Broken Girl(36)
“You know how hard it is to find you?” I heard a female voice tease him. I froze in my tracks.
“Well, I haven’t been hiding,” he answered lightheartedly.
“Maybe not, but I just thought you’d reconsider my offer to thank you properly for your kindness,” she replied.
My heart throbbed in my chest. I inched closer to Shane’s office to see who in the hell he was talking to. I saw that she had on a long black trench coat and matching spiked stilettos. Jealousy stabbed at my gut.
“Oh, I appreciate that, but—” Shane’s voice had echoed against the flimsy walls.
“Well, I just want to return the favor, even if it’s paid back in a little different way. You know, this offer does expire. A girl can only be turned down so many times before she stops offering.”
The woman had spun his chair around and wedged her stiletto between his legs. I craned my neck around to see what the hell this woman was going to do to my man. Shane had let out a nervous chuckle before he answered.
“Well, Crystal, you are a very beautiful woman and like I’ve said before, if I was ever interested in your type of service, you’d definitely be the first woman I’d call. But right now I’m pretty satisfied in that department of my life, and truthfully, I don’t think my girl would like this very much.”
Shane volleyed his hands back and forth. “But, hey, just knowing you’re okay is enough for me. No disrespect, I’ve just never been into . . . this.” He slipped his hand down between his legs and removed her foot.
My heart thrashed in my chest before crashing incessantly against my bones, my ears filled with a slight buzz. All those shitty feelings of unworthiness I buried deep began to boil to the surface of my skin. I was burning, aching for the possibility that Shane would see me for something more than a f*cking whore. But his words to Crystal were clear and I heard them . . . he could never be with someone who sold her body to other men. The voice in my head took the opportunity to twist and stab his words into my already battered heart.
You will never be anything more to him than a dirty whore. Just turn around and leave.
Damaged goods.
I pushed off the wall, hurried back to the washers and yanked all my damp clothes out. That was it; I listened to the advice from the voice in my head. Shane rejected me. Unknowingly or not, he basically told me that he could never be with me, even if his words were aimed at Crystal. She and I were prostitutes, whores, women who laid down with men for money. Adrenaline coursed through my veins feeding the urgency to leave, I couldn’t breathe anymore. I stuffed my laundry sack with my clothes and swung it over my shoulder before I high tailed it outta there. Questions poured through my mind and my inner voice was happy to answer.
What the hell was Crystal doing there anyway?
Well, Ro, you’re a whore, you know what she was doing!
I never saw her come in. When did she come in?
She came in expecting to f*ck Shane and he turned her down, just like he’ll turn you down. Told you to f*cking cut him loose.
My back aching, barking at the pain of carrying what felt like a body flung over my shoulder. I never stopped until I was at my piece of shit ‘92 Le Baron. I tossed the laundry sack into my trunk, squeezed in between the door and drove home. Broken by the evidence that he’d never accept what I was, the words he spoke seared into my head. If I was interested in your type of service . . . I’m pretty satisfied in that department.
I wasn’t supposed to let him in. I should have never come; I didn’t need to hear him say he had someone. Words began to saturate my mind, the same voice that always tried to bury me in my nightmares, attempted to lock me in the darkened closet I’d always thrown the most vulnerable part of myself.
Come on Rose, you were the one all ready to leave him. Keep him wanting you, remember? You should have known he wouldn’t want your kind even before you came up on his conversation with that whore. Pull your shit together; be grateful it wasn’t more than a flirty moment in a crappy laundromat. Cut your losses.
Major mental f*cking note . . . avoid laundromats and dark alleys.
ENERGY WAS SWIRLING rapidly through my body. So many thoughts fired off in my head, I had to keep myself busy. I pulled my clothes out of the laundry sack, and searched for enough hangers to hang up the couple of outfits I planned on wearing to work the next couple of nights. Black lacy top, tight shimmering black skirt and my black smooth bra, all hung to dry. I pulled on the thin strapped black see-through camisole and instantly my mind swirled to Shane’s face when he saw it. Damp to the touch, warm from being nestled between my cotton v-neck tops I wrapped it around my hands and pushed it to my nose. Inhaling, I wanted to go back and tell him I was worth anything he’d be willing to accept. The woman in me wanted to prove I was worth everything I had to offer, and yet the little girl in me was scared he’d reject me because of choices I was forced to make. Food or starve, a warm bed to sleep in or the cold dark sidewalks hugged by wrinkled asphalt. Selling my body for money wasn’t a choice, it was a result of survival.
I was pulling on my black stretch skirt when Sybil came busting into our apartment. Her face flushed crimson, matching her bristle red hair as she scurried across to the kitchen sink and thrust her hands into the stream of water. Her breathing was jagged with huffs and growls. Her clothes pulled and tattered, the neckline of her shirt stretched and ripped.