Ordinary Girl

by Pamela Gossiaux

  But he doesn’t look happy. I get a twisty feeling in my stomach.

  He stalks over to the bed, and through the haze of drugs I’m starting to notice that he’s angry with me. He knows. He knows I took the money.

  “Slut!” he grabs my hair and yanks me into a sitting position. The sudden jerk hurts my neck. “Thief!” He slaps me sharply across the face, and my eyes start to water. Part of my brain feels the pain. The other part of it is wandering around in the fog.

  “I needed to buy condoms…” I begin, but he yanks on my hair. I put the condoms on the dresser when I first got here. They sit there as proof of my story. To cover the lie.

  “You only need what I give you, do you understand?” He sits down so he is right next to me. I feel his breath on my face. It stinks of garlic.

  We’re not supposed to buy anything for ourselves. Ever.

  My eyes water more. That twisty feeling in my stomach is still there. I think I might throw up.

  “Do you understand?” He shouts it into my face, his spittle wetting my cheek. I nod.

  “Good.” He lets go of my hair, and I fall limply back onto the bed. “You have to work it off.” He gets up off the bed and finds my dress, crumpled on the floor. He throws it at me. “Get dressed. I’ll drop you off.”

  I know what that means. Chloe told me once. If you don’t make your quota for the day, he sends you out on the streets.

  I remember the two men who picked her up. Who nearly beat her to death. I don’t want to go out on the streets.

  I sit up and reach for the dress, but he sits back down on the bed. He raises his hand, and I flinch, but then he tenderly strokes my cheek. “I know what’s best for you, right?” he says in a soft, overly sweet voice.

  I nod, because he does. Because he will beat me if I say he doesn’t. The strap of my slip has fallen off of my shoulder. My right breast is exposed. Tommy puts his hand on the back of my neck and pulls me towards him, kissing me hard on the mouth. I taste blood from where he slapped me. Then he pushes me down and is on top of me. His weight is crushing me. I can feel his hands exploring, but I’m not really sure where. Part of me wants to fight through the drug’s haze, to get up, to run. But the other side of my brain tells me to stay put. It’s safer that way.

  “You love, me, right?” he whispers into my ear. The stubble on his face is rough. His hand reaches down and unzips his jeans.

  I can’t speak to answer him. His weight is too much. But I know that he loves me. He is here, touching me. Proving it. He gives me things. Money. Food. And drugs to make it all better. He will keep me safe.

  He’ll hurt me He’ll help me He’ll hurt me

  He pulls up my slip, and I close my eyes, letting my mind take me somewhere else, giving into the pull of the drugs. They take me away, and I’m no longer aware of the man who is ripping out my soul.

  — — —

  When he is finished, we lay there in bed together, smoking. The joint he brought with him has something extra in it, and I’m glad for it. This way I won’t have to smoke mine.

  I can feel it lifting me higher than usual. There’s a slight tingling sensation in my head. I’m trying to explore this feeling when he rolls over and sits up, taking the joint with him. He extinguishes it on the wooden headboard behind us. I smell burning plastics, and now there’s an ugly black spot in the fake wood.

  Tommy grabs the crumpled one-hundred-dollar bill that is still laying on the dresser, knocking over the box of condoms in the process. Then he walks over to the chair and opens my purse, pulling out the money I made today. $1500. He stuffs it in his jacket pocket and zips it up.

  “Get dressed and get in the car,” he says. He leaves, shutting the door behind him. I find my underwear lying on the floor and put them on. Then I quickly pull on my dress. I’m a little wobbly from the drugs, and I almost fall over. But that’s okay. They make it okay.

  I leave and go out to the parking lot. It’s dark outside. Tommy is quiet when I get in the car, and he doesn’t look at me. He starts driving.

  “I want to go home,” I say, meaning the dirty house on Side Street that we live in. I don’t want to beg. But I do. Because I know what’s coming. “Please. I’ll pay you back for the money I took. I’ll find a way.”

  “You know the rules,” he says.

  Not the street. Not tonight. Fear clenches my stomach again, fighting for dominance over the drugs.

  He drives me to the corner of Burton and Straight. The shops are all boarded up. Across the street from us, a few people are leaning against the wall of what used to be a florist shop. They’re smoking something. Tommy pulls up to the curb and stops the car. He looks at me. “Get to work.”

  This is the same corner we were on when Chloe was taken by those two creeps. What if they come back?

  I numbly open the car door and climb out. It’s early spring, and cold wind is biting through my dress. The kitten heels I’m wearing don’t give me much warmth, and I know that soon my feet will be freezing. As I shut the door, I look at Tommy one last time, hoping.

  Please.

  But he speeds away, leaving me standing alone on the corner, waiting for the next John to come along and buy me more time.

  I watch the few cars in fear, wondering who’s out at this time of morning. I’m looking for the creeps who picked up Chloe. Or the ones who killed her. How will I know who they are? Will I recognize their car before they get to me?

  This dark hour of the morning you don’t usually get the businessmen. You get the lowest of the low; the creatures of the dark. The men who call nighttime their hour.

  But the next car that drives by is a cop car. A sharp zap of adrenaline shoots through me. “The cops aren’t your friends,” says a voice. “Jail is worse than here.” That’s Chloe speaking. “Don’t let them find you.”

  I turn to run, but my legs are wobbly, and I trip, falling and skinning my knee.

  “Hey,” says a male voice. I glance back. It’s one of the cops. He’s getting out of his car. “Stop!”

  I stand and start running down the sidewalk, past the boarded-up buildings and heading for an alleyway up ahead. I hear him coming after me, his shoes pounding on the pavement.

  “Stop!” he shouts again.

  I’m almost to the dark alleyway. I can turn in there and lose him. But what—or who —is waiting for me there? I hesitate as a vision of the balding cop comes back at me.

  “Cops are your friends,” says Mrs. Kettle.

  But I have drugs on me. They’re in my bra. Heroin. Possession equals prison time. How many times has Tommy pounded that into our heads?

  I put on a burst of speed and feel my lungs burning. I’m making good time, but then my heel gets caught in a crack in the pavement. It snaps off, and I pitch forward. I throw my hands out to break my fall, and my palms hit the pavement just milliseconds before my knees do. The rough pavement takes the skin off both palms and both knees, and I realize I’ve ripped my stockings.

  Tommy will be mad.

  The police officer is bending over, grabbing me by the wrist and pulling me up. The pill I took, along with the joint Tommy shared with me, is making me really woozy. The world is spinning.

  And I think I forgot to eat today.

  “What’s this?” the police officer says, and I see my drugs have fallen out of my bra and are laying on the sidewalk. He pulls on my wrist. “Whoring for drugs, huh?”

  Just as I stand, the world tips sideways and fades to black.

  When I wake up, I’m back in the ER, the same one I was in when I overdosed. I carefully wiggle my fingers, then my toes. Everything seems to be working. I don’t feel as bad as I did then.

  I carefully turn my head sideways, but nothing spins. I see Tommy leaning against the wall out in the hallway. He’s waiting for me. He’ll take me home.

  I look for the police, but they’re gone. Then I start to itch my nose and realize my left hand is handcuffed to the side of the bed.

  “You’re awake,�
�� says a nurse. She’s petite and blond but has a tired, lined face. “You got yourself a little too high. They’re going to let you sober up a bit before they take you in,”

  “Take me in?” My throat is dry and scratchy. I try to swallow. I need some water.

  “Yep,” the nurse says. “You’ve got yourself in a mess. Possession. Honey, you girls gotta stop selling yourselves for drugs. Now you’re looking to do time.”

  I frantically glance at Tommy. The nurse follows my eyes.

  “Him? He’s probably gonna try to bail you out. You’re making too much money for him to let you go. But I doubt it’ll work. This your first rap? Second?”

  I have no idea what she’s talking about. But then she hands me a cup of water and raises my bed a little bit so I can sip from the straw.

  “I’m going to give you this to help you detox,” she says, and fills a syringe. Before I can protest, she plunges it in my arm.

  I glance again at Tommy, and our eyes meet. He looks tired to me. For the first time ever, I see him as a person. Someone else who probably didn’t end up where he thought he would. I mean, what little boy wants to grow up selling women for a living? Wanting to live in a world of lies and drugs and sex? I think of the ugly word “revenge” carved into Chloe’s small arm. And I think of all of the people who hate Tommy.

  Including me.

  And yet I know that when they release me from here, if I’m not in jail, I’ll go back home with him tonight.

  I close my eyes and bid sleep to come.

  — — —

  In my dream I’m fourteen years old, and Brittney and I are at our first concert. It’s a dream I have over and over because it was one of my favorite days ever.

  Brit’s dad took us to see Imagine Dragons. I have no idea where he got the tickets, because online they were super expensive, but he did, and there we were. We were in the nosebleed seats, but it was so cool, and we felt very teenager-ish, if that’s even a word.

  He bought us each a pop and a band t-shirt. The concert was great, and Brit and I sang along with several of the songs.

  Then afterwards, even though it was 11:30 p.m. he went through a fast-food drive-thru on the way home and bought us burgers, fries and shakes. We listened to the Imagine Dragons CD in the car really loud and ate and talked about the concert. Brit’s dad was so fun, and that night stands out in my memory as one of my favorite times ever.

  In my dream tonight, we’re at the fast-food drive-thru, and it’s here when I usually wake up. But tonight in my dream, the car stalls.

  “What are you girls doing?” a voice says. Brit and I are sitting in the backseat, and I turn to the voice. There’s a creepy man in a business suit with a shadow of a beard staring in my window. I try to roll it up, but I can’t.

  Suddenly I’m afraid. “Brit, we have to get out of here!” I say, and when I turn to look at her, she’s dressed in Chloe’s white dress, and there’s blood on it.

  Then I look in the front seat, and Tommy’s driving the car. I try the door handle, but it’s locked. I’m trapped in the back seat.

  “Brit!” I scream. The creepy man is reaching through the window to grab me. “Brit, help! They’re going to hurt us!”

  “We’re fine,” Brit says, and she’s smoking a joint.

  “No, we’re not!” My heart is pounding as I’m trying to make Brittney understand how much danger we’re in. I won’t let Tommy have her, too. Not Brit.

  “Stop!” I say, and I start pounding Tommy on the back of the head with my hands. But in my dream, it doesn’t seem to have any effect.

  “Heather, what are you doing?” Brit says. Her voice is calm.

  “I’m trying to save you!” I say.

  “Honey, I’m here to save you. Didn’t I promise I’d never leave you?” Brit says.

  Then the car becomes big enough so she can stand up. “Let her go,” Brit says to Tommy. She puts her hands on her hips in that bossy way she has, and I hear her voice say, “I want to see all the girls you have, and I won’t take no for an answer!”

  All the girls? I look in the backseat, and suddenly it’s filled with girls. There’s me and Reg and Serena and Kaitlyn. And a lot of other girls I don’t know. The car has become so big that it’s more like an auditorium now.

  “I mean it, and if you don’t comply, I will be back, and you won’t like what you see then!” Brit says. Her voice seems unnaturally loud.

  “Ma’am, we can’t just let anybody back there…” a voice is saying. It sounds like my nurse.

  I open my eyes and realize I’m awake now. Brit’s voice is still ringing in my ears. It’s almost like she was here. I miss her so much. I miss her and my mom and Aaron and Dennis. I miss my job at the cafe and Jess and Cherise. I wonder what they’re all doing now? My friends will all be in college. No, it’s February. Or March? So Brit will be over halfway through her second semester. Wow, her first year nearly in at Columbia. I wonder how she liked it.

  I close my eyes and feel tears fall down the sides of my face. I don’t even try to brush them away. I just want this to end. If I can’t die here, now, then I want Tommy to come and get me, and I want to smoke my joint and curl up in my bed in the house. I want to pretend I don’t exist anymore.

  I want to disappear.

  I fold my fingers into my left palm, and I can feel the edges of the scar that bonded me and Brit as sisters. “I will always be there for you,” Brit had said in life, and in my dream. But where is she now?

  “Heather?”

  The voice is soft. Disbelieving. It sounds like it’s right above me. I open my eyes and standing above me, looking down, is Brittney.

  “Heather!” Suddenly tears start to flow from her eyes, and she’s laughing and crying at the same time. “Heather! I found you!”

  I squint up at her. She looks different. Her hair is shorter, and she’s straightened it. It hangs just above her shoulders. And she looks older. There’s a crease running between her eyes that wasn’t there before.

  “Heather, it’s me!”

  I can’t believe it. I wonder if I’m hallucinating from the drugs. But then she takes my right hand in her left, and I see her scar. The light crescent moon on her own palm. Her hand is warm, and she squeezes mine.

  “Brittney?” I say. I’m still a little fuzzy.

  “Yes!” She’s crying now. She bends over the bed until her face is on my chest. She’s hugging me the best she can and crying, and I suddenly realize that this is real. Brittney is real, and she’s here. “I found you! I can’t believe I finally found you!”

  “You found me?”

  “Yes, you silly girl! Didn’t I promise never to forget you? To always be here for you?”

  And here she is. I’m suddenly crying, and the nurse has now realized that we know each other. She asks Brit to raise up so she can prop my bed up. Then I’m sitting up, and there is Brit. I’m really awake, and she’s really here.

  “It’s okay, now,” Brit says, still crying. “You’re safe. Heather, you’re safe. We found you. Oh, I really should call your mom.”

  She has some papers in her other hand and lays them down on my bed so she can pull her phone out. One is a poster with my senior photo and “MISSING PERSON” printed across the top of it. The other is a brochure for Hope’s Angels, an anti-human trafficking organization.

  “My mom’s okay?” I ask. I’m having trouble taking all of this in.

  Brit looks at me as the phone is ringing. “Your mom is great! Wait until you see her.” She grabs my hand again. “And you’re safe now, Heather. It’s over. I’m going to take you home.”

  I nod, the tears still running down my face. Then I glance out into the hall, but Tommy is gone.

  ONE YEAR LATER

  It’s a warm Saturday in early June. It has been a little over two years since I was taken, and one since Brit found me. We’re celebrating my twentieth birthday today in my backyard. I’m surrounded by friends. My mom looks amazing. She’s two years clean and sober,
and I haven’t seen her this happy since before Daddy died.

  The Hudsons are here, and Mrs. Hudson brought over all kinds of yummy food, like her homemade cheese ball and crackers, potato salad and sandwich rolls. Mom made me a chocolate cake from scratch instead of a box and put a lot of frosting on it. She decorated it with purple flowers and green icing leaves. It’s the most beautiful thing ever.

  Brit is here with Aaron, and Dennis came with a girl he met in college this past year. She’s quite pretty and dotes on Dennis. It seems college has been good for him. He’s studying computer science at MIT and couldn’t be happier.

  Aaron made it onto a college basketball team and has been playing for U of M. He’s studying sports science and thinks he wants to be a physical therapist.

  My mom hasn’t used drugs since the day she found out I disappeared. Apparently Mrs. Hudson gave her a long talk about how she had to sober up if she ever wanted to find me. So Mom worked really hard those first few weeks, giving the police all the information she had to track me down, while detoxing. It was really difficult for her, Mrs. Hudson says, but she has worked hard and never looked back. After two years of being sober, she was reinstated as a nurse last month. She works in the new baby ward at the hospital and loves it.

  During those first two months when I was gone, Brittney, Dennis and Aaron also worked really hard to find me. Aaron made a gazillion posters and hung them up everywhere. Then he posted tons of stuff online about me being lost. They even have a special website dedicated to finding me.

  Dennis used his computer-oriented brain to figure out where my last phone signal really came from. He explained to the FBI what he had done to change my GPS location. They worked on it, and somehow they traced it to the state of New York. Brittney gave the police the description of Cory’s car, and with the help of my café coworkers and a description of Cory himself, somehow, amazingly, the police found Cory three months after I disappeared. They could never have done it without Dennis, his information, and my friends.