by a huge man who stands near the doorway. He holds me tightly by my shoulders as I squirm and yell obscenities. I watch as Chris chases Brenda down and begs her on his knees to take me. To my horror he tells her-
"Do you have any idea what I had to go through to get her for you?" He pleads at her feet.
"Hmm." She considers, studying his earnest stare. It takes her a while, but finally she says: "I will take her. But you have to come and train her twice a week. There is only so much my girls can do for her-"
"Thank you!" He kisses her hand.
I begin to choke; I can barely process what I'm seeing. I struggle to free myself from the bouncer's grip. My face wets with tears and nose runnings.
Did I just get sold?
"How old?" She asks. I can't speak, I am in complete shock.
"Sixteen…I think." My boyfriend tells this strange woman how old he thinks I am.
"Virgin?"
"Of course. You pay me double, you promised." He points at her.
"Chris!" I shriek, agonized. I feel dizzy; I go limp in the burly man's arms. The world spins before me in a haze and I wail in anguish.
"Shut the fuck up! I'm doing this for you!" He yells back. I wish I was dead.
Brenda then notices me again. She snaps her finger at the man, he drops me. I fall to the floor and don't make an effort to pick myself up. I want to stay there and die. I look at Chris and I no longer see him. I see a monster that waited two months to devour an unsuspecting teenage girl.
"You…you're a pimp." I murmur through my sniffling.
"No kidding." He looks down his nose at me.
"I swear I won't tell anyone if you just please take me home."
"Sweetheart." Brenda addresses me. She kneels in front of me in her costly pumps and pats my arm. "I paid good money for a steady whore. I expect you to stick around for a while. Now Chris here, he can still be your dear old hubbie. Nothing changes really. You'll just work nights. I bet you never had a job before, huh kid. No no…Mc Donalds perhaps?"
Chris snickers in the corner. I bury my face in my hands.
"Now get some sleep." Chris says, his voice has softened again. "Follow me to your room."
I don't want to get up, I can't move from my spot on the floor. My head aches from stress, and I'm sure I am having a panic attack. This is my first, but it will not be my last. This experience makes them a constant occurrence from now on.
"Honey." Says Brenda from across the room. "If I were you, I wouldn't stay there of the floor too long. That's where Roscoe likes to take his meals." She titters a witchy laugh and kicks a doggy bowl across the floor towards me.
-
Chris sits with me on the bed. He holds me while I weep. I loathe him with every fiber of my being but I let him hold me. Expressively I want to rip his throat out. He did this to me. But carnally, I need to survive, and he is all I have in the world, as well as the fact that he insists-
"I only did it to help you." He holds my head in his lap and smoothes back my hair. I wipe my eyes, if I were wearing makeup, it would be running.
"Stop saying that! You're lying, you're lying, you're lying!" I shout. He covers my mouth with his hand.
"Shhh! You'll scare the other girls."
I bite his hand.
"Ahh fuck!" He shakes his hand. "You've go problems babe."
"I trusted you. I told you I loved you and you sold me to some trashy bitch… A coke-head! There has got to be something wrong with a woman who lures young girls into this shit."
"You need to start respecting Brenda. She's already given you a roof over your head, clean food and water, decent clothes…" He stands up, walking towards the door. "And she'll be looking after you, from now on." He walks towards the door. "She took me in, and so I'm paying her back. You'll make her a lot of profit. Be proud of yourself. You're beautiful." He wipes his eyes before he leaves.
"Chris wait!" I plead. But he's out the door. I jump up, running for him and turning the knob. I hear his keys from the other side. He's locked me in.
"Chris!" I yell this for hours. Banging and kicking the door until my hand bleeds. I ignore the pain and continue banging, only stopping when I hear-
"Quiet down bitch, before I come in there and kick your ass!" From down the hall. I realize I live in a boarding house for hookers.
I go into the small closet-like bathroom and rinse my bleeding hand. I have to get out of here. I tell myself. I pace the floor for an hour before collapsing from exhaustion on my bed with hot pink bedding. Tomorrow is my first day I suppose. I only have some hazy idea of what I'm being forced into but I know now…it's far from good.
"And basically…that's how I met Chris and arrived…in the condition I was in when you found me." I wiped tears, as I sat beside John. He rested in the hospital bed, he had been listening intently from beginning to end and that is one of the reasons I love him so much. I hadn't thought about Mark once all that day.
"I'm glad you decided to share that with me Rivielle, though I lament for it happening to you.
"Don't be sorry. I made an extremely stupid mistake, and…I paid for it."
It was silent for a moment, and then John said, "Mistakes are completely beneficial in the long run."
"I know."
John turned to me. "Would you like to tell me how Christian came to his deserved end?"
I looked at my hands which rested in my lap. I nodded slowly, watching my tears fall into them, like warm summer rain.
"Just…give me a minute." I manage, standing quickly and leaving the room to compose myself, after that long emotional upheaval.
Its times like those that I hold my beating heart tightly as it pounds under the surface of my skin. In times like those I shudder to think where I will be when John is gone, when my psychologist, landlord, confidant and unrequited lover leaves me. I want him around for me always, so I can feel steady, level headed.
So I can have someone to tell my stories to.
