Professional Prostitute (unedited)

Chapter 2

I would have a thousand and one reasons to discuss and try to convince my mother to go to the police station and denounce my father, but she was very hurt and I was completely sure she would not go anytime soon to the police.. or ever.

I helped treat my mother with her injuries.
Tears streamed down my face to see her so hurt and groaning in pain every time I passed remedy upon the injury. I finished and let her lay on my bed. I took a coat to leave the house and passed the room where my father was lying on the ground, still unconscious.

I left the house and it was cold. Really cold. Normal New York night weather. I walked through the streets of my dark neighborhood. A simple neighborhood, not much luxury. I sat on a bench in a small park, propped my elbow on my knee and put my hand on my forehead. I closed my eyes and thought of what I should do.

Hell was no place for me. I could not stand to be beaten anymore. I placed my free hand on the bruises on my thigh, I felt a horrible streak of pain, And the worst part of it was knowing that the author of this pain was my own father.

After an hour of sitting in the park and crying a lot, I decided to leave. I definitely did not want to come back to my house. I took a bus and went to the other side of town. I walked for about an hour and a half. I was distracted while walking, suddenly someone bumped into me.

"Can you you look at where you're going?" The guy yelled.

"You bumped in to me." I said back with an attitude. He was a tall guy. Very handsome. Not that it mattered.

"I'm really, sorry. I'm just really stressed out right now and..." He ran his fingers through his hair and stopped it on the nape of his neck. Kind of seemed to be squeezing it, by the tension.

"Anyway, sorry" he continued.

"It's all right. But go home and try to relax. You're really pillaged, I changed the tone of my voice when I said pillaged.

"Should I follow the advice of a stranger who I ran into on the street?" He asked.

He has somehow managed to leave me wordless to his comment. "Sorry you're right and I'll be going". I said before turning around to take off. But before I did, he grabbed my arm, making me turn to face him.

He held the grip to my arm. "Guilherme. Nice to meet you, stranger."

"Nice to meet you too, I guess." I pulled my arm back and walked away taking the bus back home. I arrived late. My father was no longer passed out on the floor. Nor was he in the house. I locked the front door and slept with my mother in my room; she was already sleeping in there. I felt bad having to wake her up and  bring her to her own room.

It was hard to find a position to sleep on. All parts of my body were bruised and ached a lot. After a long time, I fell to a deep sleep.