Chapter Three: A Blue In The Brothel
Angel knew Frank all too well. He was her first pimp, and had stolen her virginity when she was only seven. At the time, he was her legal gaurdian, so it made it easy for him to torture her and pimp her out to his friends. That’s how she met Rich. He happened to be one of Frank’s friends, and when he offered to fork over money for her, Frank jumped on the offer and suddenly Angel belonged to Rich at the illegal age of eleven.
Sure Angel had tried to escape many times, and in fact, succeeded for a short while where she lived with two classmates and their older brother. But Angel, like most girls exploited at young ages, ended up back in Rich’s hands, where she seems to have stayed ever since.
Rich was forever in debt to Frank. Sure, he had paid Frank in exchange for Angel, but Frank had already done the dirty work of breaking and grooming Angel. In fact, he had done it exceedingly well, so Angel came into the clutches of Rich, pre programmed and perfect for sale.
So every once in a while, Rich would drop Angel at the motel that Frank ran his brothel business out of, and the two men would split the profit she made.
Frank ran a brothel out of a local motel in the slums just outside of the city. Frank did not own the motel, but he and the owner were close. Close enough that Frank could house his girls there and make profit, and the motel owner would get all the free sex he could handle in exchange. Business deals.
The motel was pretty run down, and the clientel was just as bad. Inside the lobby, behind the front desk was, what looked like to any average person, a doll collection. But clients understood the dolls’ true meaning. Each doll represented one girl. The dolls that stood upright were the available girls, to which clients could choose, and then be given the key to the room the girl was in. The dolls that were laying down were the girls that were currently busy with other clients.
Rich walked Angel through the back entrance of the main building. The greeted Frank, who was lounging in a chair in the staff only break room. Angel’s nostrils flared as the stench of alcohol, cigarettes, and cheap sex hit her in the face like a brick wall.
Frank smirked at her. Careful not to get in trouble, she quickly lowered her head. Looking a pimp in the eyes was a sure way to get beat. He stood, grabbed her by the neck tightly, and tilted her head up, trying to force her to look at him. She returned his force with closed eyes. She knew better than to fall for his tricks.
“Her ass is all torn up. So I’ll be back in a few days when she’s healed.”
Frank’s smirk grew. Rich headed back out to his truck.
She was trapped.
Frank let go of her roughly, almost throwing her backwards. “Room six” he hissed at her, tossing a key to her feet. She waited, not wanting to bend down and pick up the key, knowing all too well what was going to happen.
He stood there, silently.
She sighed, cautiously bending down to pick up the key. Once the key was in her hand, Frank gave a sharp and powerful kick to her rib cage. She let out a yelp, falling completely to the floor, the breath knocked out of her and replaced with sharp stabbing pain.
“Get going, bitch” he hissed, plopping back down in his chair.
Angel managed to pull herself upright and head out of the main building, down the walkway to room six. She pushed the key into the lock and twisted it open. She stepped inside the dim room and shut the door behind her.
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Two days passed. Angel saw client after client; servicing them their every demand. Her body bruised and weak. She hadn’t eaten since the night Rich beat her. She managed to slip away between clients to stick her head under the bathroom faucet for a quick drink, but she never had enough time to shower, let alone sleep.
Frank visited her once. He dropped off condoms, an energy drink, and Excedrin Migraine medication. He gave her five minutes to clean herself, relax, and drink her energy drink. Then it was back to work.
Angel lost count of the men coming and going from her room. Her mind was hazy. Lack of sleep and years of mental and physical abuse takes everything in your brain and swirls it into grey mush. It makes a person numb. This is how life is, and Angel had come to accept that. Physically, she could leave if she wanted to, but mentally she was trapped. She was mentally a prisioner forever.
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Collapsing on the bed, her third night at the motel, Angel closed her eyes to let her senses rest between clients. It was past midnight, and she wasn’t sure she was going to be able to do much more without falling asleep on a client.
The door clicked as a key was inserted and twisted. Angel’s eyes jolted open as she sat up to greet her next client. She did not expect the man from the PD club, the same man who was arresting a man and protitute three nights earlier, to be the one opening the door.
