by Sandra Raine
And somewhere in this room I stopped being a prostitute. . .and that wasn't good; it wasn't good 'cause Marx was going to have something to hold over me, and he'll use it to his advantage when the time came, and I would be obligated. Oh, God, what have I fucking done? Why did I give myself wholly to him?
I didn't feel Marx climax, I just felt the weight of his groan against my ear causing certain parts of my body to shiver. Then I felt empty inside when Marx fell on his back, his attention fixated on the ceiling above him. He was semi-breathless. I tugged the sheet suffocatingly close to my body to shield the spasms of my body from Marx's eyes. I didn't want him to see how he robbed me of my pride; a pride I held for that one special person in my life, kind of like the way Cassie felt about her virginity. Only mine wasn't about breaking flesh and spilling blood, mine was emotional 'cause I had gotten emotionally involved. I wanted to cry. I wanted to turn on my side and cry. But I couldn't. I was to afraid to move.
"You're upset," Marx presumed, and much to accurately. I bit down hard on my lower lip trying to keep myself from screaming.
"You were just supposed to be a fuck," I said callously, tossing the bed sheet from my body and sitting up in bed.
"I'm not a John, Diamond."
"So you thought you could just. . .fuck me like that. . .fuck me - "
"Like I was a lover?"
I snapped my head over my shoulder and shot Marx an icy stare. "Oh, c'mon," he chuckled, "you know you enjoyed yourself. You know you've wanted me the way I've wanted you."
"Don't flatter yourself, Marx!" I insulted, getting up from the bed and slipping back into my bra and panties.
"Well if it's any consolation, Jane, I enjoyed myself."
I stopped dead in my tracks and turned around and faced Marx with the utmost hostility for using my name in his scheme to getting me to trust him.
"I prefer that you call me Diamond," I demanded. Marx then sighed out and casually tossed the sheet from his body and casually sat up, shaking his head.
"No. . .Jane," he instead argued, getting up, and slipping back into his jeans.
I grunted and stomped to the closet and flung the closet door open. I pulled out a pair of jeans and a casual sweatshirt and put them on. Then I stomped toward the dresser and grabbed a pair of socks from the top drawer and slid those over my feet. Despite there being wall-to-wall carpet in the bedroom my feet were still cold. I turned back toward the closet to slip on a pair of tennis shoes but my eyes caught sight of Marx's gun still sitting undisturbed on the dresser. The gun resembled my mother Sissy's gun. . .a Berretta. I knew the gun well. I quickly averted my eyes off the gun when I felt Marx's presence hovering closing from behind me. Then, and without warning, he took me by complete surprise 'cause he grabbed my arm, spun me around and kissed me full on the mouth.
At first, I struggled against Marx's uninvited kiss, refusing to open my mouth and let him in. But the blurred plot in my head soon started to become apparent until it was now in the grasp of my focus. And what I believed was impossible of doing suddenly became possible particularly when I lowered my defenses and allow Marx to kiss me. As his tongue, which was both arousing and sensual to my senses, wrestled softly with mine, my hands slowly began to settle with one wrapping around his neck, and the other around the gun. And the more I surrendered my kiss passionately against Marx's, the better I was able to grip his gun.
The scene could have easily been straight out of a Hollywood movie: the woman seducing the man with a kiss before taking absolute control of his vulnerability. . .And that is exactly what I did with Marx.
Either he saw my plot coming or he either helped my plot come to life. 'Cause the second he felt the barrel of his gun depressing hard against his bare chest, he voluntarily stepped back with both hands in the air, and he was sporting this smirk and I couldn't explain it. I mean, it appeared like a smirk of self-satisfaction, like Marx had done a good deed and he was pleased with the outcome.
"Careful," Marx then mustered beneath that continuous smirk of his when he saw me inching closer toward the bedroom door; closer to, and perhaps, salvation. I took a deep, deep breath before plunging into the depth of a ceaseless ocean beginning with the unlocking of the bedroom door. And like a stern breeze, I swept myself up and disappeared with the wind.
Since it was a weekday, and sometime late in the evening, I knew the house would be semi-emptied of clients. I had been out and about in the house on nights like these so I had a pretty good grasp on what to expect and who to bump into. And Jeanest would be the first considering she frequented the living room only 'cause it possessed her desk where she tended to spend the majority of her time sitting at when she wasn't "entertaining" her clients. So having already figured that, I prepared myself for the encounter with her. And since I had a gun already cocked with it's safety off, I assumed I would have home court advantage but I had to consider the reality that I could be "cock-blocked" - she could have a gun.
I quickly rushed passed the locked bedroom doors and crept quietly into the open room and down the stairs. As soon as I started nearing the end of the stairs leading straight into the living room, I drew up Marx's gun out in front of me and held it there for protection from anyone I might bump into.
Once my feet touched down on the polished floorboards I noticed that Jeanest was not sitting at her desk which brought me some comfort. And since she never had anyone guarding the front double doors to the house 24/7, I felt even more comforted. I rushed toward one of the two front doors and turned the doorknob but it wouldn't open. Then I fumbled with the other doorknob and that, too, wouldn't open either. Then, if my eyes weren't deceiving me, I noticed there were two separate double bolts that both required keys to open them. Fucking clever! was all my mind could curse. I mean, the deadbolts clearly explained the absence of a house alarm, and I couldn't have been anymore fucked. . .that is until I remembered Jeanest's keys; she had the keys to the deadbolts.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Jeanest said suddenly and quite heatedly from behind me. And without thinking of what to do next, I spun around in my socks and pointed Marx's gun directly at her head. And just like Marx, she, too, froze, surrendering her hands voluntarily in the air.
"Where are the fucking keys?" I demanded beneath trembling hands. My adrenaline was pumping so fast I was having difficulty trying to control my nerves.
"What?" Jeanest said, scrunching her forehead, appearing confused, naive like. But I wasn't about to buy into her act 'cause I shifted the gun suddenly to the leather sofa and shot a round off into the fabric to let her know who was fucking boss! Jeanest winched.
"They're. . .they're on the desk," she then stammered, pointing a nervous finger toward her desk.
"Get them!" I grunted. Jeanest quickly staggered to her desk and rummaged beneath a newspaper for the keys. But something caught my attention on Jeanest's person: a bulge, in her left front pocket. Then it suddenly hit me that she never went anywhere without her keys. I mean, she was just as fucking bad as Cain was with his keys. I knew better than that. I fired off another round into the same sofa and Jeanest froze over her desk.
"Uh, ah, Jeanest," I said as she looked at me with precaution. In fact, she was no longer trembling, no longer playing Bambi in the fucking woods. 'Cause she pursed her lips before surrendering her hands up in the air. "Come," I said gesturing Jeanest with the gun. Jeanest's throat jiggled before she gave up her pride and walked toward me. And the second she reached me, I maneuvered around her. And it was so fast that she didn't even see me coming particularly when I had her pretty face shoved up against one of the front doors as I reached into her left front pocket and pulled out her keys. I grabbed her shoulder and abruptly turned her around to face me. I shoved the gun against her throat and the keys into her hand.
"Open the fucking door! Now!" I demanded. Jeanest, obviously restraining herself from beating the holy shit out of me, picked out a key, like knowingly pulling a fucking rabbit out of the hat, and shoved it straight into the d
eadbolt. . .and it clicked, and I almost pee'd myself. I shoved Jeanest away from the door. Keeping Marx's gun trained on her, I opened the door and a faint gust of wind blew in from behind me and kissed at my skin. And despite the wind being chilly, it was still very welcoming.
"If you walk out that front door, Diamond, you're going to be a dead girl." Jeanest then threatened.
"If I stay here any longer, I'm going to end up a dead girl anyway. So either way I'd rather be a dead girl out there than fucking in here!"
"You're doing way to much talking, Diamond," Marx casually retorted as he touched down from the staircase to the living room. He was fully dressed, jacket and all. I assumed he was ready to chase me down. And for some strange reason I was totally turned on by the idea - being chased the way a man chases a woman.
I smirked at Marx, snatched the keys still dangling from the deadbolt and bolted out the front door. Once the door was shut behind me, I took the same key from the interior deadbolt and shoved it into the exterior deadbolt and gave it one swift turn, locking Jeanest and Marx and everyone else inside. I figured I had a five minute head start, and that was only based on Jeanest possibly having an extra set of keys stashed somewhere in the house, in which she probably had but I didn't give a shit. I was just glad that my spontaneous plan worked, and to my advantage.
Chapter 12
Never mind that there was a girl running down the street in socks and with a gun in her hand and it was cold as ice. And never mind that she didn't fucking care.
For the fifth time in my life I'm tasting freedom. And there's tears gushing down my cheeks as I ran down the opposite side of the street to what appeared to be an upscale neighborhood. The majority of the houses were two story. And each house was sunken back about a good fifty to sixty feet from the street. And the majority of homes were surrounded in trees and hedges which explained the obscurity of the house I was held in when I escaped out the front door. And the only two memorable things I was able to grasp other than hedges and trees before I hit the street running full force was one, I was forced to head right instead of left - the original way I wanted to head - 'cause it was a dead end; and instead of there being a house there was instead a field, an wide open empty field leading straight into darkness. And second, I caught a glimpse of the house's mailbox only 'cause it was lit up bright with a light shining against the numbers 24050.
As I continued to run, every few seconds or so I was forced to glance back, to make sure I wasn't being followed. A couple of times I had to stop running and hide amidst the hedges and trees when I saw cars approaching. Then once the coast was clear, I proceeded to run again.
It didn't take me long to come across the first exit leading out of the neighborhood. And I actually had three directions to choose from: I could either continue straight up the neighborhood, or I could either head left or right; I chose left. And before I started to head left, I took a second to glance up at the street sign. And 'cause there was a nearby street light I was able to read the sign clearly: Wexter Avenue - E.
I must've ran about a good five minutes or so, stopping a couple of times to catch my breath, before reaching a semi-busy intersection. And the first store I came across was a gas station. There were several cars getting gas, and a few people walking in and out of the store. I was tempted on walking into the store to use the phone but I really didn't know who to call? I mean, I didn't feel like calling the cops 'cause I would only end up in custody and I didn't want to risk that as my main goal now was to reach Anna and Bree in Colorado. So my next choice was to ask someone where exactly I was but that, too, was a bit risky as I didn't want to draw attention to myself. So in the end I opted to continue down the street, hoping I'd find a newspaper somewhere in the trash, or maybe come across a homeless person and ask them.
Instead of walking casually, I continued to run, pretending that I was out for a late night jog. I past two intersections before I decided to head right of the third intersection. There were more stores, more traffic, and more commotion. Eventually I stopped jogging only 'cause my feet began to hurt and I was starting to feel very tired, almost groggy. I passed a liquor store, a laundry house, a donut shop, and a shopping plaza before my eyes caught sight of a 24 hour pawn shop 'cause I heard somewhere that pawn shops were known to buy guns.
At first I was hesitant to enter the pawn shop 'cause I didn't have any shoes on and I had no ID, and I didn't know how the broker was going to take to my selling a gun without proper ID. But, and since, I wasn't exactly in the best of neighborhoods considering the run down looking buildings and the litter spread across parking lots and on the street, I decided to take a chance, hoping that the broker was ghetto enough to buy the gun without question.
"So you say it's your. . .boyfriend's? And you said you have no ID?" The broker, a tall and slender bald headed white man in his forties looking nowhere near ghetto, pried. If I had an Adam's apple this is where it would have throttled up and down my throat. But since I was a girl, I was forced to throttle spit instead.
"Um. . .yes," I retorted nervously as I tried hard to keep a straight face, as if nothing was bothering me, as if I had nothing to hide.
"It's loaded," the broker then said to me putting the gun back down on the counter. He sounded a bit concerned like I was going to do him harm. I mean, all I wanted was a few measly dollars to get something to eat and get the fuck out of this town.
"Don't worry," I eased, and clearing my throat casually, "it's not like I'm going to rob you or anything."
"Is that supposed to humor me?" the broker mused. I shrugged my shoulders.
"Fine," I said reaching for the gun after a minute had passed. After I felt like there wasn't going to be a sale. "I'll just take it to another pawn shop then."
"I'll give you four hundred for it," the broker countered, and my jaw just about dropped.
'"Four hundred?'" I repeated somewhat taken aback some.
"Okay. Four fifty." he re-negotiated. This time I was floored. I nodded.
As the broker handed me my money, I stole a glimpse off the clock hanging on the wall. It was just after 9:30. I was tempted on asking the broker to use his phone to call a cab but I felt like I was pushing my luck, and so I left.
I crossed the plaza and headed into a nice size grocery and general store, pushing a cart to hide my feet. I picked an isle that looked like it would have some shoes considering there were some clothes hanging up and down the isle. The clothes were mainly jackets and some sweaters and there were some household odds and ends sitting undisturbed on shelves. I left the isle and headed into the adjacent isle housing a lot of clearance stuff, including some casual men's work boots. I picked a size closest to my actual foot size as well as a pair of clean socks. I paid for the stuff and headed outside the store. There was a bench near the front entrance. I took a seat, switched socks and put the boots on. On the bench seat beside me was a sports section to a newspaper. I picked it up and scanned the top of the page, it read: The Herald-Times, Bloomington, Indiana, and the date read: Wednesday, February 20th, 2013.
I was able to catch a local cab in front of the grocery store about an hour later. And since I had nowhere to go, I asked to be taken to the nearest bus station but according to the driver the bus station was already closed. So I asked the driver if he knew of any motels that rented rooms without ID's? The driver said he might know of one that did, and it was just up the street from that 24 hour pawn shop. But as my luck would have it, the clerk, a bitchy old woman, would not rent me a room without the proper ID. I was shocked to find that the cab driver had not left the parking lot to the motel 'cause he was still parked. He rolled down his window and called me back over. He asked if I had any luck but I told him I didn't. And he must've felt some sort of pity for me 'cause he told me to wait inside the cab and that he would go and talk to the woman for me.
About fifteen minutes later the driver came back to the cab and with a room key. Turns out he knew the woman's brother, and so he asked for a favor, an
d the woman obliged. I could've kissed the driver but he was heavy into his religion and I dared not to offend him. So instead I handed him a twenty, but that, too, must've offended him 'cause he refused to take the money, said he only helped me 'cause he saw I was struggling. In the end, he gave me his cell number and told me to call him personally when I was ready to go to the bus station. I smiled, and thanked him at least a dozen times.
It was a long and lonely night in the motel room despite my freedom, despite the cable TV, and the vending and ice machine outside. I had taken a long hot shower, letting the water cleanse away as much filth from my body as it could with the exception of Marx's; that I wanted to linger as long as it could. I could still feel his semen inside of me. I could also smell him inside of me, too. He smelled clean, almost pure. I could also feel the heat of his breath still lingering against my ear lobe, and that kiss still heavy on my mouth. I could also taste the savor of his tongue embedded across the pores on my tongue. . .I was missing Marx terribly. And a part of me did feel sorry for having to sell his gun but I did keep one small token from it: a single bullet that was removed from the chamber by the broker prior to him inspecting it. Seeing that the bullet might find its way into the trash, I instead asked to keep it; a personal reminder of my time spent with him.
It didn't take me long to doze off. And when I did, I dreamt of nothing but my freedom. And when I awoke, I woke up rested and ready to leave Indiana which continued to puzzle me some; wondering why Andrew Parker would stick me in such an odd place. I mean, the city didn't look all that big however, it was slightly secluded; no one would ever expect to find me here in an armpit of America.
It was just after ten in the morning when I arrived at the bus station. I bought a one-way ticket to Denver, Colorado in hopes of finding Anna and Bree.
There was going to be a long lay over in St. Louis. I figured once there I would catch a cab and head to the nearest store for some better clothes. The ones I was still wearing were starting to smell which explained why I had a seat all to myself. But I didn't mind. I didn't feel like talking to anybody, or making friends. I was just anxious to get to where I was going. Time was passing swiftly and that wasn't helping my anxiety none.