I’m silent for a few seconds. “When can I see her? When can I take her home? Will she be ok?” I shoot off all three questions without taking a breath in between.
“Because of the lateness of the hour, we would rather let her rest tonight. She is currently sedated anyway. You can visit first thing in the morning. I suggest you go home and get some rest. If she does well she can go home within a week. I've seen some patients go home after three days but this is a case by case basis, so we will keep our eye on her."
"Oh, thank you, doctor. Thank you so much."
“You’re welcome, now I’m going to check on your mom. We’ll be in touch.” He turns and walks out of the room.
I turn to my group of friends with a relieved smile on my face. "Thanks guys for being here."
Skye is the first one to hug me and one by one our small group of friends connects in one big bear hug. The last time we had a circle hug like this was when my father passed away. I let myself cry tears of relief and find comfort in the warmth of this band of friends.
Four
2017
Finishing up a music set on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, I cringe on the inside at the irony. Fame my ass. I try to ignore the cramp in my belly, but it’s been a full day since I’ve eaten anything. Looking inside my guitar case, I see I have about twenty bucks and some change, just enough to eat or sleep somewhere.
I’m desperate, broke, and alone, just like every other bright-eyed girl trying to make it in Hollywood. So much for thinking I was special. Turns out, there are more people out there with talent than I thought. I don’t stand out. Sure, I can sing, that’s what my scholarship was for, but so can the thousand other wannabes that are scavenging the streets looking for some sort of gig.
Every audition is the same: change this, sing that. For a country that values individualism, they sure try hard to make us all the same. The same voice, the same look, and if you don’t conform, well, you’re on the streets. For a man it's easy, they can do manual labor and manage to get by, but us women? The laborers don't want us either because we're not what they're looking for. They're no better than the entertainment business in this town, I shouldn’t have expected any less. So, when I say that if you don’t conform then you’re on the streets, it’s literal for me and for thousands of other women.
If they can stay off the streets, their dream of stardom is sadistically twisted into nothing but a stage name, scant clothing, and silky promises. No one dreams of getting paid in ones, which I realize with a sinking feeling in my stomach is the road I’m heading down...or worse.
Days like today, I wonder if it’s worth spitting out my pride to swallow just one decent meal. I stare down at my tattered shoes, a far cry from the kind I wore before I left. Back then, I had everything I could possibly want and nothing that I actually needed. So I left it all. Now look at me. When I left home I left my name and who I was. I didn’t want anyone to find me, so I became invisible.
A car honking its horn startles me from my thoughts and I glance around. It’s getting late. I need to move on before the light fades. I reach into my case and grab the money. There’s a ten-dollar bill and a mixture of singles and quarters. I’ve got the ten tight in my fist when someone shoves me to the ground from behind. The concrete bites into my knees, the slight burn and wetness a sure sign that I’ve torn skin.
"What the fuck?" I spit the words out with a nasty glare over my shoulder. A big dude, more fat than muscle, pushes me again. I open my hand to catch myself when the ten falls to the ground. He reaches out and grabs my guitar and the fragile strap breaks. It’s the last thing of value that I own and this thug just snatches it. I scream as loud as I can, "Stop! Someone help me, please!" Right behind him, another guy appears to be running after him to stop him. I look at him with pleading eyes, but he scoops up the ten-dollar bill off the ground. What the fuck is happening? The ass even has the nerve to say, “Thanks, Chica!” as he passes me with my money.
There’s a crowd gathered around me watching this play out like it’s some scene from a movie. “Uhhh HEELLOOOO? A little help here?”
They snap out of their daze and son-of-a-bitch, they all turn and go about their business. Just my luck. What the hell is wrong with people? Then again, no one has ever helped me before when I needed it, I don’t see why that would change now. Everyone wants to put in their two cents worth, but they all turn a blind eye when you ask for help.
Biting my lip, I fight past the negative thoughts. I might not be able to get my money back since that guy is long gone, but I can still see my guitar. He’s just strolling down the street as if I won’t chase him. I grab the now empty case and take off at a run. It doesn’t take me long to catch up to him and I swing the case, hitting him in the side. Catching him off guard, I then jab him in the kidneys with the case. The guitar drops to the ground and he turns around with a shocked look on his face. He opens his mouth and his eyes go round, he shuts his mouth and turns off at a run.
“That’s right big boy, run! You don’t want to mess with this!” I scream at him, suddenly braver.
I hurry and put the guitar into the case, noticing the broken string and a dent. I’ll examine it fully later. Right now, I just snap the case shut. I sit on the sidewalk and lean back against a building, watching everyone go about their day just as mine has come to an end. It’s time I face the reality that I only have two options left: trade my dignity for a roof over my head and some food on the table or sell what I refuse to, myself. It’s time I pawn my guitar and use the money for a meal and a bus ticket back home. Things have to get better, they certainly couldn’t get any worse.
The sun is starting to set, I must have lost track of time. This is not a place I want to be alone after dark. I need to find shelter for the night, and besides that, I will get a better price for my guitar during the day when the pawn shops don’t think I’m desperate for a night’s sleep. A couple of blocks over there’s a soup kitchen. I used to visit there all the time, until they hung my picture up letting people know I wasn’t welcome there. I’ve seen Lea in there and that’s when I stopped using the free food banks. Life’s rough for a girl who's not used to going hungry. You’d think after five years of being on the streets I would be used to it.
It’s getting darker by the second and I’m very apprehensive as I start to cross the darkened alley. I could trade more than my dignity for a longer-term fix and that pimp is always there, waiting for the day that I'm so hungry I’ll give in. My heart’s beating in my throat, the urge to run strong.
“Well hello, Skye, it’s a nice surprise to see you out so late. You hungry, doll?” The scratchy voice of the neighborhood pimp startles me. He’s in his polyester suit, muscles bulging out, his dark hair greased back and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth.
“Sid.” I gulp.
I’m caught like a deer in headlights, trying to steady my racing heart because he knows exactly where to push. At our initial meeting years ago, I thought I was ready for his type of desperation. I wasn’t and since then my response to him is 'fuck off' and I run along, never showing just how close to the edge I am. Today is different. Deciding I need to go home has me off guard. His beady little rat eyes appraise me, not missing a detail as he looks at the disarray of my clothes which are ripped and dirty from the fall. He pushes himself off the wall and with every slow step he takes forward, I take one backward. A lamppost stops my movement, but he continues to stalk me as if I’m his prey.
He steps right up to me, not touching me but invading my personal space. I can smell the tobacco on his breath and it disgusts me, so I turn my face away from him and look down at the sidewalk. I flinch as he brings his hand up and fingers one of my curls, pulling it then watching it bounce back up.
“It’s okay, doll, Sid will take real good care of you.” He chuckles deeply. “Has your hunger finally knocked the fight out of you, doll?” He really isn’t expecting an answer and the battle within me is keeping me silent. He moves in closer and smel
ls my hair. I may be broke, but the one thing I won’t go without is being clean. He starts talking to me low. “Come on, Skye, let me buy you dinner. Work for me tonight so I can show you how easy it is to live better.” My silence encourages him more. "I won’t have you on the streets, doll, the first night is always with me.” My mind begins to race. I’m starving and a good three hour drive from where I once called home, but I’ve already decided I am going back.
I can only imagine the look on my mother’s face if I showed up at their door now. Maybe she would be glad to see me after all this time? Oh, who am I kidding? She despises me just as much as my father does, she just shows it differently.
Sid’s still whispering in my ear all the dirty things he would love to do to me. He really is a twatwaffle. He mistakes my shivers as pleasure, but it’s the rage that is making my body quake. Turning my face away from him was a mistake, he’s now placing featherlight, wet kisses on the sensitive spot on my neck. My hands ball into tight fists, my nails breaking the skin on my palms, but fear has me keeping still.
My body is stiff, and Sid starts kissing my neck. I’m so hungry I don’t fight back. I start thinking maybe he can just take what he wants and give me some money. I try to concentrate on the cars passing by, which doesn’t really help since I see the pathetic looks being tossed my way. He leans in, pressing his body flush to mine, the weight of him making my skin crawl. His muscles jump in excitement, and I can feel his erection pushing into my hip. The thought of him nauseates me.
Fear roots me to the spot. I never thought I would be in this position again, not since I first turned him down. I can’t even manage to tell him no, only a small whimper escapes. He crowds me, but I don’t push him away just yet. My stomach takes this moment of silence to growl loudly.
In my head I’m screaming at him to get the fuck off me, but I can’t make myself react. I can’t get the words out… I don’t feel anything but disgust. I close my eyes so I don’t have to see how people are judging me. Tears silently fall, but Sid doesn’t notice, he’s now grinding himself on me, making disgusting noises. I press myself further back into the lamppost, the metal digging into my back. My body is trying to get away from his onslaught of unwanted advances, my hands fisted in his suit, my mind on the few bucks I might make if I…I feel sick.
The honking of a horn makes me snap my eyes open and it takes a few seconds to focus due to the tears still filling them. Right beside us is a sleek, storm black Aston Martin. I can’t see the driver’s face, but from the way his hands are moving I can tell he is saying something.
Sid bends down, looks into the car and proceeds to yell, “Fuck off, dude. This one’s mine tonight!” His hand squeezing one of my arms, he doesn’t realize how tight his grasp is. I let out a small cry of pain, and he turns his head to me. “Shut the fuck up, Skye, let me get rid of this asshole so I can finish what I started.” He emphasizes this by giving me a shake, making my head hit the lamppost.
I see the stars first then panic really takes hold. The hunger and desperation had me almost considering it for a second, but this is a done deal as far as he is concerned. He’s dead serious and he won’t let go now that he has ahold of me, he is going to take it no matter what. This can’t happen, I won’t allow it ever again.
I try to jerk my arm free, but my strength is no match for his. “Let me go, Sid, I don’t want this.” I’m shocked at how strong my voice sounds considering how weak I feel. The slamming of a car door grabs our attention, the sight that is before me is astonishing. He’s 6’1. His hair reminds me of a cup of espresso, rich and dark. His jawline is more defined than I remember and he has a trimmed beard. He’s in a designer suit, looks like an Armani to me, perfectly tailored to fit his broad frame and holy shit does he fill it out. My mouth drops open and I’m robbed of speech.
It can’t be. He was the love of my life, my everything.
He gestures toward me but before he opens his mouth Sid starts yelling at him. “Listen, dude, this little whore is mine. I suggest you get the fuck back in your car and leave us to our business.”
His inky blue eyes snap to me, they’re deep pools of darkness that I used to know so well. I loved those eyes. I feel them burn into me, taking in my tears and how I was trying to pull away. I’m not sure of the message I convey to him, but he starts approaching us and counters back to Sid.
“Could have fooled me, looks like the lady wants to take her business elsewhere.”
I take in a quick breath as I hear his warm rich voice. “Preston?”
It’s been a long time since I’ve let myself think about him. Five years to be exact.
Sid drags my attention back to him. “Shut your mouth, not another fucking word, Skye. You won’t like the consequences,” he tells me in a low harsh tone as his beefy hand grips harder. What the hell was I thinking? Oh, that’s right, I wasn’t.
“Why don’t you let the lady go?” Preston firmly suggests.
Sid puffs his chest out like a peacock. You’ve got to be kidding me. He turns his back to me. “Dude, I’ll give you one more warning. Get back in your fancy car and leave this whore to me.”
I see Preston press his lips together, does he think I’m a hooker? This is the second time Sid has called me a whore and whether Preston believes him or not, I’ve had enough. I swiftly raise my hand and pop Sid in the back of his head. He loses his hold on me and I give him a little shove.
“I’m no one’s whore, you hear me? You both can fuck right off with your 'business' because I'm out of here.” I’m furious that Preston could believe that I would be doing business here. I try to pass Sid, but he grabs my arm and I turn on him, ready to rip him a new asshole. What I’m not prepared for is the sight of him raising his hand ready to slap me.
“You’ll learn some respect!” he roars at me as he punches me in the stomach. This makes me drop to my knees, gasping for air. He grabs a fistful of my hair and drags me back to my bed. With calculated intent he lifts me by my hair. I refuse to scream and give him the satisfaction of knowing he hurt me.
I shake myself so past memories of my father can’t cripple me. I flinch out of habit.
Before the blow can make contact, Preston’s hand catches Sid’s wrist. Sid is bug-eyed. He can’t believe someone would have the nerve to touch him. Preston’s face is expressionless. He glances at me, and I flinch from the rage that flashes in his eyes. The pimp is a bit dense and doesn’t seem to see the controlled rage Preston has as he keeps running his mouth. It’s a look I don’t recall Preston having…ever.
“Dude, you’re going to regret touching me over one of my whores.”
Preston’s nose flairs and then he artfully places an uppercut to Sid’s jaw, effectively knocking him out cold.
He straightens his cuffs and turns his eyes back to me and narrows them slightly. “Are you all right? Do you need medical attention?” His eyes scan me from top to bottom and he stops at my scraped up knees. His eyes now hold concern, or is it pity? I can’t stand people looking at me with pity.
Nervously shuffling my feet, I don’t know what to say. I mean, what do you say to someone that was once your everything? I lower my gaze and look at the sidewalk. “Just another day in Hollywood,” I mumble with a bitter laugh. He takes a step closer and places a single finger under my chin raising my face to look at him. Looking up at him with incredulity, I try to ignore the heat from just his one finger on my face. It pisses me off because I’m used to feeling nothing but disdain when touched. Except his touch. He’s always had the power to make me feel. My jaw clenches as he studies my face, he has a look I remember well. One that says he knows what I’m thinking. I’m struggling to hold back my own anger. He lost that privilege of feeling anything for me or about me when he left me.
“Get your fucking hands off me,” I snap, very low.
His eyes flash a sad look before they go guarded and hard. “What? No hi, Preston, how are you? You don’t look happy to see me.” Then, slowly, he moves his hand from my face
. I have to hold back my whimper as his comforting touch leaves me. I wonder when he got so damn sure of himself.
“I’m a little surprised to see you again, you know… after you left,” I sneer.
We stand there for a few moments, just staring at each other, his eyes calling to me with something I can’t decipher as my heart begs for him. I hate that after all this time it’s still him.
My stomach breaks the silence with a powerful growl, and my hand moves immediately to cover the offending noisemaker. He barks out a loud laugh. “Hungry, Skye?” As if the sound of my belly isn’t an answer. There’s one thing I can’t stand, and that’s being laughed at, and he knows this.
My stubborn pride will be the death of me because I look at him straight in the face and reply, “No.”
He raises a brow as my belly roars with hunger again. A moan from the ground catches our attention. I do not want to be anywhere near here when Sid wakes. “Listen, Preston, I’d love to catch up, but I’ve got somewhere to be.” The lie slips out easily. I kick the pimp in the side making him grunt.
Preston inclines his head and smirks at me. “Still just as stubborn, I see. We better get out of here before he comes round.”
A small smirk plays about my mouth. He has no idea just how stubborn I can be these days. I purposely ignore the ‘we’. “I should indeed. I’ve taken up enough of your evening, so I’ll just wish you a good night.” I collect my guitar and start to walk away, not asking him what he's doing three hours from home in Armani and a two-hundred-thousand-dollar car. The best part is, I know it will annoy the hell out of him that I didn’t ask.
“Do you need a ride, Skye?” he calls out after me.
“Nope!”
It’s fully dark now. I glance back behind me and see him leaning against the car. I pause, I’m tempted to go back to him. He takes a step toward me and it scares me how tempting it is to go to him, so I turn in the opposite direction.
Divine Hart Page 4