The Handsome Helper

Chapter 6

I wipe the blood from my nose with my left hand while my right arm shields my stomach as he pulls me in to him and delivers the last blow. His punch comes too quickly. I didn't recover from the last one. I stumble backwards until I find a wall and slide down it. I cough and gasp as air fills my empty lungs. Breathe Duch, breathe.

Being beaten until I'm numb isn't new to me. Even though my body makes new blood cells, I can still taste the same blood I did when I first got beaten. It's weird isn't it? That the blood inside you is different but the taste is still the same. I wish pain was like that, the people inflicting it are different but the amount of pain you feel is the same. I could probably adapt to the amount and soon not feel it at all, but pain and blood are different things.

I can taste the familiar copper. My skin is burning all over with foetus bruises. My breathing calms and the pain ignites. My back arches as pain shoots up my spine. I scream a little when my shoulder moves; it's probably dislocated. The blood from my nose carries on running like water from a tap and I can't even feel my face. He watches me from across the room in the doorway with amusement in his blue eyes. He's proud of what he's done to me. I look up at him and smile, he accepts this as his 'go ahead' to approach me.

I may be in a lot of pain but he's still paying for me to sleep with him so that's what I need to do. You always need your game face on, even when you can't really feel your face.

He offers me his red hand and helps me up. His smile widening as I grimace in pain. He walks in front of me as he leads me to his bedroom. We pass pictures of his family that were victims in a car crash, so smiley and happy, now burnt and 6ft under.

Walking down streets, up roads and under bridges is what I love most about my life. I love to wonder how many times I've walked the circle that is Manchester: how many times I've passed the police station or how many times I've walked through Piccadilly, past Primark and Debenhams or even how many times I've walked through Gorton to get to Longsight. Cars benefit others, but I think they're a shame. Drivers know the rules of the roads they drive on but they never have time to see the beauty of them. They never see how the sunshine covers grass or how that homeless woman picked up a dropped phone and handed it back to it's owner or how a stray cat walks the street like it owns the place. It's a shame how luxuries make people ignorant.

My stomach makes an unattractive noise telling me it needs to be fed. I walk down a street I know to be Stamford Road where a chippy named Hal's sits in between a block of flats. I don't personally know Hal or any of the workers but I know I love their chips.

On my short walk to Hal's I pass two little kids playing football. They look similar but one is a little taller than the other. They're playing nicely for a pair of brothers. I'd always thought if I had a sibling older or younger we'd give my mum more hell than she already had. We'd argue about our different tastes in music or cereal. Silly things like that. If Ana could hear my thoughts now she'd be upset. She's always seen me as an older sister and I feel guilty sometimes for not seeing her as a relative but I think if she knew that I didn't see her as family she'd understand. I guess somewhere inside of me I do have a connection with Ana. But the connection isn't enough to make me stay here for her. No, the reason I haven't runaway is because he'd find me. He'd have his guys sniff me out and then he'd kill me. I'm not a spy or a superhuman. Once I run out of money I'd have no food, no shelter and no one to call. Finding me would be easy as breathing.

"Yes?" The skinny Asian man asks me as I stand and look at the menu screen above his head.

"Can I have a small portion of chips please?"

"No sides?" His accent is very heavy and I almost mistake his question for "no spiders"

"No thank you"

"Ok, just one second" he then disappears into the back, probably to tell the chef my order. I turn and lean my back against the metal counter. It's getting dark out and the street lights aren't on. Great.

The skinny man reappears and dumps my white bag on the counter. I turn and just as he presses the till I ask for sauce. He sees the empty tray and disappears into the back again. I take my white bag off the counter and run out the door. Think, think... I run into an alley and cover my mouth with my hand to stop the sound of my heavy breathing giving me away. I hear foreign words being shouted into the night and then quick footsteps fading back towards the chippy. I move my hand from my mouth and catch my breath. I take my opportunity and start walking along the cobblestones to the mouth of the alley. There's 3 paths I can choose from: one of the biggest delights in my life, choosing which way I take home.

**********

"Get dressed" Beth throws a black dress onto my bed and leaves. Being a girl is hard for many reasons, one being; we have to wear short right dresses and another is: eyeliner is a bitch. I struggle to fulfil the basic requirements of being a girl e.g boobs, nice legs, curves etc so when I'm faced with make up I normally have Ana at hand but tonight she's working. So far I've poked myself in the eye 5 times but my water line is nearly covered. As I start on the next eye I see Beth sat on my bed watching me, it startles me and I jab myself in the eye again

"Let me do it!" She hisses. I one second she's on her knees with the eyeliner in the hand "look up" she instructs as she grabs my face. I do as I'm told. I tap my fingers on the floor to fill the awkward silence, it also helps suppress the urge I have to blink. "You have his eyes"

"No I don't, I have my dad's eyes" Beth telling me one of my best features is similar to Le patron's has made me angrier than it should have. All because it's Beth saying it, anyone else and I would have ignored it but she said it with envy, like she wanted to share a likeness with that monster.

"Yeah, whatever" she mumbles to herself as she picks up the mascara tube. I take it from her and tell her to leave as I can do the rest.

I finish applying my face and turn towards the dress. The dress is a I-stick-to-you-like-another-layer-of-skin dress which means I'll need to stuff my bra and wear my hair up. The dress is black and lace, it isn't long at all, it covers my bum cheeks and that's about it.

Standing in the mirror with the dress and heels on isn't as bad as I thought it'd be. I actually don't look bad. I've clipped all my hair up minus a few loose strands which I've curled and I've also sharpie-d a few stars to my ankle. All in all I look great for a prostitute.

"Get in the car" Le patron instructs. He just got done with examining me and my attire. I had to wash a star off my ankle to prove that it wasn't really a tattoo, so now I have a semi black ankle. He also sniffed me and wasn't pleased so he sent Beth to retrieve her favourite perfume so she could shower me in it.

He was finally pleased after about 30 minutes and after Beth gave him a quick "pleasure" in the kitchen. I almost vomited when I heard the sounds but the strength of Beth's nasty, cheap perfume insured my mouth stayed closed.