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Pen Your Pride

Whores That Hurt

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"Knock-knock."

Her heart sank and a cold sweat formed in droplets at the back of her slender neck. His voice was rough; the personification of a smoking, glowing cigarette and just as cancerous and destructive. His voice alone evoked memories repressed and wounds long, long healed.

 "You like it, sweetheart, you love this. Stop fighting it, teasing bitch!" Whack. Her eyes teared up and a cut formed on her eyebrow, blood clouding her vision.

His head was a red haze and his eyes were black coals. "Don't go crying now, baby girl. Hush. Hush." He violently thrust his finger onto her lips and she tasted blood.

"No pain, no gain." He laughed mockingly.

He placed a hand on her swollen stomach before making it into a fist. "Mine," Michael growled with a demonic sneer before plunging his balled fist into the cocoon protectively surrounding his unborn child.

"Coming," she choked out. He was a daunting figure, clothed in entirely black with his rougish features- his arched eyebrows, slightly crooked patrician nose, shadowed eyes and coarse stubbled chin-  no longer beautiful, but cruel to her.

"I'm here to see my daughter," he drawled. She couldn't mention his name without flinching and thinking back to a time where a young, flaxen-haired girl with dreams in her eyes and innocence coursing through her veins had offered herself to a boy with a roguish grin and a smirk, but a dark, dark heart.

"Where's that kid of mine?" He licked his lips slowly as his gaze assessed her.

Snow frowned and squared her shoulders.

"Not here. Now leave."

She started to shut the door, but jerked when he shoved a working boot to stop it.

"Not so fast, sugar. You're always on my back about this kid," He was lying, she wanted to be as far away from him as physically and mentally possible. She hated him. "So now I think  I need to get you onto yours." He grinned.

Snow backed away from his looming figure and stumbled slightly.

 "Watch your step, watch it." he warned and followed her into the apartement, slowly unbuttoning his jacket. Snow gulped.

"Mine," he whispered.

                                                                                    xxx

We should have a big party. Invite everyone!" Destiny suggested, her large owlish eyes widening even further as she took a long drag of her cancerous cigarette while she admiringly watched Snow try on a baggy shirt, her thighs never touching, not even brushing together.

Her bellybutton was a deep hole in the milky white of her skin.

Destiny prodded her own thicker thighs and sighed.

 Snow nodded vaguely, her thoughts on Christopher Kidd's angled face, talented mouth and tortured soul. On her one thigh she had yellowing bruises and a scab from his attentions.

"Where'd you get those?" Destiny curiously peered at the sickly wound and grimaced.

 Snow stiffened. "Client." She replied curtly and  stared at herself in the mirror, a small frown creasing her brow as she noticed the rashlike acne on her cheek. Fuck.

She sat down at the kitchen counter, forgetting Destiny, and took out a small plastic bag of white powder. Snow White.

"Mirror, mirror on the wall," she mockingly drawled in an exaggerated American accent and spilled the drug on the table then rearranged it into a fat line.

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