Knife Traded for Love

Everyday  I pretend to be something I’m not. Well I did, until I met them, the four boys who accepted me for who I am. Well, technically it took awhile for three of them to get to know me, but for the other one, he saw right through to the real me.

I’m just a girl straight out of high school whose life hasn’t been all that great. I was an orphan until someone adopted me. An alcoholic and a druggie. Who would let them have kids, I have no idea. Bob and Bibi adopted me when I was sixteen and I have been cooking my own meals, washing my own clothes, and helping myself with my homework ever since. They were never home because Bob was always at some shady bar with his pervy best friend, Josh. I swear, that guy tried to hit on me a few times. Bibi was always with her heroine addict friends or as she told me, her book club.  

When I graduated Bob and Bibi (I never once called them mom and dad), practically kicked me out of their three room apartment. That was eight months ago and I haven’t heard from them since. I actually went to go and get the rest of my things and the doorman said they moved and gave me a few boxes filled with my stuff. Oh and a check for a $125. I guess they figured that it was enough for a lifetime. But hey, at least I didn’t have to pack my stuff. Oh, and I also get a twenty-five dollar check every month. I could sure live off that.

I have a new apartment that is fully equipped with a bathroom, kitchen, small sitting room and one of those closets that open up and a bed pops out. Talk about magic, right?

I have a crappy hostess job in a huge restaurant on the Fridays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Mondays. It pays well, I guess. Oh, and on weekdays during the day I work in this small coffee shop on Main Street. And I guess I might as well tell you, I live in Brooklyn.

One day I was working at the restaurant, when one of the waitresses, Angelica, a girl with straight blonde hair, waved me over and said “Hey, this man hit his head can you bring him to the back and get him an ice pack?”

I, of course, nod and say “Right this way, sir.” And lead the middle aged man towards the kitchen. On the way there it got desolate and no one was walking by. All of a sudden he grabbed my wrists and pinned me against the wall. As he leaned in, the scent of stale beer tickled my nose.

“Sweetie, you’re going to come with me now, understood,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone. I didn’t know what to do. He started dragging me to the exit where I could see a car parked at the curb.

As we got closer to the door I tried to hit him and run. That didn’t work and I just ended up getting smacked. Hard. Right then and there he started to beat on me and threw me to the ground. He got on top of me and started hitting me, but not hard, if he weren’t as heavy as he was I could’ve probably gotten him off of me. I had obviously pissed him off. All of a sudden, he was gone.

I didn’t feel the man’s heavy weight on top of me anymore. I got up and saw him running away from another man. A man, who I owe a ‘thank you’ too, and maybe a drink, as long as he isn’t a pervy drunk guy too.