Broken Girl(4)

Standing in the shadows, I watched as Crystal righted her skirt and dragged the back of her hand across her cheeks. The faint glow from the single bulb which dangled above the back door of the pub lit the area around her. I was frozen, back against the grimy stucco wall. I didn’t run to her, I thought about it but decided to lurk in the background between guilt and relief. I had no idea who this man was or his motive for saving Crystal. Risking my livelihood to save her from getting pinched or thrown in jail was something I wasn’t willing to do. She’d be out by the next morning anyway, ready to sell her body again to whoever was willing to pay.

Cops and the DA thought getting picked up would scare us straight. A night in jail didn’t stop us, the money was too good and the hustle was too enticing.

“You okay?” he asked before he reached out to her. His giant hands hovered just below her shoulders making her look so tiny.

“Yeah, I think so,” Crystal whimpered. Her mascara blackened the delicate skin below her aquamarine eyes.

“You sure, Miss . . . ?” he said as he lowered his head and met her gaze.

“Crystal . . . Just Crystal.”

“Just Crystal?”

“Yep.”

“Well, Just Crystal, this isn’t a place you should be hanging out, all alone. You sure you’re okay?” he asked again. Wisps of his dark-brown hair curved amiss across his forehead and around his ears.

Crystal shifted her weight from one leg to the other. With the flick of her hand between them, she answered his question.

“Well, Mister . . . ?” she said as she waited for his answer.

“Shane. Only Shane,” he teased.

“Well, Only Shane, I’m not totally alone. My friends went into the pub. Wrangling up a couple of beers for me and—” She stopped as her eyes caught mine. I shook my head and warned her to keep me out of her conversation with this guy.

“And?” he questioned.

“Just me.”

“Well, Just Crystal, I can’t believe they left you back here all alone. It’s getting pretty late, why don’t I take you inside so you can find your friends?” He pulled Crystal out of the dark, dingy alley and into the pub. With a quick glance back, he made sure the guy he left in a heap wasn’t moving. The pub door slammed shut just before Crystal’s attacker began to roll around on the ground moaning.

I pushed off the bristly stucco and it snagged my wooly sweater; the pin pricks from pressing my body tight against the wall began to fade. I took a couple of steps out of the shadows that kept me secret. I eyed the drunken asshat on the ground as he struggled to figure out what just happened. Confused, his back was to me; his shoulders slumped, he dragged his thick black boots across the filthy ground before he struggled to his feet.

“What the hell? I’m gonna find that motherf*cker and kill him and that little bitch whore too.” His voice was harsh and growly. His pants hung loose around his waist; he pulled them up as he looked around. The whites of his eyes were painted wicked scarlet red. He looked like the Devil from my childhood, himself.

I’m not a religious person. I don’t believe that there’s anything here, nothing that will save me from my own f*cked up life. I was forgotten by a faith that turned its back on me and walked away simply because I didn’t pray hard enough. I was just a kid, hiding in the darkest corner of my closet, praying that God would answer my pleas and take away the rotting ache that ate away at my stomach and broke my heart. Praying until I ran out of tears, begging God to take away the shitty memories that filled my mind night after night just so I could fall asleep. Nine, ten, eleven years old, 365 days a year I prayed to God to take away my pain. I prayed for the strength to tell someone what happened to me. Begged God to protect me so no other monster would force his heaviness against me and steal another little broken piece of me away. The God everyone talks about, the same God who answers the meek and gives to the pure. Well, God, never listened to me. I guess he was busy helping someone who wasn’t damaged, or maybe I just didn’t pray hard enough.

“What the f*ck are you lookin at?” drunken * clipped.

I froze.

Bile rose from my stomach and lapped at the back of my throat.

Shit, I didn’t want him to see me. It was too late . . . play the game, Rose.

“Well, I hope I’m looking at my next f*ck. Sixty-five bucks and I’ll let you bury balls deep. Seventy-five, I’ll include a blow job.” I crawled my fingers to the bottom edge of my red skirt and pulled it up just enough before I caught my bottom lip between my teeth and methodically cocked my hip to one side.

“Are you with that skank who lured me out here just so her boyfriend could kick my ass?” he bellowed as his hands flailed out across the alley pointing to the laundromat and pub.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” I answered through a snarky grin.

“Fuck that shit. I’m done with back alley whores, nasty pieces of shit, every one of you,” he spat before he turned away and limped his way down the alley.

Who in the hell was that bastard calling nasty?

Piss-soaked pants, bloodshot crimson eyes with his hair matted from fighting Shane before being choked unconscious. Let me call-‘um-like-I see-‘um, the f*ck was a rat; he was a cheap rat bastard who was ready to rape a girl, simply because he felt he had the right to. It didn’t matter if she sold her * for money; he wanted to violate her because he could.