Page 9

On my way from English class to my locker, I stopped in the bathroom for a breather and to make sure my facade hadn’t failed.

The mirror reflected the face of a defeated teenager; sad and confused.

Wrinkles covered my forehead from long-term frowning, so I opened my eyes wide and forced myself to stretch them out.

Mondays sucked.

After fourth hour, Brittany showed up at my locker, as usual. She noticed the bruises around my throat; I guess twenty-four hours wasn’t enough time for skin to forget. “Oh, my God. Who did this to you?” She reached out and touched the sensitive area on my neck.

“One of the guys got a little rough at the bar.” I avoided her gaze and whispered the lie.

She raised an eyebrow; she knew that’s not what happened. I silently thanked her for not pushing for details. “How’d you do on the Chem exam?” Changing the subject, she led the way to our next class. My worst: Geometry.

Honestly, who cared how to measure the circumference of a circle? When would I use that in the real world?

“Okay, I guess. I got a B. You?”

“You got a B?” Her voice raised an octave and I shrugged.

“Wow, a B? I studied for days and barely passed. How do you do it? School, work, Cody, and still pull all As and Bs. Girl, you’re a freak of nature.

” She nudged me with her shoulder and smiled.

“Wanna hang out before work? The diner for pie?”

I smiled and nodded, knowing I would stand her up again.

Cody didn’t like Brittany. He said she was bad news; she wasn’t smart or pretty enough for me to hang around.

She didn’t care what others thought and according to Cody, that kind of attitude would never get her to the lower forty-eight.

In his eyes, everyone who was anyone would get the hell out of Alaska to have a successful life.

The feeling was mutual. Brittany said Cody was too controlling and he was as proud as a peacock.

A college psychology major should be mature enough to not care so much about what brand of clothes his friends wear or what kind of car they drive.

She said I was just a pawn in his game. According to her, his way to keep me was by giving me what my mom couldn’t.

Both of them were right. Brittany didn’t care what other people thought, and Cody could take care of me. Unfortunately, she would just have to understand that there would be time for our friendship later. For now, Cody needed me, and I needed him.

DUCK FARTS, the Alaska State drink, gave me courage to strut half-naked around the bar like I owned the place. After the first two, my vision fogged, and I spoke with a slur.

My expression after downing the shot entertained the guys. Someone ordered one for me at least once a night and the entire bar laughed when I grimaced.

Most Wednesday nights—when he wasn’t working—John arrived at the bar religiously at nine o’clock. He said it was his night to play with the boys. A good cover for his wife, but most of the time was spent with me behind the curtain.

Tonight, he spent the first half-hour playing pool and slamming Jack John was never gentle. Loud music covered my cries when he pushed and pulled and grabbed too hard. He interpreted my whimpers as moans of pleasure which turned him on.

His rough ways took a toll on my body. My insides hurt enough for me to seek out a stronger source for pain relief than generic aspirin.

Hannah introduced me to Oxycodone when I asked her advice. One pill muffled the pain and relaxed me long enough to complete my shift. And then some. After I discovered the pills, my tips tripled.

I applied makeup to cover my tear-streaked cheeks before I returned to the floor. Hannah raised her eyebrows when she caught my eye. Not wanting her to worry about me, I offered a fake smile. I can handle this. I have to—how else will I survive?

Visions of Cody’s face entered my mind and my smile turned genuine. My future would be bright, I just had to bide my time.

The day that John and Gus raped me, something in my way of thinking changed.

I knew that what they did was wrong, and I hated them for stealing a part of my identity.

They killed my trust in men. However, my body reacted each time someone touched me.

More often than not, the dances turned into more.

Four more men paid for dances that night, the local grocery store owner, Mr. Ripple, being one of them. In the past, he would only come in every once in a while, but for the previous five nights, I had noticed him staring at me from a booth in the corner.

Each time I followed him to the back room, he had laid a twenty on the table before he sat on the couch. Uncomfortable at first, he always walked away with a smile.

It was the same routine each time, but he didn’t seem to mind.

With the help of the Oxy, I was able to enhance his show.

My body moved almost without thought—definitely without inhibition.

My favorite songs played on the jukebox, and I danced like no one was watching.

If the men didn’t touch me, I touched myself, earning more of a tip each time I moaned.

Mr. Ripple decided he wanted extra attention for the first time, mid-dance. He placed the cash on the table and lowered his chin. Shy or turned on, I couldn’t tell until he unzipped, then it was clear.

My toothy smile, and more innocent-than-not tone appealed to him. “Sure thing, Mr. Ripple.” I stood on the couch and straddled him as I shimmied out of my thong. The beat of the music spoke to me, and I moved to the rhythm.

His hands roamed up my legs and over my ass. Still unsure how much he could touch, his fingers fluttered over my breasts. It almost tickled. I leaned my head back and moaned while lowering myself onto his lap.

He closed his eyes and put his face between my breasts. I rocked my hips and he exploded. First timers usually didn’t last long.

As I walked home, I counted the eight hundred dollars and pushed it into my purse. The more money I needed, the more I convinced myself what I was doing was okay. Besides, the pills made it pretty enjoyable. I didn’t not like how I felt in those moments.

BACON SPATTERED on the stove, so I stopped and checked my hair in the hallway mirror.

Mom never cooked unless someone had stayed over.

I was right; a man sat at the small table mostly facing away from me, a mug of coffee in his hand.

His mussed brown hair hung beyond his collar, and he smelled of cigarette smoke.

“Come here, Lisa. Gimme some sugar.”

I froze. It was him. How could that be? How is he here?

Mom sauntered the four steps from the stove to the table, her robe hung open exposing her bra. Her date from last night tilted his head back and wrapped his arms around her waist as she stepped between his legs.

I knew I shouldn’t be watching, but I needed to know if it was really him. She grabbed the back of his head and shoved his face into her chest. He moaned from between her breasts and smacked her ass.

“Gross,” I huffed. Honestly, I didn’t realize I said it out loud until Mom jerked her head in my direction.

“Mind your business, little missy.” She didn’t bother to cover herself—never did.

“Gus, you’ll have to ignore my daughter.”

My stomach turned at the sound of his name on my mom’s lips and I thought I might throw up.