Before I was 18, everything he said was music to my ears; even with the rain drops he still made way to become my sunshine. I listened to everything, but my conscious. It sinked in daily almost swallowing my entrails, whispering “do not board that plane”. That was the last time I felt myself.
Everything in south central was bad, including the lack of love I got from family and friends, it was no turning back now, and he was all I had. The fear that overtook me, as he stood there, equal to a child taken from its mother at womb.
His brown and white faux fur coat and dreads down his back. I couldn’t forget the diamond on his pinky, I think I blinked the same time it sparked, hell we both winked. I knew at that moment I didn’t make the best decision and by how he looked at me, me leaving was not a option. The sound of a little girl crying did not open the eyes of anyone, not even when we got pulled over, many times.
The training in his eyes, well wanting to teach me how to perform oral sex, was my first time touching a man above my age frame, but the baby hair and baby teeth he saw did not turn him off. I was not his product and had to learn how to please my clients. Most would say to leave or bite it to hurt him, but those feelings, thoughts, and challenges I felt inside came with great pain. I never imagined being free after I was placed in the trunk of his car, dragged across our hotel room and sent back to the street with a black eye and bruises.
If I asked to stop he drove me to ditches and pointed out where my body would lay. The first client told me to scream ‘I’m your nigger bitch”. He was paying me a thousand dollars an hour and kept telling me to call my pimp. You can say the richest man in New York city knows the first city girls. You see even the ones you think don’t know, they do!
The teacher, the politician, the one who plays the stock market, and the owner of that expensive hotel that your family saves up to vacation at, they all loved my sweet 16 year old eyes. I guess you just become numb after a while, but you see verbal bruises don’t actually go away, they turn into anxiety, P.T.S.D, self-hate. He, my wifeys, and his pimp partners called it the game.
Most asked how I got away. Well some days I believed I was not there anymore or looked for other ways to escape. When I took pills hoping he would find me and let me go, it only brought me closer to his fist and hands wrapped around my throat. Most don’t believe sex trafficking is real, until you reveal and that doesn’t always prevail. It takes less than minute to ensure the safety of a child whom appears they are in harm, but it only took five seconds for them to turn the other cheek. The only answer was to lay and stay, until he got comfortable with leaving me alone, I finally got my chance when he went from New York to Philadelphia, leaving a four hour gap between us.
My freedom came between a cab driver and me pretending to be with a client, he thought something had happen to me and awaited downstairs at the W Hotel. When he realized it was all hoax. I was in another state, safe with a family member. I know you’re thinking I’m glad she got away. I was free physically, but mentally I freed for my life. My pimp told me I would only leave him in a body bag, but as the planes continued to fly so did my freedom.
Well it did not end there. He called me more than I could remember, repeatedly. ‘If you don’t come back I’ll kill give myself”. By now I’m 20 and I could not stomach the fact his life would be gone because of my choice, but in reality that was his decision and yet it all still worked out unfortunately in his favor. You see one thing pimps are good at is brainwashing, manipulating and suffocating you between drowning and dehydration. I was back there before I could even enjoy a cooked meal with my sister, he was all I knew and somehow it felt okay. Thats the feeling of hopeless without purpose, this time I really begin to give up, even though he promised not to hit me anymore I was pleasing him, but hurting myself. That part of the game, submission and when you don’t have anyone looking for you, he was getting away with it and my freedom was now atheistic.
He took the ten thousand from me I stashed to get away from him and never trusted me again. He some how made himself the victim, but deep down I knew God had a better life for me. Many will question my choices and decisions looking back isn’t something I could change, but going forward I define my path. Miki Blu, let me go home for thanksgiving after my twenty-third birthday, with a promise to return, I never looked back!
My psychologist prescribed me Prazosin,
Escitalopram and Hydroxyzine.