Page 2 of Fang
I nod slowly, scared to speak.
Please come home, Mom.
The man leans in and kisses my cheek. I tremble as the tears start to fall. I’m so scared of what he will do to me. I don’t want to be here. I’d rather be at school or on the bus with those mean boys. Anything to get away from this man right now.
“We are going to have fun. You’ll enjoy it. I promise,” he whispers, his hand finding my knee and attempting to spread my legs.
Before he can pry them apart, the door opens.
“I got what you asked for, baby.” My mother’s drunken words slur over the room.
The man freezes, looking me in the eye.
“That’s good,” he tells her.
“Let’s take a hit and fuck. It always feels better on a good high,” my mom says, heading toward the kitchen.
She hasn’t noticed me yet. I know she hasn’t because she would have already yelled at me. I need to alert her. I need to get out of this.
“Mommy,” I whimper, using the name I once used as a child, hoping it will soften her reaction.
She slowly turns toward me. She takes in the man with his hands on me before her eyes focus in on my tear-stained face.
“Get out,” she says in a growl.
I go to move, but she shakes her head no.
“You. You disgusting man. Get out of here.”
My heart is racing as she runs over and starts hitting the man. He jumps up and runs out the front door, not even bothering to grab his clothes.
Once he’s gone, I let out a sob.
That was too close.
I’m grateful my mother made him leave.
“You little brat. You think you can come out here and seduce my men while I’m gone?” Mom starts screaming at me.
I don’t say a word, instead focusing on the fact that I am safe.
“Answer me, you little slut.”
That’s when she lands the first blow. A fist to the side of my head. I don’t fight back. I brace for the next hit.
She continues hitting me over and over as she continues spitting nasty words at me. I cry harder as the pain fills my body.
I don’t ask her to stop, though. I don’t speak a word to make it worse.
I let her wear herself out before I escape to my room. My nose is bleeding, bruises already forming under my skin in many other areas, but I don’t care.
That man almost got me.
Iset down the curling iron and grab a roller. Quickly I place the piece of hair in it and pin it on my head before it can cool. Then I move on to my makeup. When I first started here, I didn’t even know how to put on eyeliner, let alone a full beat of makeup, but with the help of a few YouTube channels, I think I have it figured out. Or at least I do compared to some of the other girls.
When I was hired, it became clear that I would never be friends with these women. They might pretend to be tight with one another, but we all know we are each other’s competition. One of us will always outperform the other, and unfortunately for them, I’ve made it known I’m the top dog. I’m the one bringing in the most money, and they hate it. The other dancers move around me, but they don’t pay attention to me. Not that I want them to. The only thing I have in common with them is the fact that we dance at the same place.
They do it because they like the attention. They might also like the money, but they aren’t trying to make a better life forthemselves. I do it because I need the money for school. School, something I’ve always wanted but didn’t know if it was possible. I knew that higher education was the only way to get myself out of the life I was born into, and I refuse to fail.
