The Drive {on going}

Honey

The car smell and bad driving makes me wildly nauseous. My stomach feels like a bottle of sparklers and acid is being shaken by a sugar fueled toddler. I bite tightly on my gag, trying not to focus on anything at all.

The car stops again.

I hear and feel the car doors open and slam shut, and the soles of their shoes grinding against asphalt.

"Pay for the night and grab something to eat for the broad. Terry, help me get the lovely lady inside."

The night? It was almost morning like twenty minutes ago. Did I pass out? Am I going insane? Is my mind being sucked into the black hole that is this car's trunk?

The door is lifted, surely enough, I see bright dots littering the sky. My heart goes into hyperdrive as I gaze upon two silhouettes reaching for me. They stare at me for a while, waiting. It's almost like sleep paralysis, I'm just helplessly looking back at faceless monsters. I keep closing my eyes and opening them, but of course, they're still there. Staring.

Keys jingle in the distance.

"204. Stopping by the store."

They grab me by my arms and ankles. One of them sets me on the others shoulders, and keeps his hand on my hips for balance. I've never felt more objectified than in this moment. I've been used by men for sex. I've been used by my friends for drugs and money. I didn't think it could get worse, but here I am. Feeling no more than a god damn sack of flour.

They take me into 204 and it smells like a wet dog wearing jeans. My carrier throws me onto a bed as the lights flicker on. I find myself surrounded by only two of the men, but now I see them clearly. Now I can finally put a proper face to my demons.

"Hey there, cutie. We're gonna let you sleep on the bed tonight." Grunts a robust and grizzly man as he sits beside me. He puts his cold and callus hand on my face and inspects me. "I hope there ain't no more damage, that will definitely mark off a figure or two."
I start whining softly, I can't stand the thought of his skin against mine. "Hands off the merchandise, Luther. She's not into you." I look to the corner of the room, and against the wall is a tall older man smoking a cigarette. "How much longer till Miami? he asks Luther. "About a day." Luther says not breaking away his eyes off my body, like predator stalking it's prey. "Hey, sweetie. Very sorry about pulling you from such a fun night. You should've surrounded yourself with people so late at night, well, people who actually give a shit about you." He reads my eyebrows as they furrowed in confusion, he laughs. "You probably don't remember do you?" He looks as if he recalling a pleasant memory. "Yeah, yeah. You were so trashed we didn't even have to drug you or anything really. Honestly, we were going to actually go into the club for a target but then you came wobbling out the door. Your more sober 'friends' screamed and pushed you towards us." He leans in close and touches the back of my head, it stung white hot and I wiggled out of his hands. "Banged your precious noggin on the ground right at my feet."

I can't help but cry again, I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be the one here in this room, tied up and sitting on a creaky bed, inches from a sweaty pervert. It should've been some bitch born with a diamond encrusted spoon in her mouth, rebelling against mommy and daddy's plan to be a doctor by slamming tequila. It should've been some privileged bitch, whose never questioned God and always wakes up ready to see what the day has in store. It just had to be me, it just had to.

"Great, get her some ice. They always get puffy after they cry." Commands the man against the wall. "Yes sir."
The door opens and closes within a fraction of a second, the final and third man walks in with a plastic bag. "Ah! It's McCarthy. Kid, you got something to put on her eyes? I guess they get puffy or whatever." This might seem kind of "Stockholm Syndrome-y" but, damn. This last guy is gorgeous, he completely stood out from the other two and younger; about my age. I may be fucked up, but it honestly calmed my nerves a tad bit. He had perfect skin, a Grecian bone structure, and eyes that looked like pools of honey amidst the crappy motel lighting. It might just be because I'm entranced by him, but I could've sworn he looked at me with pity.

Honey boy clears his throat and turns to the smoking creeper. "I got a sandwich, pudding, and milk for the girl. Which I guess I can use to soothe her eyes." "So what? Nothing for me and Luther? You want us to starve, kid?" Honey boy takes a step back. "Mr. Silva, I didn't have enough, I'm sorry." I can tell, he's Mr. Silva's bitch, and he'd sooner clean the soles of his shoe with his tongue then piss him off. "It's fine, we've earned a little treat anyhow. C'mon Luther, we're going out. Life on the road isn't an easy one." The three men head towards the door and suddenly Mr. Silva shoves Honey Boy with enough force that he lands on the floor. "Stay here pretty boy, and watch the broad. Don't wait up." Luther chuckles, waves mockingly at Honey Boy, and blows me a kiss goodbye as he shuts the door behind him and Silva.

He sighs, rubs his behind, and gets back unto his feet. Pretty? Yes, but I'm still disgusted by this dude. I instinctively scooch away as he walks towards me, with a plastic bag in his hand. "I'm not going to hurt you, it's okay. I'm just gonna take out your gag, alright? If you scream, I might have to hurt you though. Don't let my looks fool you, I've got some moves and I would rather not 'unleash' them on you, okay? So let's just get some food in you, yeah?" He sets down the bag and sits in front me. Gently, he takes the cloth out of my mouth. God damn, I've had cotton mouth before but this really takes the cake. He backs away and feel like I can finally take a breath. "I bet you're thirsty, here." He takes out a carton of milk out of the bag. It's an old fashion paperboard container I hadn't seen since elementary."You're not allergic or anything right?" I shake my head and take the carton from him. "I feel like milk is more comforting than water, at least for me. It's also more refreshing." He's right, once that cold crisp milk hit my throat I chugged the whole thing in one go. I wipe my mouth and look up to see him holding out a slightly squished ham sandwich. I take it and start scarfing it down, I guess being trapped in the black void made me forget I hadn't eaten in almost a day. "I've got this too, it's all yours." He shows me a pudding cup and a loose spoon in the plastic bag. My throat feels like it has enough moisture for me to actually speak. Except, even though my body is ready to say something, my conscience stops me cold. I'm so used to pushing down my trauma it takes a little bit to catch up to me, but I won't let it. So, how am I going to keep running from my emotions? Snark.

"Listen Honey Boy," "Calum." He interrupts. "Sugary treats won't help me forget where I am and where I'm going, Calum." He frowns a little and meets my eyes. "Maybe it will. I bet chocolate pudding has guided a lot of people through hardship. It's carried me through a lot of things." I can't help but giggle at his attempts at making me feel better. "In fact, can you just press it against your eyes? They are a bit puffy." He might just be trying to calm me down so that I don't scream or try to escape but to me it's obvious he doesn't want to be here, doing what he's doing. I guess I'm that much of psycho that I'm actually sympathizing with someone who aided in my kidnapping. Why am I like this?