Harlot

by Tracie Podger

  I was growing bored, and tired. Tired through lack of sleep and tired of not knowing what was around the corner. There had been no fresh news about Philip, and I guessed the silence from Damien was because he, hopefully, was still helping the police with their investigation. I prayed for the day he would be officially arrested, maybe then I would contact the police and claim ownership of the shoe. I would lie, of course. I didn’t want to tarnish Philip’s name, and I certainly didn’t want to be named as a trailer trash prostitute who had shared his bed.

  The small convenience store was about to close when I barreled through the door.

  “I’m sorry, I just need a couple of things,” I said. The storekeeper smiled and let me in.

  “You’re working at the diner, aren’t you?” she asked. I nodded as I grabbed a pre-made sandwich, a couple of bags of chips, and a bar of chocolate.

  I fished out some money and paid for my dinner, trying not to make any further eye contact. “Thank you, and I’m sorry for keeping you open,” I said, and then left.

  She followed me to the door and I heard bolts being slid across as she prepared to lock up. I snacked on the chocolate on the walk back to the house. For the first time, I actually sighed as I walked the path to the sun deck and the front door. It was always unlocked and I hesitantly pushed it open. I could hear Cecelia humming to herself in the kitchen, and not wanting to appear rude, I called out to her. She asked me to join her for a cup of tea.

  I left my dinner on the first stair with my sneakers and walked into the kitchen. I was thankful that Beau wasn’t home.

  “Sit, I don’t feel like I’ve seen you for days. Tea?” Cecelia asked.

  “That would be lovely, I’m all ‘coffeed’ out today,” I said with a laugh.

  “You’ve been working hard, and you look a little tired,” she said, mirroring Rose’s comments from earlier in the day.

  “I had a restless night, nothing more.”

  “Is the bed uncomfortable, I can give you another room. One with a larger bed, perhaps?”

  “Oh, no. The room is perfect, thank you. I just had a few things on my mind, that’s all. I’m sure I’ll sleep like the dead tonight.”

  Rose placed a cup, her pot, and the jug of milk on the table before sitting herself.

  “So tell me about your day?” she asked as she poured.

  “The diner was a little quieter than usual, but I took a walk around town. I found a nice park to sit, and a courtyard with a fountain. I thought I’d do a little exploring today,” I said, forcing a smile.

  “That sounds good. Beau lives near that fountain, in one of the townhouses.”

  He didn’t spend every night at Cecelia’s but it hadn’t occurred to me that he lived elsewhere either.

  “Oh, I thought he lived here,” I said.

  “No, although he stays over often. He really should sell that house after…”

  She didn’t finish her sentence and I didn’t press. It wasn’t my business to know why he should sell his house. We sipped our tea in silence for a little while.

  “Charlotte, if there’s anything you want to tell me, you can. I know you haven’t known me for long but…” She left her sentence hanging.

  I sighed and took another sip of the tea. “Cecelia, I don’t want to involve you in whatever problems I have. I appreciate your offer of help, I really do. But it’s my mess to get out of.”

  “You’re so young, I just want you to know that you have support.”

  I wished I could open up; I wished I could tell Cecelia everything that had happened, but I believed her first response would be for me to go to the police. It would have been the right thing to do, but I had the added anxiety of Damien. I’d lied more in the past week than I thought I had my whole life. Lying wasn’t something that came naturally to me and if I went to the police, I’d have to tell them everything. If Damien wasn’t arrested for being my pimp, let alone murdering, if he had, Philip…Well, I didn’t want to think how my life would turn out. It was better that I just ran.

  “My problem, Cecelia, is complicated. It’s best I don’t involve anyone.”

  I wondered whether Beau had relayed our conversation from the previous evening. Maybe he’d even told her that he was the one to pick me up from the roadside and bring me into town.

  She nodded her head and I thought the furrowed brow might be worry. I was damned if I did, and even more damned if I didn’t tell. I doubted for one minute Cecelia, Rose, Beau even, had any idea of the enormity of my problem.

  It was the following evening that part of my problem caught up with me.

  After a double shift at the diner, Kacy was sick again, I refused Kieran’s offer to accompany me home. It wasn’t a long walk, and I’d been doing it day after day to be able to find my way back blindfolded. I was distracted, looking at my sneaker lace that had come undone and debating whether I ought to tie it before I tripped over, when a pair of headlights momentarily blinded me.

  A car engine rattled, it didn’t purr or roar, it rattled, as if in desperate need of repair. The car jolted forward, cutting across the road toward me. At first I was frozen to the spot, my body way behind my brain in reaction time. Over the engine noise, I heard a man call out.

  “Harlot, is that you?”

  There was only one person who called me that. I spun on my heels and ran in the opposite direction. It wasn’t a conscious decision not to alert Damien to where I was staying, just pure instinct in wanting to get away. I darted down the first side street I came to, ran across the road, and then down an alley not wide enough for the car. I dodged dumpsters, and a cat that screeched in fear of my manic presence. I didn’t look behind me, not once. I kept on running, zigzagging my way down side streets, doubling back up others. Eventually, I found myself in the courtyard with the fountain, and nowhere obvious to hide. I crouched to one side of it, not sure if Damien was following me on foot or in the car, or from which direction he’d arrive. I took some deep breaths to quell my racing heart and feed my screaming, oxygen-starved muscles.

  Other than my gasps for air, it was quiet. I strained to hear even the softest footsteps, not that I thought Damien capable of creeping quietly. I heard nothing but the scream I let out when a hand grabbed my shoulder. I leapt to my feet without looking who owned the hand. I tugged my shoulder from its grasp, clawing at the skin with my nails.

  “What the fuck...?” I heard. It hadn’t immediately registered that it wasn’t Damien’s voice.

  I wrenched myself away and stumbled to my knees. I crawled to a nearby wall and used it to support myself. My legs had turned to mush. My vision was blurred with unshed tears when Beau stepped in front of me.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked.

  I swiped my arm across my eyes. At first I couldn’t answer, my breaths were too ragged to form words.

  “I…Was…”

  “Breathe, Charlotte. Slow down, take some deep breaths,” he said. I wasn’t dumb enough to think there was any sympathy in his words. He probably didn’t want to deal with me passing out.

  Before I could, car headlights swept across the courtyard. I grabbed Beau, turned us so my back was to the wall, and pulled him to me. We had the shadow of the wall to conceal us. If Damien had seen us, I hoped he would have thought it was just a couple making out. I held onto the front of Beau’s jacket, keeping my head low and turned away from the source of the headlights.

  “One last time, Charlotte, what the fuck are you doing here?” Beau asked, his voice laced with anger.

  “Please, just…please,” I mumbled against his chest. Whether I’d tapped into what small amount of empathy Beau had, I wasn’t sure, but I felt his body relax just a little.

  We stayed that way for a minute or two. Until I was sure the vehicle had moved away for good. I let go of Beau’s jacket and he took a step back.

  “Trouble caught up with you, huh?”

  All I could do was nod my head. “I’ll pack my things and leave tonight,”
I said.

  “And go where? How?”

  “There must be a bus stop somewhere. I’ll get the first one that comes along.”

  I made to step around him, but he blocked my way.

  “You’re not going back to the house, whoever that was might be waiting out there. I will not allow you to take your trouble back to Cecelia’s.”

  “I need my things,” I said, protesting.

  He grabbed my arm and roughly pulled me along the sidewalk. We stopped outside one of the townhouses, and before we climbed the three stone steps to the front door, Beau scanned the courtyard. Satisfied, he led me into his house.

  He let go of my arm and walked down the narrow hallway. To one side was a staircase, and the other held two doors. He paused at one, and then beckoned to me. I followed him into a kitchen. I stood with my arms wrapped around myself, not because I was cold, but to stop my body from shaking. Beau shrugged out of his jacket, placing it on the back of a high chair that stood beside a countertop. He rounded the counter and opened a cupboard door. I watched as he retrieved two mugs and poured coffee. He didn’t ask me how I took it but slid a cup of black coffee toward me.

  “Drink,” he said.

  I reached out and picked up the cup, thankful it wasn’t full. My hand shook as I held it to my lips. It was hot, bitter, rocket fuel strength, but I welcomed it. Beau gave me a couple of minutes before pointing to one of the chairs.

  “Sit down,” he said, without any nicety.

  I did as I was told. He leaned against the counter and stared hard at me.

  “This will be the last time I ask you this, Charlotte. What the fuck are you doing here?”

  “Hiding.”

  “Why?”

  I blinked back tears, not wanting Beau to see how upset I was. I placed my cup on the counter, wincing at the rattle as the ceramic hit the marble.

  “I don’t…”

  “If you’re about to say you don’t want to tell me, then I’ll kick you out right now, and you can take your chances against whoever you’re running from. You were terrified out there. Why?”

  Beau held himself rigid, his arms were crossed over his chest, his face was hard but, and whether it was just wishful thinking on my part, it seemed that worry lines appeared on his forehead.

  I felt myself slump; I reached out and grabbed the countertop to stop myself from toppling off the chair. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t stop the sob leaving my mouth. That sob was followed by another, and for the first time since my grandmother had died, I cried hard.

  I held my face in my hands, not caring about the tears that seeped through my fingers and dripped to the counter. Beau didn’t say a word, he just stood where he was and let me cry myself out. When my sobbing had stopped, I felt something soft against the back of my hand. I parted my fingers to see a tissue being held out for me. I took it and wiped my eyes, my nose, and my cheeks.

  I didn’t look at him, I couldn’t. At first, when I opened my mouth, the words wouldn’t come but slowly, and quietly, I began to speak.

  “My mother abandoned me, I know nothing about her. My grandmother wouldn’t speak of her; I don’t even know what she looks like. But that was okay, I was brought up well, until my grandmother died.” I stopped to take in a deep breath, knowing Beau already knew this about me.

  “A cousin I’d never met was appointed my guardian, all he wanted was to get the house my grandmother had left me. He drinks, takes drugs, he…” The words dried up.

  “He what, Charlotte?” Beau asked, that time there was gentleness to his voice.

  “He gave me to his friends. They raped me, beat me. I don’t know how, but he lost the house, I imagine he owed money, but I was kicked out.”

  “Back up a minute. He gave you to his friends?”

  I kept my gaze focused on the cup. “He forced me to have sex with his friends, and he took money from them for that.” Only then did I look up at him and I wished I hadn’t.

  Beau’s face clearly displayed the disgust he felt. I wasn’t sure if that disgust was directed at Damien or me.

  “He made me prostitute myself, for years. He wouldn’t let me go to school, he isolated me from anyone, other than his friends.”

  “Where did you live?”

  “Back in Whiteling, in a trailer on a park full of the dregs. So now you know, that is who I’m running from.”

  “But that’s not the whole story is it?”

  “No. But it’s as much as I’m willing to tell you right now, Beau. I can see the disgust on your face, I know you don’t like me, and now I’ve given you enough to hate me. Like I said, I’ll leave as soon as I can get my things. Those clothes, that quilt my grandmother made me, are all I own.”

  My voice was hoarse, my throat sore from the crying, and my eyes were half-closed. I wanted to laugh; I’d always been an ugly crier.

  I slid the chair back and stood. “Thank you for the coffee. I’ll make sure he’s gone before I go to Cecelia’s. If he hasn’t, I promise you, I won’t go there.”

  “Where will you go, Charlotte?”

  I shrugged my shoulders, that was something I’d decide at the time. He sighed before pushing himself upright.

  “You’ll stay here. That way I know you’re both safe.”

  “I can’t stay here, Cecelia is expecting me.”

  “I’ll call her. No arguing. There is a spare bedroom this way.”

  He walked to the door and turned to look over his shoulder to make sure I was following, I guessed.

  His house was on three levels. He led me up the stairs to the second level and along a small corridor. He opened a door and then stood to one side.

  “The bathroom is along the hall. I’ll be downstairs.”

  “Is there a bedroom downstairs?”

  “No, but I’ve slept on the couch more nights than I’ve slept anywhere else.”

  “I’m putting you out,” I said.

  “Yes. But it’s better than knowing that prick can turn up at my aunt’s house during the night.”

  It was yet another comment of his that stung. I wasn’t at his house so he could protect me; I was there simply to keep his aunt safe. I nodded in reply and then walked into the room. He closed the door behind me.

  The room was beautifully decorated and a complete contradiction to Beau. The walls were painted a soft lilac, a wooden bedstead stood proud against one wall with a cream and lace quilt, matching lilac pillows were placed artistically at the headboard. A solid wooden chest of drawers was against the opposite wall. Sat on top was a vanity mirror, a glass vase with flowers that, only by touch, I realized weren’t real, and an empty picture frame. It seemed at odds with the room. I wondered if it had housed a photograph at one time and it had been removed.

  I sat on the edge of the bed and kicked off my sneakers. I crept to the bedroom door, needing the bathroom. I guessed Beau to be in the room directly below, and I didn't want creaking floorboards to disturb him. The bathroom was decorated in a similar, feminine way to the bedroom. Perfectly folded, pristine white towels were placed on a rack. A shelf above the sink held hand moisturizer and sweet scented soap. I used the toilet, washed my hands and face, and scrubbed my wet finger over my teeth. I had no choice but to disrupt the perfectly folded towels and was at a loss as to what to do with it after. I hung it over the edge of the roll top bath. I looked longingly at the bath; I hadn’t been able to soak in a tub for years.

  I undressed, folded my clothes and placed them on a chair beside the window. The bed was deceptively comfortable. I’d imagined, when I’d sat initially on the edge, that the mattress would be firm, as unforgiving as the dark oak bedframe. As I sank down into lavender smelling pillows and pulled the duvet over me, I knew a woman had lived in this house.

  Although I woke a couple of times during the night, it was probably one of the best night’s sleep I’d had in ages. I’d kept the drapes open so as not to oversleep. Reluctantly, I climbed from the bed and smoothed out the pillows and quilt. I dre
ssed, not wanting to overstep my welcome with a bath, and quietly walked down the stairs. The door to what I presumed was a living room was closed, as was the kitchen door. I reached for the front door latch, deciding to leave before Beau woke, to find it locked and no key visible.

  “Shit,” I whispered.

  There was no furniture in the hallway, nothing that would allow a set of keys to be left on it. After standing for a minute or two, not knowing what to do, I headed to the kitchen. I gently pushed open the door to see Beau already sitting at the kitchen table; he had earbuds in and was scrolling through his iPhone, selecting music I guessed. He was dressed for a run.

  “Hi,” I said, tentatively.

  “Did you sleep okay?”

  “I did. It’s a beautiful room.”

  He nodded. “I’ll let you out,” he said, and then rose from his chair.

  Without another word, he walked me to the front door, pulled a key from a breast pocket and opened it. We both walked out in the morning sunshine.

  “Erm, thank you. What did you tell Cecelia?” I asked.

  I did not want her thinking I was staying at Beau’s because we’d become friends, or worse.

  “You stayed at mine.”

  “But why did I stay at yours?”

  “She didn’t ask, I didn’t tell. I’m late for my run.”

  With that, he closed the front door and locked it, before leaving me standing there and jogging away.

  “How can you be late for a run?” I said to myself, as he was out of earshot by then.

  I started the walk back to Cecelia’s. A thought occurred to me halfway. Beau had been insistent that I stay at his so as not to lure Damien to his aunt’s house. Why would that be different during the day? What made Beau think Damien wasn’t sitting around the corner waiting for me? It didn’t add up, and I made a mental note to ask Beau when I saw him next.

  Thankfully, Damien wasn’t sitting around the corner and I made it back without incident. Cecelia was sitting in the kitchen when I arrived. I called out to her, telling her I was heading for a shower, and then I’d be back down. She told me she’d have a nice cup of tea ready and waiting for me.