Realize (COMPLETED)

2.

Jennie

The streetlights do very little to illuminate my path as I walk in the direction of the shitty motel that's been my home for the past few months. It may royally suck ass, but it's ten times better than staying in an overcrowded homeless shelter. I don't care how many dicks I have to suck, I'm never going back to a shelter. I would rather sleep out on the sidewalk with a cardboard box cover. You have no privacy or autonomy in those places. People want to know your story and don't respect the idea of personal space. They smile in your face but the moment you turn your back they steal your shit.

I like to lay low. If no one knows me, then it's easier to skip out unnoticed. Over the years, I've mastered the act of disappearing. It comes in handy when you're running from the cops or skipping out on a John with more money than originally agreed upon. It's not my fault these assholes leave their wallets out. I see it as I have provided them a service and if they're stupid enough to leave money out, well, why not take a little more.

If only a cab would magically appear to rescue me from these aching feet. At two in the morning, they're scarce around here. If you do spot one, it's likely they're moving drugs, and I'm not in the mood for that shit right now. This is exactly why I can't stand the quiet. When I'm working, I at least have something to keep my mind occupied. It's so dark on this block, but in the shadows, I can fade away and become invisible. Yet, in that silence, my thoughts turn to darker memories—reminders of a life I'd rather forget. I focus on the click of my heels and the sharp pain shooting through my feet, but it's not enough to drown out the past.

In the quiet moments, the monsters come out to play. They slip through the cracks, creeping into my room when they think I'm asleep, lurking in the shadows, ready to grab me and make me scream.

"Hold her down boy. I'll go first."

"But you said I could go first this time."

"Do what I say! We have to hurry up, Nara will be home soon."

"That crazy bitch will want to watch."

He slaps the boy across the face. "Don't talk about your mother like that! Now do as I say and hold her down! I'm not in the mood for her screaming tonight."

I'm on my stomach, this way they don't see my face. Hands push my head and shoulders down further into the mattress. I struggle, but really it's hopeless. They'll have their way with my body before mother gets home, and maybe even while she's here. She'll stand at the door and watch, puffing on a cigarette and drinking from a whiskey bottle. I can't cry out to her...She'll only turn away.

I hate her!

"Be a good girl Jennie and make your daddy and brother feel good."

"No, no, no, NO! Let me go! LET ME GO! IT HURTS, PLEASE IT HURTS!"

"SHUT HER UP BOBBY!"

He clamped a hand over my mouth.

"Take it. Take it like the little slut that you are!"

I finally shake off the panic and take a look around. Somewhere in my memories, I must have taken a wrong turn; I have no idea where I am. I feel something wet on my face—it's tears, pouring from my eyes. My body is tense with fear, and my breathing is all over the place. My feet, once moving down the street, are now planted on the grimy sidewalk. I've been standing here for what feels like ages. I need to keep going. If I let my mind slip back to that dark place, I'll never make it home. I have to keep it together. I can fall apart once I'm safe in my room.

I push forward and soon find myself in a familiar neighborhood. The air is thick with the stench of drugs, poverty, and blood. Yeah, I know this place all too well. I keep my head down, praying no one will recognize me. Nothing good can come from it.