A Day That Changed It All

I dreaded going to work that day, I was feeling unwell at the thought of what I needed to do. I was 19, and an escort. That day, I chose to instead go to a friends house, a dominatrix who was happy to host me. Everything seemed okay, until I got a call from my volatile boyfriend. My boyfriend at the time, was known for his anger problems, and even had napalm in his nick-name. I could feel my world seizing as I brought the phone to my ear, unaware of how bad my life was about to become.

"What the fuck is this, Lydia?" He growled, seething. "why did someone give you lingerie? Why do they call you Sarah?" The words fell from his mouth with the energy of a leech, all too fitting. He had lived off me since I was a teen, and he was in his 20's, never bothering to get a proper job, or help me out in any fundamental fashion.

"I- I... Maybe I should come home and we should talk" my voice came out broken and shaking as tears showered my face numbly. Going home would be my second mistake.

"Pft. You're in fucking Santa Rosa, how are you going to get back here in time" he almost sounded flippant, in time for what?

"No, I'm still in Sacramento, I can be there in a few minutes." my tone was pleading, he certainly had deposited himself into my soul.

"Another lie...fine, hurry" the line went dead as I turned to my friend, who had been next to me through the entire conversation.

"Can you drive me home? I need to get there fast" I pleaded, nervously as she circled me with her warm arms, pet my hair and asked simply "Are you sure you will be safe?" A question I did not have the experience to answer, so decided to cry instead, I knew I was walking into a hurricane.

We gathered my things and she drove me across town in silence, periodically eyeing me briefly. Once we arrived, she grabbed my hand and simply stated "call me if you need help, you're welcome to come live with me. " I let out a large sigh before shooting her a weak smile and disappearing into my apartment building. When I entered my apartment, he was waiting for me, by the door, hatchet in hand, eyes filled with unregulated rage as he slammed the door behind me.

My boyfriend, who we will name Sell, sidled between me and the only door in and out before pointing with his hatchet at a small pile of evidence of my indiscretions. I took a long shaking breathe, before attempting to speak words that would never come. "What do you have to say for yourself?" he spat with the presence of a conqueror. "Nothing, huh?" scoffing, he locked the door and moved the couch in front of it. "Tell me, or I will kill you, you slut"

As he walked closer to me I found the courage to blurt out "When we broke up I started escorting" I'm unsure if I ever shook as violently as I did in this moment.

"Ugh, I fucking knew it, I should slit your throat right here!" There was a look in his eyes I had never seen before, he had been abusive but I had never believed he could kill me till now.

"I had no choice, I needed to make a living somehow, you and dad left so suddenly" I was pleading while scooting back into our room like a crab escaping a bird.

"I don't give a shit what you have to say, you whore" his words cut deeper than the scars that had been cleanly sliced into my arms all those years ago. I had no words to make this right, I should never have come home. Our conversation was just a cyclical pattern of the above, leaving no room for progress and only leaving him louder, angrier, and me more defeated over the course of the next hour.

We lived on the second floor, and I was friends with the woman below us, giving me an idea, I pressed my face to the floor, screaming as I cried, and pounded on the floor with my fists, completely unaided. Sell must have figured out my plan, as he pulled me off the floor by my throat, leaving me sprawled across the floor on my back.

"That's it, I'm out of here, you're dad will be hearing all about your little sex-capade" he headed to the door, but I could not allow my dad to know, not yet. I scrambled behind him, begging him not to tell my dad, when he said, "the only way he's not finding out is if I stay" in hindsight, I realize what he was doing, but I was young, I was desperate.

"Okay, okay, what do I have to do?" I was broken already, but he had not completed the process. Sell grabbed me by my hair, leading me to our room, where he placed my forehead on the carpet with the top of my head against the wall, my rump up in the air. "Stay there, slut" he spat on my back, rummaging in the closet for a good while, before finding what he apparently wanted. He began, by sliding my bottoms down to my knees, which shook with unadulterated fear. "No, no, no, no.. ." I sobbed into the carpet which gladly accepted and absorbed the fluid. He ignored my pleas. He was good at that.

He pressed the item he chose, which became apparent to me, he had chosen my double-ender, and that is when I knew this would hurt. He rammed it into me with enough force to bruise the top of my head, never allowing the possibility to degrade me to slip. While he proceeded, he continually told me I was not good enough to have "actual" sex with. After half an hour or so, he pretended to have just noticed my screams and tears, uttering "I don't want to do this if you don't want it" before throwing the tool he had just used at the ground next to me. It took a long time for me to gather my wits enough to stop blubbering, it was dark now, and I had come home at 3:00 pm.

He playing video games in the living room when I began to move, looking up from the T.V. he stated plainly "If you leave the house without my permission or company, I will tell your dad. You are never allowed to deny me sex, or I will tell your dad. You are allowed to escort for two months, but I am allowed to sleep with whoever I want from now on." I felt I had no choice but to agree, and nodded numbly. "What what that, slut? I couldn't hear you" Sell had a sickeningly sadistic smile smeared across his face.

"I agree, I'm sorry." A single tear slipped out which I quickly hid.

"Now go heat me up something to eat" He was already back to his game as if nothing eventful had happened.

In the next week my pimp was worried about me, asking why I had been distant, why I wasn't responding. He even offered to save me, offered to whisk me away, give me a place to stay. I think the realization that he had the will and means to save me is what hurt the most almost a decade down the line.

I spent the next several months, having to ask to do things as simple as smoke a cigarette, finding myself opting to smoke inside more often than not to avoid speaking with him. I dated him on and off for the next two years of hellish purgatory, nothing ever getting better.

"Sell", I will never miss you