7 Minutes ✧ Syndisparklez

Book Covers and Prostitutes

~~Not So Fun Fact~~
Waking up in a dark alleyway with your pants around your ankles is not a pleasant experience. In fact, it's a gut-wrenching, heartbreaking experience. You want to vomit up the thoughts rushing through your head, shake away the bruises that liter your skin.
It's an aggravating experience. You want to slam your head into a wall to forget, yet you want to pull the hair out of your head until you remember. You want justice, however you want to be forgotten. You don't want people to look at you like a sad thing, you want them to smile and greet you, like a regular human being. Like you were before.
It's a depressing experience. You want to bawl your eyes out until there's no emotion left. You think you can't do it, but you get there eventually. You'll feel numb, worthless, disgusting. You'll think it'd be better to off yourself than to feel so vial.
It's a shitty experience, because it's burned into your brain and everything before and after, all comes back to this.
This is a moment you couldn't-
I couldn't control.
It wasn't my fault, it was his.
I wanted to scream, cry, hurt myself and hug myself at the same time. But I couldn't, because I was alone, and vulnerable. The crack-heads down the street were whispering, the prostitutes drew near.
I felt like one of them. A reject, tossed to the side of Skid Row, only to rot here in my own despair.

~~A Sad Observation~~
I'm not sure if this is true for every case, however it was true in mine.
When I first woke up, I couldn't form words. I hardly remembered which words could get me to safety. I wasn't sure if I should scream "help me," or "hello." I just knew to scream.
I was so jumbled. I feel like most people in a traumatic event are.
So jumbled, they can't speak. So, they either shut up and don't make a sound; or they just scream nonsense noises.
I screamed.
For about two minutes, I screamed, before speech finally came to me.

"HELP!" I yelled. "PLEASE, HELP ME."

My pleas sounded pitiful coming from my mouth, bubbled tears and saliva running down my face.

"Please," I whispered, curling myself into a ball, slamming my fists against my skull.

I couldn't remember what he did, but in my current state, it was pretty obvious.

Wanting to reach out, I couldn't. I didn't have a phone. And even if I did, who would I call? What would I say?

If I called Jordan and Tom, they'd never look at me the same.

If I called Ethan, he'd tell me "I told you I should've handled this case myself."

If I called the police I'd have to go through numerous trials, who knows what this would do to my career?

Who could I call that could possibly help me?

No one could.

~~A Definition~~
Hope
A feeling of expectation and desire for a certain thing to happen.

A glimmer of hope could be found in the strangest of places.
In my case, hope was found in the whores down the street.

"It's alright sweetheart, I'm here," a quiet voice murmured, taking my fists in her hands, forcing my self-induced beatings to stop.

"He, h-"

"He's not here to hurt you, we're here darling," she cooed. "Girls, don't just stand there, help the poor thing."

Loud heals clicked against the pavement, stumbling around me. One carefully lifted my hair away from my face, gently braiding it in a fishtail braid. Another pulled my pants up, talking me through everything she was doing, asking if it was okay. The woman who first approached me wiped the tears off my face, comfortingly rubbing my back. A fourth dug through her purse, handing me a cracked phone to dial someone. The final lady shooed away a hobo, who was trying to get a quick peek at my crumpled body.

"Thank you," I mumbled, when I could finally catch my breath.

"Sure thing, sugar," one smiled, returning to her nurturing.

"It's what we do."

"Besides hiding from the cops," another joked, the rest of them giggling with her.

~~How Ironic~~
These women were so quick to help me. They said that's what they do; help other women in my situation. That, and hide from the cops.
Little did they know, they were helping an undercover cop/lawyer.

"We ladies got to stick together, right girls?" The girl rubbing my back asked the group.

"Mhmmm."

"Hell yeah we do."

"Preachin' to the choir, honey."

"Damn right."

They all responded so fast. These women looked nothing alike, but they all acted like close sisters.

"My name's Crystal," the leader of the pack told me. She was the first to come to my rescue, seemed to be in charge. Her bleached-blonde hair was fading, her dark brown roots peaking through. She wore a skin tight dress and fishnet stockings. Her red lipstick matched her red high heals.

The rest of the group wore similar outfits, all different colors and styles. They all had one thing in common, though. They showed a lot of skin.

It was almost comical how much of a contrast I was to them. They looked like they were ready to preform at a strip club; meanwhile, I looked like I was on my way to a book-club meeting. My baggy sweater and blue jeans made it seem as if I was on my way to pick up a kid from soccer practice. Except, without the kid and the soccer, so I was just a chick in her late twenties, who enjoyed to be comfortable.

The group was rather diverse. Some looked my age, most seemed younger. Each girl seemed to be a different ethnicity. Crystal looked and sounded Latina, however I wasn't quiet sure. The girl playing with my hair was African American, another Mexican, the third and fourth Asian, and the fifth was Caucasian. They all varied in shapes and sizes, yet they all had the same, sweet personality.

When I would see girls like them hiding in the streets, my heart beat would increase and a lump would form in my throat. But now, these girls were like super heroes.

~~Something Learned~~
Never judge a book by it's cover.
For it is what lies within that is most important.

"What's your name, sugar?" the hairstylist asked.

"I-Ingrid."

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Ingrid. I'm Bambi. That there's Crystal, then the twins; Sunny and Rehab, and last but not least, Misty."

"Thank you all," I felt so sheepish talking to them, but they were more than happy to keep me company.

"You got someone you can call, hun?"

"Um-" I didn't want them to know. "Not really."

"Well, you should call the police."

"But not around us!"

"Well, my friends were just at the theater... And... And," I looked around me in awe. It was much darker outside than it was earlier. "What time is it?"

"Midnight, darlin'... When did he- When did this happen to you?"

"I don't know for sure..." I mumbled, pulling my theater ticket out of my pocket. "It had to be around 9-ish, cause that was when our movie was supposed to start."

"We can give you a ride, or a place to stay for a couple days if you need it?" Crystal offered.

"Yes please."