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sexyqtpie

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Prostitution, it isn’t about love or romance. It’s a simple word with a simple meaning. Have sex, get money. Also if you fake it really good, make them feel special they wont get mad, that means they usually wont beat you up. 

I was 16, I had had it with my life. A fed up teenager with a drug addict Mom and her drunk boyfriends. Always coming around, hitting on me while my mom was passed out on the couch. She didn’t love me, she loved the money she stole from me to by her crack. Her companion, her purple lighter with its high flame. 

Her boyfriends always came and gone. I couldn’t keep up with names, I couldn’t keep up with my mothers addiction. She always needed more, I told her she wanted it. She told me I was a selfish bitch because I didn’t give her poor mom what she needed to keep going. 

I remember the day I had, had it. Jack, wait no it was Steve who had just come in with my mom. Both were drunk and mom was high. she came in excited. I knew she was on a binge I could see the mood swings coming. Walking in she was smiling as Steve let her lean on his shoulder. She was thin, very thin, and had long blonde hair that was browning on the top.  It was oily. She needed to have her hair done and washed.

Her shirt was black leather that reveiled her boob job tits and her skinny pale stomach with her faded tight blue jeans that had rips and tears in them. Her leather black boots clung on the linoleum as I sat at the dinner table working on my homework. She came up to me smiling. 

“hey honey!” 

she spoke in her high yet obviously burned voice. 

“watcha doin, o that homework bullshit. pshhhhh! you don’t needa worry about that anymore. Steve can pay for any collage you want to go to,

 (nudging my arm she shispered)

 as long as I keep fucking him you don’t have to worry about no damn scholarship. 

Looking at her in disbelief I glared. I tried telling myself they will go to her room soon, just leave her alone. Glaring at her I just nodded my head. Yet here it came. You see crack does things to you usually in stages. 1st you get excited and happy, 2nd you get depressed, and 3rd you get paranoid, mean, and tired. My mom had been on it so long this came all too fast and sometimes in a binge, coming all in a matter of minutes.

“pshhhhh” 

she laughed a little and then got that look of sadness. 

“Im sorry honey, I know Im not the best mom in the world”

Her tears flowed fast and as fast as they came they were gone and here it came. 

“But you don’t have to fucking remind me of it every damn time I see you, you little bitch!” 

Looking at her in disbelief I glared at her as she slapped me straight across the face

then laughing she took her hand and stroked the place softly. I watched her still. 

“heh, you were a mistake anyways. I was young and stupid and some bastard knocked me up and I kept you, you should be thankful that I didn’t get an abortion you sorry ass daughter.”

She said this so calmly smiling at me, she went to lay down in her bedroom. I had heard this story so many times. It didn’t physically faze me anymore, I just added it to the load and moved on. She hadn’t hit me in a long time, but tonight she did it again. 

I looked up and Steve was still there just sitting on the counter watching me. He was drunk, but Im not sure if he was high (yet). Steve was a scary guy. He had a long black pony tail and a pale face. He wore all black and his nails were painted black. His eyes even looked black to me. He laughed and jumped down off the counter. 

Walking towards me I could hear the clang of his boots too. I heard the black leather of his jacket hit together as he leaned his breath filled with alcohol in towards me after taking a drag from his cigarette. Breathing smoke into my face he whispered

“Why are you being so bitchy, it could be worse you know”.

Taking a sip of beer he leaned in and kissed me on the lips, as I hit him he got stronger, forcing me over to the counter he attempted taking my shirt off. I screamed but it was no use, not in this house. Not with  her as my mom. I felt fear raising in me. Not again. Not another attempt. I had never had sex, and was trying to keep it that way. Yet my mothers boyfriend had abused me in other ways. Yet I considered myself lucky, At least I still held my virginity. 

I reached behind me and took a pot slamming it over his head, he went to punch me in fury, but I had an advantage, I was sober. I ran into my room and locked the door. Grabbing a bag I packed some clothes, and my Bible, checking inside of it to make sure I had the money I had been stashing away, hiding from my mom. I hid it in the only place she wouldn’t look. The Bible. 

I had $1.0000.00 and I thought it was alot of money. Id find out later that I was wrong. Zipping my stained green bag and slipping on a blue jean jacket over my red t-shirt. I had on blue jeans and some tennis shoes. I opened my window as I heard Steve now in the room with my mom. I was glad I was leaving. I didn’t want to hear them going at it tonight. i didn’t want to hear them ever again. I took one last breath and one last look in my room.

I jumped out onto the wet cold grass in the night air. All I could do was run. So I did, I ran. My long blonde hair flashing behind me, my slender body going as fast as it could. Getting to the subway station I bought a ticket leaving New Jersey and going into New York. It was as far as I could go, knowing that I could get home if I needed to. 

I was running, running away, not knowing I was running into the very thing I had despised, the very thing I was running away from.