Alleviate

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Before I start this story, I would like to bring this to your attention:

Child and teenage prostitution in Brazil is widespread and a serious problem. Brazil is considered to have the worst levels of child sex trafficking after Thailand with an estimated 250,000 children involved. The phenomenon is closely related with high levels of poverty and inequality in some areas of the country. According to the recently released Protection Project report, various official sources agree that from 250,000 to 500,000 children live as child prostitutes.

The government of Brazil is working stringently to clamp down on child prostitution.

Prostitution itself (exchanging sex for money) in Brazil is legal, as there are no laws forbidding adult prostitution, but it is illegal to operate a brothel or to employ prostitutes in any other way.

[ Source - Wikipedia]

Now onto the story. This takes place in Portuguese. (Every chapter is named according to the order of numbers in Portuguese.)
I would like to think and hope that my story has a strong voice, however it depends on the eye of the beholder, really.

This story is best read with Mad World by Gary Jules. So to feel the authenticity and essence of this story, I highly recommend you to read it with Mad World.

-x-

Away from the commotion of downtown Rio on the west side of the city, the entire neighbourhood of Vila Mimosa is engulfed by construction work and chaos. On first sight, Vila Mimosa appears to be nothing more than a jumbled warren of dilapidated buildings and leaking pipes. A mixture of ramshackle houses, laundry services, pool halls and bars clutter the main drag, posing as "respectable" businesses.

It was early in the evening, when we entered the crumbling edifices and business was just getting started. In dimly-lit rooms - some throbbing with neon-tube lighting, some adorned with the odd Halloween decoration - scantily-clad women draped themselves across door frames and chatted in the neighbouring, half-empty bar with the other girls. If you lingered around the rooms, you could catch glimpses of female silhouettes gyrating to Brazilian funk and fawning over the few clients that had arrived early to avoid the Friday-night rush. Others simply sat around, waiting.

It was always a routine of mine to stare blankly at myself in the mirror and mentally prepare myself for the events of the night. There would also be a hasty, last-minute attempt to use cosmetics that were given to me. Voices outside the door of the toilet could be heard, some soft, some loud, but all false laughs and fake enthusiasm.

"Camilla, what the fuck are you doing? Why aren't you here with the other girls yet?" The lady who ran the brothel, Delilah, screamed at me from outside. She was smoking those cigars which were expensive and made in Cuba. They had the smell which always wanted to make me vomit.

After washing my hands and examining my hair, I realised there wasn't anything else required that I wanted to do. My black hair was all over the place and unruly, but it seemed pointless to try and change anything now.

I slowly walked out into the parlor and stood next to the other girls who were dressed in the same way that I was. Thin underwear and a black bra, which revealed bruised and groped breasts. The girls seemed to be jittery, as they kept glancing at the dislodged door and muttering pointless questions such as the time or the color of eyeshadow.

The laughing and lively attitude of the people was a sign that Friday night had started. People had begun to walk in to celebrate the commencement of the weekend. Out of the people hanging around the entrance and the bar, I saw three men walk into this wretched place. Even as I may curse this brothel, the realisation that it fed me and gave me shelter had come to me ages ago. The tallest of the three was talking to Delilah and was gesturing to the other two men who were hungrily looking at the scantily dressed girls.

As much I'd hate to get taken tonight, I only knew it was for the best, since payment came along with pain. I started to smile at one of the men, who was looking at me and talking to his friend, with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

I could see my peers, except Anika, starting to disperse and move around. I was still trying to learn their ways of obtaining clients on their own. All of them seemed to genuinely enjoy walking up to these men and act playful, to show their want to be taken tonight. Time had taught me that this want was secretly powered by desperation. My gestures were not effective compared to the magnitude of their actions.

"So boys," Delilah said loudly. "These are my girls. We've got the youngest here, who's Anika, she's fifteen and hasn't been used as much yet."

Her language was crude, but her words gave her what she needed.

Anika was in a corner, crying softly to herself. Her hands were covering her face, as she didn't want to see the men who would harm, not only her body, but her mind and hopes that she would ever live life like any other fifteen year old.

"Anika, stop crying," was the stern command from Delilah.

"We then have Camilla," she grabbed me by the fore arm and presented me to the three men who were staring at my chest and legs. The first man commented on the multiple bruises on my body and the lack of any flesh on my chest, he slowly shook his head and preceeded to look at the other girls. The second man still had his eye on Anika, and kept asking her questions.

"Maybe I'll take you, young one?" his eerie voice said to her. It seemed like a whisper, even though it was clearly audible to the rest of us. She did not give him an answer.

Then Anika, unfortunately, was taken by the second man. The third man hadn't said a word. He was expressionlessly standing and observing the behavior of the girls. He wanted his money's worth tonight, and picked a girl who was the newest instalment to this place. She looked the healthiest out of all of us, without her bones sticking out.

Before the men took the girls to their rooms, each of them handed some money to Delilah. She was counting all the money in her hands and I began to helplessly stare at the notes, thinking about the food that I could buy for my mother and I.

After an hour, I was becoming tired. My night hadn't even started and I was beginning to feel weak as fatigue slowly possessed my body. I hadn't had lunch today, since I hadn't worked hard enough for it. Sometimes us girls work 24 hour shifts and end the day with nothing in our hands or our stomachs.

This place had a frequent customer. He would come in on Fridays to start off his weekend. He was known as a nightmare to every girl but he made Delilah pleased. It would seem that she knew this client was a wealthy one, and he paid well to whoever he chose. But then again, I had heard how rough he was. How he'd grab the hair of the girls, and grope their breasts.

Unfailingly, he decided to visit the brothel today. We could see his huge frame come closer to the broken door that led to this hell house. He seemed to be stumbling, the alcohol evident from the dazed look on his face. On entering the main room, he went over to greet Delilah in broken Portuguese, who answered with the same mirth that he had. She adopted various strategies, such as how to behave with different clients and what to say to keep them coming back. After a five minute conversation, he looked around at the girls. Some of the usual girls he generally took were already taken, and unfortunately his eyes seemed to be looking straight at me, not at my body but in the eye. With a deathly glare which scared me. He turned to Delilah.

"Have I taken her before?" he asked in a heavy German accent, pointing at me.

"No, you haven't."

"I'd like to."

"Indeed you would," Delilah assured him, giving me a look.

He handed her the money and walked straight up to me. It was almost reflexive of me to start crying when I saw a mad glint in a man's eyes. And I saw it in his.

He started to drag me by the arm. This made me want to break free as most clients did not forcibly pull, but just follow me to the room. Common sense reprimanded me for such thoughts and told me follow suit. I then walked behind the man into the room which held my nightmares.

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