His touch was like fire, but it burnt with an ugly pain that didn’t match with the childish ideas of love and intimacy which I had long ago given up as impossibility. He was rough – he hurt. Every movement was painful. I’d known it wouldn’t be pleasant. I knew his reputation, his deliberate aggression; to him, the term ‘considerate lover’ could never apply.
His skin was slick on mine, greasy with sweat, and the smell of different women’s perfumes and his own stale cologne was infused into every fibre of his body. I felt sick as he used me, and the self-loathing was intense as he left me naked and gasping in amongst the ruined bedclothes. He left no money – he would pay the Warden on his way out – nor any sign that he had been there other than the sweat on my skin, the rank smell in my hair, and the dull ache deep within me.
Stifling my sobs, I reached for the scissors, held them to my wrist.
The metal was cold…
*
…”Cali, you listening?”
I pulled myself out of my unpleasant reverie, and forced a smile over my tortured expression – an expression that mirrored the intensity of my innermost thoughts and memories.
“What?”
Lily was watching me with a look of mild exasperation and extreme impatience as she waited for my answer, the one I was ill-disposed to give.
“Answer the question, Cali! I need your help on this one.”
I retreated momentarily into the inner sanctum of my mind, and thought as I studied her utterly un-expecting and blissfully naïve face. Finally, I gave my response, just as the bell rang for seventh period.
“Yes, Lily. My first time was very special, and just how I wanted it.”
…Oh, didn’t I tell you? Being a hooker at sixteen gives you the ability to lie through your teeth.
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