London 1836
It was good for a while. Papa was kind to me. He would leave me at home with one of the whores from the tavern whenever he had to work. He would come home and pick me up, twirling me around and kissing my cheek, calling me his little princess. I didn’t know what he did for a living, or what he did to people, or at least, I didn’t until later. Papa started gambling when I was 11. He would go out with his drinking buddies and come home wasted, then go out to the dog fights and waste all the rest of his money. At first it was okay. The tavern was doing fairly well, so Papa could pay back his debts on time. But then, his debts got bigger. He couldn’t pay them back. He tried everything. Stealing, pimping, selling things. But it wasn’t enough. Madame Marvella, the owner of the local brothel, suggested he use me. She told him that men would pay through the nose for a fresh, young peach, and I suppose he agreed. By this point, he didn’t care anymore about me. All he cared about was money.
When I turned 12, Papa started selling me to clients. At first, it was nice. The men would buy me pretty dresses and ribbons and dolls, and they would pay me compliments. But that only lasted a short while. By the time I was 13, the touching had begun, along with...other things. I resisted at first. I even bit a man, but when Papa found out, he was livid. He told me I should be grateful that the men would want to pay me for my services, because it was the only way I wouldn’t starve to death. Papa beat me for the first time that night. I had dark bruises along my collar bone and rib cage, and cuts where Papa had beaten my with an empty absinthe bottle. I had cried, but he had only beaten me more. He told me that I had to be strong, because no one would pay for a weak little china doll. I stopped crying.
I quickly learned how to fake it. I would fake a smile, fake a laugh, fake a moan. If I closed my eyes, I could imagine I was somewhere else. Somewhere warm and dry, where I didn’t have to sell myself to pay for the food on the table, and I didn’t have to pay Papa’s gambling debts.
As a prostitute, which in reality is what I was, you must learn to read people. You must know what they want. Typically, the men who bought me were young sailors coming off of a 7-month stint out at sea, or old friends of my father’s. As I got older, though, the men stopped being gentle. They would beat me and make me do the most degrading things. I suppose it was their way of getting out the anger they had so they wouldn’t have to take it out on their wives. I would come home with bruises and a bleeding lip, and once two broken ribs, but Papa didn’t care. As long as he got his money, he was happy.
I didn’t work on Sundays. Papa said that Sundays were God’s days. Sometimes, a traveling minister would come and hold a service. Papa and I would go. Papa said he was praying for Maman up in Heaven. I would pray that God would kill me, too, so I could be with Maman instead of here. When what happened finally happened, I thought it was God answering my prayer. And I guess, in a way, He was.
YOU ARE READING
The Abduction That Saved Me
RomanceA girl who grew up in the streets is kidnapped and sold to a strange man who seems to understand her.
