I knew it wasn?t going to end soon?the pain, torture, the sorrow. The bright lights from the bathroom mirror beamed on me as I sat my eleven year old frame on a broken wooden stool in front of the sink. The dirty walls and dirty tile floor made the room dimmer than what it used to be. The air was full of the aroma from the curling iron that was sitting on the bathroom sink, resting from its daily task. And I... I stared at my reflection as it stared back at me, hating what it saw in front of it.
My almond brown skinned face was covered in all that the Avon lady had to give at the front door the Saturday morning my momma decided how I would earn my stay. The cherry red lipstick made my lips stand and complimented the cherry red blush that was applied to my round, chubby cheeks. Mascara, eyeliner, and foundation were applied as well, giving me the look of a sixteen year old instead of eleven. Pretty they called me each time they took their turn on me, but pretty was the last thing I felt inside of me.
I just admired my face and wondered how anyone could do this to their child. I wondered what I had done to deserve such treatment, such embarrassment?such torture. "Amira!!" I cringed and closed my eyes as I heard her footsteps near me from behind. I couldn?t stand to look at her. "Amira, I just got off the phone with Mr. Wells. He?s on his way." She informed me as I just rolled my eyes and looked through the mirror, watching her make her way inside the small crammed bathroom. Mr. Wells was a regular. He was a fifty-three year old man who had worked at a warehouse with momma when she was younger. They had become drinking buddies and he was the one who gave her the idea to sell her eleven year old daughter for money, since she was low on it. I didn?t understand why she didn?t sell herself, but Mr. Wells reassured me that I was a much better deal than my mother. So, she agreed and I?ve been in hell ever since.
I remember my first time, even though I try hard to forget. It was my eleventh birthday and my mother was cleaning up after the party was over. She was behind on her mortgage and the people had threatened to throw her out on the streets, so as you can guess she was stressing really hard. I sat on the dirty ole grey and green couch, silently playing with my Barbie while my mother and Mr. Wells conversed over at the small round, wooden table. I could hear certain words because they really couldn?t whisper; I don?t even think my mother was trying to. She had her thin legs wrapped around each other as her right leg shook violently. A sign of nervousness. Her New Port cigarette balanced itself between her two fingers as she rubbed her knees, leaning close to Mr. Wells.
"How much you need?" Mr. Wells asked with his old, grey, rough beard moved with each movement of his mouth. His belly was overlapping his old jeans and his hair looked like grey pubes. "Well, right now to keep me here I need about?$500." She stared at him while he looked at me, smirking. "Well, Debra, I have an idea." He stated making my mother?s eyes grow with excitement. He leaned over in her ear and began to speak. My mother turned to me a few times and shook her head at him, before finally dropping her head to her chest and sighing heavily. Slowly, she stood up and looked at me, pity and shamefulness pouring out of her sockets. She then looked at Mr. Wells, "No! My baby ain?t for sale." I looked up shocked at her words and also by Mr. Wells? suggestion. "Debra, you nee?." He started but my mother was clearly upset. "I said hell no. now go." My mother pointed her thin frail finger towards the door causing Mr. Wells to grab his hat and leave.
She turned to me as tear started to fill up in the crevice of her eyes. I looked down at my Barbie, not knowing what to say or what to think. Silently, she stormed pass me and went into her room, slamming the door. Life was hell for momma; I could see it in her eyes. Everyday something new to bring her down.She rarely smiled, laughed, or even hugged me. I heard something hit the wall with a loud thump and rushed to her door. Her cries and screams could be heard from the hallway. I stood there on the plastic mat that led all the way down to her room and cried with her. A few weeks later, the people had come back to momma, saying she had better come up with the money or out on her ass she was going to be. So that night everything changed. That night inside of my room, inside of my bed?inside of me, was Mr. Wells, ripping me of my innocence and changing my life forever.
Tears started to surface as I shook my head, still sitting on the stool, looking at the two people I hated most in this world. My mother?and myself. "Come on, go sit on the couch and I?ll be in there in a minute." My mother instructed as I hopped off the stool and pushed passed her. She looked at me, as I passed, with a dead face. Her soul was gone. She held no emotions in her eyes. She wasn?t my mother any more, just my pimp. Nervous and scared, I fumbled with the pink negligee I had on, dreading what was about to happen.
Suddenly, the doorbell rung and my momma rushed to the door with her thin, frail body. She had become an alcoholic and lost so much weight that now, instead of the lively woman I once knew, she looked dead. "Aright, you ready baby?" I heard his voice and looked up to find him and a friend. "Amira, he brought a friend with him. You think you can handle that?" she asked me like I was nothing to her. It was like she had never given birth to me. I looked at Mr. Wells who held a greedy look on his face. Then I looked at his friend. His friend looked to be around in his late forties. He looked lost, shocked, and even pitiful.
I closed my eyes and nodded my head, getting up to head to my room. Everyone followed me, I could feel it. "Alright, now I?m gone be in the kitchen if ya?ll need anything." My momma announced and turned away as we entered my room and I sat on the bed. "Ok, Debra baby. I?ll make sure she has fun." He laughed as if something was really humoring his fat, nasty, black, greasy butt. I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms, begging for this scene to be fast-forwarded. "Yea, baby I missed you?I even brought a friend along for the fun." He proclaimed, kissing all over me, beer reeking from his breath. His friend stood by the door, looking on in confusion. I could tell by his appearance and demeanor that he didn?t want to be here. This was just one of Mr. Wells? sick, pathetic fantasies. "Ok, Rick, you wanna go first, or you want me to show you how to treat this slut!" I wasn?t shocked by his name calling. He got a kick out of calling me names. While he would penetrate me, I would forever be one of his dirty little whores, bitches, slut, tramp, or even a little school girl whose been bad. The man was sick I tell you, sick.
Rick shook his head, never once speaking as if he didn?t want me to be able to recognize him in any sense. "Shit, aright. I?ll go first. Watch me in action Rick. I told you how I can move. Now you get to see." He stated while undressing, revealing the nastiest sight I have ever seen. His body was so disgusting to me. Once he was fully undressed, he pushed me back on the bed and roughly shoved his big, swollen hands under my negligee, probing with everything he could enter. I shut my eyes tightly, as he roughly entered me, pumping like a mad man, cursing me, pulling at me. It didn?t hurt anymore. I had conquered the concept of making myself numb.
"Damn!" he cursed and pulled out of me, spitting on my vagina. "You dry slut!" he cursed me again, only to force himself back inside of me. I felt my soul leaving my body and a large lump crowding my throat. My eyes burned as my body bounced off of the bed, constantly. I felt so violated, so used?..I felt like nothing that people told me I was. I wanted to die and float into the sky with God.
He grunted and groaned in my ear until he was finished. His breathing got h