I look at her, she was lying on her belly reading a book. Her little room with its low ceiling and the tiny window was a mess.
She was an odd beauty; long, dark chestnut hair, soft as silk; wide green eyes, well-defined eyebrows, and soft full lips.
Her mother walked in, “Are you working this evening, hon? We need the money.”
“You mean, you need it.” she retorted.
A strained silence hovered between mother and daughter, then the older woman left the room. I detested her, she was a rotten excuse for a mother.
She was in the shower.
“Damn! So, she was going out. Can’t she see that she deserves so much more? Why does she choose this? “
She picked out a sequined dress with a plunging neckline. Too revealing for a teenager.
She put on her makeup – bright red lips, highlighted cheekbones and glittery eyes. She let her hair loose, and it curled softly into her face. With one last look in the mirror, she left with her purse and keys.
She was at the bar, dancing and rubbing herself against strangers, a drink in her hand. She wouldn’t have bought it.
“The bastards got her drunk.” It was always like this. She leaves with a new man every time she comes here.
Tonight’s guy was in his late twenties, tall and gawky. They walk into a dark alley. He pushes at her, “that’s rude,” I swear under my breath.
It was quick. She had pushed the wad into her purse and started walking on wobbly legs while straightening up her dress.
The house was quiet. It was almost morning, she was awake and alert, dreading the shadows of night. I said a little prayer for her.
But the abhorrent creature barged in. His presence dominating the tiny room, and she shrivelled like a touch-me-not. He yanked her hard by her leg.
“Please, let me go I’m tired.” She pleaded.
“You tired, huh? So ya tellin’ me to pay a visit to that little sista of yours, eh? ”
She quietly submitted and laid there, hands clenched, barren skin drenched with tales of sacrifices and remorse.
She closed her eyes and imagined an emerald land, free of sins, and her young body was never violated, where her skin was not rotting from the blue and black bruises.
It was finally over. She was cold and shivering.
Tears trickled down her petal-like face.
She was full of secrets – too rotten, too dark. It even made demons weep.
She woke up late, feeling sore.
But it was university time. The only time I’m allowed to touch her lips and not hidden in a crevice of her fathomless heart with hatred.
Whenever she wears me, it was a smile so careless and infectious, that it puts the sun to shame.
To her I was the Mask of fuckery; for me, I was her SUNSHINE SMILE.
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