“She’s good to go,” he says. “We need the space. There was a gang fight, and we have several coming in.” He hands Tommy something to sign.
I don’t want to be here but can’t say that because Tommy is still here. What if they don’t believe me and send me home with him? He’ll kill me. And I have to take care of Chloe.
The doctor takes the signed clipboard from Tommy and abruptly leaves. He’s gone before I can think of what to say.
The nurse is pulling out my IV. I hear a lot of noise on the other side of the room. People are shouting. Someone is crying.
“I…” I begin. My voice isn’t working. My brain is all foggy.
In a last-ditch effort to communicate, I reach for the nurse’s arm, but she’s gone.
“Let’s go,” Tommy says. I sit up, and he throws my clothes at me. He pulls the curtain closed but stays while I change out of the hospital gown and back into the skimpy dress. My fingers are weak and fumbling with things, so I don’t bother with the fishnet stockings. And I decide to carry the heels instead of wearing them.
I stand on shaky legs, and Tommy takes my arm. He leads me down the aisleway, where there are beds of sick or injured people on both sides. Past drugged up people— past gang members wearing colors, who are standing and bleeding from what looks like stab wounds, past a black woman who is screaming, her hair all wild. And past a howling baby.
The doctors and nurses all have dark circles around their eyes, grim faces, and an aura of exhaustion around them. Their patients, people who have seen a harder side of life than I ever had, wait to be helped. Some of them are angry; most of them look hopeless. They are tended to in an almost mechanical way born from familiarity and exhaustion.
Tommy’s right. Nobody here cares.
The first time I was in an emergency room was for my mom. Mrs. Hudson had gone over to visit and found her collapsed on the floor. She called an ambulance, and they took her in, declaring an overdose. But Mom hadn’t tried to kill herself. She had simply gotten some bad meds.
I was fifteen and was in school when this happened. I knew something was up when Mr. Hudson picked me up from school with Brit instead of letting me ride the bus home that afternoon. “Your mom is sick,” he said. “She’s at the hospital with Brittney’s mom. She’s going to be okay.”
Of course, I wanted to know everything, but he would only give me sketchy details. She fell. She had a reaction to some medication. She is tired and needs some rest. They will keep her overnight.
I wanted to see her. When we got back to my house, I put my backpack down on the kitchen table and turned to him. “She’s the only family I have,” I said, tears springing to my eyes. “You can’t keep her from me. You can’t!!”
“It’s not fair, Daddy,” Brit said. “You need to take her.”
Gracie came to greet me, and realizing I was upset, started meowing loudly. I picked her up and hugged her to me. “You can’t keep me from my mother. I’ll call a taxi. I’ll get to the hospital one way or another. So you might as well drive me.”
I could see that I was wearing him down. I felt kind of bad, because I loved him like a father, but at that moment, I didn’t care if I was upsetting him. I wanted to see my mom. I had already lost one parent, and I was scared to death I’d lose them both.
Finally he sighed and nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Get in the car.”
On the way we dropped Brit off at home because she had a lot of homework and they needed her to watch her little brother when he got home from school. His elementary bus came later than ours. Mr. Hudson ran inside and grabbed me a granola bar and a grape juice box. When I popped the straw in the top of the juice box, some of the purple juice spilled out on my white t-shirt. I tried to dab it off with the napkin he handed me, but it soaked in. I ate the bar and drank in the car on the way to the hospital.
They had Mom in a room when I got there. Apparently, Mrs. Hudson had found her this morning right after school started. Nobody had bothered to tell me because “they didn’t want to scare me, and there was nothing I could do.” Of course, there was something I could do! I could be here with her!
When we walked in, Mrs. Hudson shot a look at Mr. Hudson, and I saw him shrug. He was going to be in trouble later for bringing me in. I didn’t care.
Mom was dressed in a hospital gown and hooked up to an IV. She lay in her bed with the head slightly raised. Her hair was wild, the brown strands flying loosely around and staticky from the dry air in the room.
“Heather!” she said and attempted a smile. She had dark bags under her eyes, and her skin was grey. I wondered how long she had looked like this. Had I not noticed?
“What’s wrong?” I asked her. But it was Mrs. Hudson who answered.
“She’s having a reaction to some medication she took,” Mrs. Hudson said.
Mom’s hands were shaking a lot. Her breathing was coming in short gasps. She was sweating.
I turned to Mrs. Hudson. I was really scared. “Is she going to be okay?” I asked. My voice trembled a little bit.
“Yes,” Mrs. Hudson said. She pulled me towards her and hugged me to her chest. I let her. She was warm and vaguely smelled of the jasmine candle she kept in her living room. “She is. But it will take some time.”
I wasn’t so sure about that. Mom looked worse than I have ever seen her.
They didn’t let me stay with Mom for very long. And Mom didn’t seem to mind when I left. She was concentrating on survival. I didn’t know it then, but she was starting to go through withdrawal symptoms from the drugs she had been on.
Mr. Hudson drove me home to get my things and feed Gracie. Then I spent the night with them, and I ended up staying there while Mom went through in-patient rehab. It was a long two weeks. When she was healthy enough to come home, I couldn’t have been happier. She cleaned up her act and worked hard to get better. I had no idea that that was just the beginning of her descent.
— — —
Tommy stops the car, and I open my eyes. He let me ride in the front seat this time. We are parked in the driveway of our house.
“How did I get to the hospital?” I ask.
“The man you were with called 911,” Tommy says. Then he swears some and sits back in the driver’s seat, crossing his arms. “There I am, driving around, and I see an ambulance at your motel room. The door wide open. People working on you. So of course, I stopped in to check on you. To see what happened. Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was for me? That one of our clients had to find you like that? That’s a customer we’ll never see again,” Tommy says. “You’re just lucky he cared, or you’d be dead.”
I think about that. Was that guy showing compassion or trying to keep himself out of trouble? “What happened to him?” I ask.
“He ran,” Tommy said. “He was nowhere in sight when the ambulance got there. Or when I got there. You think he’s gonna stick around and wait for the police?”
I guess not. He was paying for sex. And probably married.
“I just thought the police would have let him off, you know, since he saved me.”
Tommy looked over at me. “The police aren’t your friends, Heather. How many times do I have to beat that into your stupid head? And the hospital staff isn’t, either. You see how you were treated. You’re barely able to walk, and they throw you out. You’re worthless. They prefer to spend their time and energy on the important people.”
Not a “coke whore.” The doctor’s words swirl through my head.
“Nobody cares about you,” Tommy adds for emphasis. “Nobody.” Then he turns towards me so he is facing me. “Except for me. I give you food and a bedroom, a bed to sleep in. Toiletries. A house to live in.” His voice turns tender. “You know I love you, right?”
When I don’t answer, he reaches his hand over and gently takes my chin. He turns my head so I have to look at him. I meet his brown eyes with my green ones.
“Right?” he says again. “You know that I love you?”
I
swallow, and then nod. Because it’s what he wants to hear. And because maybe, in some way, he does. He did come to save me. To bring me home.
He lets go of my chin and turns to face the front of the car again. “I’m in a tight spot right now, Heather,” he says. “Chloe is unable to work for a few more days. And here you are. A risk. If something happens to you, I won’t have the income to pay the bills and buy groceries for the other girls. I can’t have you overdosing again. Drugs aren’t something you can just play around with.”
“I know.” My head is hurting, and I wish he would quit talking. I just want to go inside and crawl into bed. And sleep. The sky is light, and his dashboard clock says 8:12 a.m.
“So, here’s what we’re going to do. No more drugs for you. Not until I’m sure you’re mature enough to handle them.”
I nod. I just want to go inside.
He turns to me. Waits until I look him in the eye. “Okay?” he says again.
“Okay,” I say. And finally, he takes the keys out of the ignition and walks me into the house.
The days all blur together, and schedules don’t exist anymore. I used to be able to break the weeks up by the weekends, but we don’t ever get a day off, so I’m not always sure when a week begins or ends.
But several of them pass. Over time, Chloe heals, at least outwardly. Nothing else changes. Reg, Serena and I continue to be pressed into daily routines. The weeks turn into months. I can tell by the way the seasons change. We went through summer and into fall. I can tell because the days are colder again and because of the dry, brown weeds and grass I see through the cracks in the sidewalk and our scrawny lawn. I miss the brilliant yellow of our maple tree back home. It sits in our front yard, welcoming me home from school every day in the fall like a beacon.
There’s no beauty in this world. None.
I’ve started my period, and there are only two sanitary pads left in the house. Tommy let me start having drugs again a few months ago, and I’ve saved them. Lucky for me, one of the John’s I have that day is willing to pay for a joint, so I ask Thug One to stop at a corner pharmacy on the way home so I can buy some pads. Chloe told me about this store. Before, I’ve always relied on the other girls or Tommy to supply what we needed. Sometimes if we run out of toilet paper or soap, one of the other girls will buy some. A few times Chloe manages to smuggle us in some cookies from some place. We never ask where it comes from. Or how they paid for it. We just accept the gifts and try to enjoy them. But this time I was desperate, so I asked Chloe where I could buy some necessities.
The store is cluttered, and one of the fluorescent lights is flickering. The man behind the counter is old and pot-bellied. He has a television station turned on but muted. It’s some sports program with boxing. There are a lot of unsavory characters, and one man who is there buying beer leers at me. He has tattoos up both his arms, but I don’t look closely. I avoid eye contact with everyone most of the time.
In this part of town it’s one of the only stores open, and I’m pretty sure it’s also a front for something else. Chloe told me once that it’s a good place to buy drugs, but I’ve never tried.
I glance up, and there are no security cameras anywhere that I can see. I always have a small hope that someone, somewhere, will recognize me. I’m certain Brit has put ads out about my disappearance. But it has been almost a year. Can they still be looking? I’m not even sure my mom is alive.
I push those thoughts aside and make my way to the back of the store, where I find some boxes of feminine pads. There’s a thin line of dust across the tops of them. I pick up a box. With the money I have hidden in my bra, I think about buying some ibuprofen for my cramps. So I head to the painkiller section. The boxes are faded. I look at the dates stamped on them. All of them expired at least three years ago. I grab a box anyway. I guess people don’t really buy stuff here anymore.
Except beer. The man who leered at me is at the counter. He pays for his beer and steps back. I set the box down on the counter and hear him snicker.
“You working tonight?” he says.
I ignore him and pay. It’s not really ‘night’ anyway. It’s some wee hour of the morning. Idiot.
The balding man is slow and rings up my order. He keeps glancing up at the television. I notice a calendar sitting by the register. Today is February 2nd. Groundhog Day. I have been here for eleven months.
“I was talking to you,” the leering man behind me says.
I continue to ignore him. But then I get my change and have to turn around so I can leave. He’s standing there, blocking my way.
“Heather, right?
Startled that he knows my name, I finally look at him. And I recognize him. He has been with me a few times.
I can’t stop the flush that comes to my cheeks. The anger, the shame. I want to pound him in the face, but he’s twice my size.
“Excuse me,” I say, and try to brush past him, but he steps in front of me again, blocking my way.
I glance at the guy behind the cash register. He is concentrating on scraping some dirt out from underneath his fingernail, not wanting to get involved.
I look leering guy in the eye and try to glare. I’m trying to act tough, but my hands are shaking. I put them behind my back. “Move,” I say, my voice firm.
He smiles, and I can see his black teeth. “Because if you’re working tonight, I’ll see you later,” he says.
“I’m done,” I say.
“Well, tomorrow then,” he says. With the hand that’s not holding the beer, he reaches up and twirls a strand of my hair around his fingers, then lets it fall. I cringe.
He blows me a kiss and steps out of my way.
I walk as quickly as I can back outside and to the car, my only point of safety at the moment. I’m relieved to see that Thug One has it waiting at the curb, still running. I climb in the back seat and he starts driving. As we head back towards the house, I exhale. Relieved. But for how long?
As we drive home, I begin to feel really depressed. Here I am, eleven months into a life of hell. I can’t escape. I can’t fight off any of these men. The only friend I have in the world is Chloe, and who’s to say she wouldn’t turn on me in a minute? I know Reg would. And probably Serena. I haven’t seen any other women, except when they are standing on a street corner or walking into a hotel room. Tommy doesn’t like for us to mix.
At home I wash two ibuprofens down with a glass of water and eat a package of cheese and crackers. Then I go to the bathroom to wash up. I hardly recognize myself these days. There are dark circles under my eyes, and I’m pale without my makeup. My hair is thin and stringy. And I’m skinny. Without my clothes on, I can count my ribs and see my collar bones standing up.
Suddenly, I feel really, really tired. I’ve spent the past eleven months – eleven months – trying to think of a way to escape. Hoping for rescue. Wanting to be free.
There’s a knock on the bathroom door. “Heather?”
It’s Chloe.
“I have to pee.”
I finish up and dress for bed, pulling on fresh underwear and a ratty t-shirt. When I open the door, there is Chloe, made up to look ten years older than she is. She gives me a big smile.
“All done,” I say, and brush past her.
A little while later, while I’m curled up in my bed, she quietly comes in and sits next to me.
“What’s wrong?” she says quietly. Reg is already asleep, and we can hear her softly snoring.
“What isn’t?” I say bitterly.
“But you look different today. Sadder than usual.”
I sigh and sit up, pulling the blanket around me. It’s cold in here, and I’m thinking of putting my jeans on and another shirt to sleep in. I do that sometimes when I can’t get warm. Tommy won’t give us more blankets. He says he can’t afford such luxuries unless we work harder. And none of us are willing to do that, so we don’t complain.
“It’s just…” I look at her. She has washed her makeup off and looks so young a
gain. Her face is still beautiful, not full of scars or tattooed like some of the other girls. She’s Tommy’s pride. His most beautiful girl. He hopes to keep her that way.
“It’s just that I’m such a loser,” I say, and with those words my whole life seems suddenly summed up. The words begin to spill out. “My dad died when I was ten, and I wasn’t enough for my mom. I just couldn’t be enough to fill the hole Daddy left, and she broke from her grief. She needed drugs to escape life—life with me. So I thought I’d work really really hard in school and get good grades. Then I could get into a great university and become a doctor. Make lots of money, you know?”
Chloe nods.
“But I couldn’t even do that. I’m too stupid.”
I pull the thin blanket tighter around myself. I’m starting to cry.
“And I stayed away from boys, and dating, because I didn’t want to get distracted from my studying. No boys, no drama, right? I was a virgin before…” I spread my arms wide indicating the room, “before all of this.”
Chloe’s eyes get wide. “Really?”
“Yes. I was. And I was okay with that. And with not dating. But then I met Cory.”
I feel a lump form in my throat. Despite all that he did to me, despite all the trouble he caused me, I still feel so sad when I think about him. About the dream that I thought was, and about who he really was instead. What a fool I was. What a fool.
“Cory,” Chloe says. “Tell me about him.”
I start with how he came into my coffee shop and was so handsome, with that golden hair and blue eyes, his shy smile. And later, his hot car. And how he seemed really interested in me, and how we had so much in common.
“Sounds nice,” Chloe says.
I give a short laugh. “Yeah, but he was only using me.”
I tell her how he took me to his “dad’s” house, and then how he brought me here. “To sell me. He dropped me like I was trash,” I say. “He never felt anything for me. To him I was just…I don’t know. A way to make money?”
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