Broken Girl(6)

Every ho out there has done what she had to do to make it. No matter my past, present or future, I did what I needed to in order to make the work tolerable. Be it that I tossed back three shots of tequila before I had to work, or smoked a little weed in order to mellow the twist in my stomach, I did what I did to make it through the night. Tricks weren’t my biggest headache, sure I’d get dates who’d get a little rough or out of hand, but my major problem seemed to be the other prostitutes who tried to f*ck with my six squares of sidewalk I called my corner. That was right; I claimed eighteen feet of high-trafficked prime real estate. I’m not gonna go into the graphic details about how I inherited my pavement. Let me just say it was gifted to me after one of our own hooked herself a sugar daddy. She wasn’t ever gonna have to sway her ass on a corner or worry about some John getting too rough with her or even how she was going to feed her two kids by two different f*cks when the rubber broke. She pounded her way to the cat house. That’s what she wanted, some girls get lured into brothels or picked up by pimps and taken up to be escorts. I’d been approached, threatened, even taken, but I’d always find a way to make it back to my six squares of real estate before some other ho tried to claim it. See, Sybil and I were known as renegades or out-of-pockets, hos without a pimp. I wasn’t ever willing to give my money to some f*cking * who never really protected me anyway. Let those girls who wanted that life take it. Selling my body wasn’t something I wanted to do forever.

Get enough money to get the f*ck out.

I glanced at the clock. Damn, it was two thirty and I had no motivation to get out of bed, maybe because last night was nothing more than a total f*cking loss. That drunk-ass guy, then the Shane thing with Crystal; all of it really cut into my profits. I was going to have to work twice as hard tonight, maybe even head out earlier than usual, in hopes that a handful of well-to-do horny dates needed a late afternoon dip or blow.

My mind twisted off in thinking about Shane, the Laundry Man. How polite he had acted last night with Crystal, jumping to her rescue. Visions rumbled through my mind, as I wondered if he’d only treated her that way because she was in trouble. Would he have been so ready to help her if she was just doing her job? There weren’t many men out there like him, they just never existed in our line of work. If men like Shane existed, we would’ve done everything in our power that kept dates like that coming back. But, there wasn’t enough hours in the day where we wasted time hoping for something that would never happen to us. Back to reality, Rose.

I pulled my phone off my nightstand and looked to see if any of my regulars needed something special today. Nope, just a couple random texts about my data usage and a couple of missed calls from Brie. I listened to the messages she left, mostly just updates on how Crystal was doing after last night.

Those of us that have been in the business long enough that we have the same ol’ saying ingrained into our minds, would it be fair of me to call Brie back and recite the same f*cking words? “It’s just the nature of the business. Sometimes you will be taken advantage of. Just be grateful he didn’t drag you off and kill you.” Yeah, seemed harsh, almost uncaring, but the more she realized she wasn’t in Nevada, the better off she’d be. We didn’t have the luxury of TV’s bullshit depiction of The Bunny Ranch, or the Cat House. I gave up that twisted dream of some fat bald f*ck who kept me safe. It just didn’t happen to girls left on the streets to make their way through the world.

I just needed to shower again, get something to eat before I headed out to make up for the lost money last night. I glanced across the postage-stamp-sized studio apartment I share with Sybil and noticed her bed hadn’t been slept in. Still made, a wrinkle-free, pulled tight made bed, to where you could bounce a quarter off the blanket, she never came home. Actually, she wasn’t in the pub either, when I texted her last night she said she was gonna pull an all-nighter for two hundred and fifty bucks. But no matter, she should’ve been home by now. I shuffled over and noticed a little pink note resting on her pillow.





I was grateful she had the courtesy to tell me where she was, when you live with someone in the same business of selling sex, communication could mean the difference between life and death. Sybil and I promised one another that we’d keep each other safe. But I’d be damned if I was gonna call Crystal and suddenly have her become my problem. I knew everyone needed someone in this f*cked up business. I got that; but pullin’ that girl under my wing right now was more of a hassle than anything else. What the hell did Sybil want me to do? Go over there and make sure she didn’t cry herself to sleep?

This is a gnarly business with gnarly, disgusting, sick f*cks who wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about you and whether you were gang raped in a back alley or lying in the gutter bleeding to death. There will always be some other girl ready to take your place.

I buried the twist in my stomach and moved the f*ck on, call it self-preservation.

The hot water pummeled my flesh annihilating any desire I had to go back to bed. I’d be damned when flashes of Crystal’s savior flooded my mind. The way Laundry Man looked at me in the alley replayed in my head over and over again. His eyes, pierced mine, the tone of his voice as he told me to get into the pub. How he had become frozen when he had seen that the prick was gone. An urge swirled through my stomach, exactly what I didn’t have time to get all caught up in when I thought about him. My life was too busy. Soap up, rinse off and get the hell out, but stay just long enough to wake up.