Page 32 of Shame

She takes a deep breath and squares her shoulder, putting the matron professionalism back on.

“Mr. Salvatore has requested your presence.”

“When?” My lips are numb and barely cooperate when I speak.

“You will be picked up at seven. Get yourself in order.” She turns and leaves, avoiding my eyes.

Picked up! All I see is Lucas driving me to that hellhole, and how he’ll react to it. I throw myself at the door and scream down the corridor, my pulse roaring in my ears.

“Matron! I can take a taxi!”

She stops, right as she’s about to turn the corner at the far end. “What’s wrong with the driver?”

My cheeks heat up. “I—”

“Don’t let your emotions get in the way, Carmen. It’ll only get you, or someone you care about, killed.”

I look down, subdued, my chest aching as if someone had stuck a thousand needles into it.

“Yes, ma’am.”

I remain standing right inside my door after I’ve closed it. My mind is split in two parts with an impenetrable wall between them. One drowns in images, the shame, humiliation, and the actual muscle memory of the pain, the beatings. The other has begun calculating what I need to do to fulfill Mr. Salvatore’s fantasies. I’m smooth as a baby between my legs. I’m hairless everywhere. It’s all good. I’m gonna have to cover up the bruises, but I’ve done that the last few nights anyway. They’re fading and I’m getting good at it. I still need help with my back, though. I also need help straightening my thick, curly mess of hair, and I can’t put on my normal makeup. He likes his girls softer looking. He likes them to look as if they could actually be a guest to one of his parties.

Then he fucks that up within minutes.

My breath stutters in my chest as I shower. There is a ball of panic that wants to claw its way into my every limb. I look at the window and think of running, but all I see in that future is a dirty, cum-stained sheet in a cold apartment, thick, ugly johns between my legs as I lie there, apathetic, jacked up on heroin.

Going home isn’t an option. I hurt my parents so badly. Through my uncle I got the message never to return, that they never wanted to see me again. I’m their only child. We were poor, but I was their princess. Knowing they have ostracized me hurts worse than anything the beast can dish out. Anything. It’s a miracle I never turned to drugs, but early on I saw what it did to the girls I worked with on the street. I drank, though. Lots of alcohol. There’s only so much a human can take, and I have crossed that line over and over.

I’ve been with the matron four months now, and I haven’t touched a drop since.

“You can’t cry when I do your face, hon.” Michaela stands with the makeup brush in her hand and stares disapprovingly at me in the mirror. She’s helping me get that same sophisticated look I had three weeks ago.

“I’m not crying.”

“Your eyes are glossed over.”

“I’m okay. Go on. I promise I won’t ruin your artwork.”

She scoffs but gets back to applying earthy hues around my eyes. It looks really good, but I’m never going to be able to wear it for myself. It’s too connected with him.

“I’m so sorry you have to go there again. He’s the worst sadist I’ve ever come across.”

I meet her eyes in the mirror. “You been there?”

“A couple of years ago.”

“Was—was it bad?”

“He… beat me until I cried. Raped me when I broke down.”

“We can’t be raped.” My voice is dull. Even I hear how it sounds. As if I’ve given up all hope of life.

Michaela stops applying eye shadow and spins the chair so I face her. “What are you saying? Of course we can be raped.”

“We’re nothing but holes. We sell every bit of us for them to use.”

“Carmen! Don’t you have any limits?”

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