It wasn't like they said it was gonna be.
What am I saying?
It wasn't a thing that is presented as something to be praised. It wasn't something to be sang about. It wasn't something everyone who haven't had it happen to them, be envied. It wasn't something you could ever come out regretting that you ever left.
You want to get out.
But even if you do get out, according to society, you're free. Forever. A safe haven awaits you. Life starts to finally click, and you find where you belong.
Again. Life's not that easy.
You're messed up, in easy terms. Nothing is easy to do, you have no ease in anything. Considering you've probably never experienced real life in a long time. You probably can't do everyday tasks that you've been taught when you were once a minor. You might not even be able to tie your shoes.
It's all been something you start to believe in. You think walking around and randomly getting hit, or raped on occasion is normal. Running into big men who you would supposed would knock you out, and have you woken up sore, is probably a Monday and Thursday thing.
Because your reality, is a lie. I've been lied to for almost all my lifetime. I don't even know when I can be hallucinating and when I'm just straight up dumb.
But some are lucky. They escape before brainwashing takes place, or before all the horrible images about the real world enter your head. People like that, I look up to. They've made a defense mechanism to where they actually got out. Actually got out. Actually out. Got out. Out...
But others, like myself, are so chained up in this fake reality, that escaping became way more hard then it used to be. People think of it as if you were to steal a cookie off the counter. You're so close, closer, closer, then you grasp it.
It's more like, you're close. Super close. Basically touching it. Then you look up to see that your mother caught you, and she had already stuck it back in its home in the jar.
Instead of the shaking of your mothers finger, as she scolds you with the constant saying of "no," you get ready for what's about to embrace you into a state of fear. You saw it coming. But you still tried, you idiot...
--
{Era: October 14, 1980}
I clenched my mothers hand hard, as we were in the bad parts of Palm Springs. It was raining. It wasn't downpour, but it was warming up to be more intense.
I loved the rain, but my mother, she would say different. She wiped it out of her face, trying her best not to mess up her makeup. She really was selfish about things like that.
The rain droplets dripped down my sleeves and hood, as my boots were soaked from all the splashing I've done. My mother was annoyed, but she kept it to herself.
Her red nails almost dug into my skin, as she walked a little faster. She was headed to a big white building. I couldn't read. Well, I could, but only one syllable words. I could really only make out: "Club." But the word after that, was so complex that I couldn't even think of it.
I eyed my mother. Her hair was slightly curled. She had a nice glow to her skin. Her makeup was flawless. She was extremely young for her age. So I've been told. Her heels clicked and clanked against the cobblestone ground.
The immediate smell of cigarettes and alcohol greeted my nose when you opened the doors. My mother runs through, as if to try and make sure I couldn't smell or see anyone. She failed miserably at that.
Her small dress was riding up her thighs the more she tried to move fast. She struggled to pull it down. Causing cat calls and barking to erupt from the main lobby.
My mother entered through a tight black door. To reveal a big room, full of clothing racks, travel vanities, and groups of women of all ages and races. They all dressed in skimpy outfits, some didn't even choose to wear any clothes.
The hair was bigger than ever. Nails were long. Some even applied fake beauty marks, as if to fulfill the profile of Marilyn Monroe. Many girls took notice of my presence. Some looked a little annoyed, others frightened. Some even looked a little childlike.
"Grace! Is this the little Charlotte you've been talking about?" A lady said, with a big brown perm, and overly drawn lips. My mother nodded, almost ashamed. "May I ask, why is a minor here?" She asked, a little more serious. Her eyes seemed innocent and unaware. But her words were as stern as a mothers.
"Oh, um...her father had other plans." My mother spoke, dropping my hand and crossing her arms over her chest. "I just didn't want to be irresponsible and leave her at home."
"And you're not being irresponsible by taking her to...this?" The lady spoke. "This isn't a environmental place for children." She then realized her that I was a child, and partook in noticing I was standing right there. Her eyes became more doll like, and she had an innocent smile.
"Grace! You're out in a minute!" A man spoke, who seemed to be dressed in a pair of black pants and shirt. He also had a reciting hairline. He then disappeared.
"Oh shit." My mother mutters. She looks around frantically, as if to search for her own individual vanity. "I just couldn't be late Jess. Could you do the favor as to watch over Charlotte while I work?" She spoke, sliding off her animal-printed rain jacket.
The girl who spoke before gave an annoyed look, but them exchanged a nod in return. "Only till my shift starts." She spoke sternly, waving a finger at my mothers face. She rolled her eyes.
"Fine. My shift basically ends when yours does." She spoke, frantically plugging in her hair curler. And she proceeded to apply fake eyelashes. I just stood there for a while, watching and studying her.
I never understood what my mothers job was in the first place. Sure, people have called her names from what I did think to be her job. But all the scowls and growls she sends back to the comments tells me that she doesn't find those to be a fitting place.
The lady from earlier crouched down on her knees so she could be at eye level with me. She grinned widely. "Hello, I'm Jessica. I think we'll be best friends!" She squealed. I could practically feel my mothers eyes rolling.
"I'm Charlotte." I answer, smiling back. She helped me slide off my coat, and place it on a rack next to another vanity. She then guided me to a swivel chair that had the ability to rise up like a barbers chair.
She props me up on the seat, and pumps the metal bar many times. She then stops till I'm at arms hight with her. "Do you like your hair curly? Or straightened?" She asked, fishing through a drawer in her vanity.
"Curly!" I spoke, bouncing in my seat. She smirked, almost in admiration that she was bonding with a child. She fishes more and more through the drawer. Barrels of different sizes fly onto the floor. She threw out all the bigger ones. Perhaps looking for the smallest.
"Jess, what the hell are you doing?" My mother spoke up, glancing over from her curling iron. "I told you to watch her, not convert her into your little cult of curly hair." She says annoyingly and a little teasingly. Jessica glances over and rolls her eyes.
"GRACE!" A firm masculine voice spoke. I glance over to see a man dressed in the same black attire, with a fishing hat and amber mustache. He glances over at me and waves slightly. My hand flutters in return. "I mean it, get your ass out here." He waves his arms around frantically, throwing around his clipboard he was holding.
"I'll be out in a minute." My mother waved her hand to shoo him away. He turned around, frustrated. He rubbed the back of his buzz cut hair annoyingly.
Jessica was then holding a hot tool up to my face. "So, how old are you Charlotte?" She spoke, releasing the iron away from my face, revealing a tightly wound curl.
"I'm eight. Going to be nine in January." I spoke, swinging my legs around playfully. She smiled slightly. "How old are you?" I ask, cocking my head. She finds herself chuckling.
"Oh, honey. I'm pretty old." She tries to drive me out of the conversation. I shake my head. She bites the inside of her mouth. "I'm way older than you!" She argues. I raise my brows. As if to tell her that it really didn't matter. "I'm thirty seven."
"You don't look thirty seven?" I almost question. She scoffs, pulling on the black heat-proof handle to let go of a curl.
"That's what everyone says." She releases another curl. I shrug off the thought, as I studied her vanity.
Stuck in the little spaces that connect the mirror to the black plastic frame, were a series of pictures. I could identify the one lady who seemed to be in every other photo. My mother. In one hand, she was holding what looked like an alcoholic beverage, and in the other was a clearly lit cigarette. Jessica was the one who stood next to her. She had her tongue out with her eyes closed. She wore what seemed to be skimpy clothing and her makeup was smeared down to her cheeks.
I looked at them, perplexed. And before I knew it, my hair was aligned with tight strawberry blonde curls. I run my fingers through them, feeling the softness between my fingers.
"Wait!" Jessica spoke, as she frantically turned around to her big bag of where she kept her beauty belongings. She pulled out a tall bottle of a smelly liquid. "Hairspray." She spoke, placing her hand over my forehead and spraying away. I cough a couple of times, inhaling the fragrance. "It works wonders."
She puts it down, while placing her hands on her hips in accomplishment. I turn my head, and then spin the the chair slowly, to study what was left of my normal straight hair. I smiled, all my crooked teeth showed.
"Thank you!" I sound. She smiled, her overdrawn lips spreading her the outside of her mouth. She pulled me in for a side hug. I hug her leg from our major height difference.
"Jessica!" The same man with an amber mustache appeared in the doorframe. "You're out!" He spoke, throwing his thumb behind him, with his clipboard tucked underneath his arm protectively. She eyed him perplexed.
"I don't go out till nine!" She shouts back. He rolls his eyes. "I know you don't have any patience, but it's not my fault you're constantly sexually frustrated." She shoots back.
"Shut the fuck up and get the hell out of here." He orders, spit sputtering from his mouth. She sighs in defeat. "Leave the girl." He says sternly. I look up to my label of being 'the girl.'
Jessica props me onto the ground, getting back down to my level. She looks me in the eye. "Stay in this room until your mother returns. No leaving to go get something. No leaving to find me. Stay." She puts her long nails to my chest.
"But what if I have to pee?" I whine, cupping my hands together in front of me. As bites her bottom lip.
"You'll just have to hold it sweetie." She says, pitiful. "Just don't trust anyone." My brows furrow. She then arises and turns towards the man who was previously yelling. He shows a slight smirk. As if to let me know he'll be right back.
Jessica disappears behind the black corridor. I find myself walking over to my mothers vanity and siting myself on her cheap neon-green chair that she got from Target. My hands clasp the edge of the chair, as I let my legs swing freely once again.
"Hello." A soft, but still masculine voice, speaks into my ear. My head turns to see the same man I've had many encounters with before. He smiles, showing his yellow-stained teeth. Probably from a daily drinking of coffee.
He had short nails. I noticed the unevenness of them, nail biter. His smile was reassuring, but his eyes were the clearest blue. But when he blinked, darker blue accents aligned his pupils.
"Hello." I said, I seemed less confronting then he was. His smile widened. As if that was possible.
"What's your name?" His words had slur. And instead of expecting the smell of coffee, the smell of vodka mixed with beer. I held my breath for a couple of seconds, blocking out the bile smell.
"I'm...Charlotte." I slither more away from him, almost at the end of the chair. I didn't want to be rude, so I offered a conversation starter. "Um...you work here?" I question. He smirks, which makes me get goosebumps.
"Actually, I wasn't here to really start conversation." His eyebrows rise. He stunk of B.O. And needed to get rid of the horrid smell of fish. "I was here to ask you a very important question." He makes his voice lighten and childlike.
"What?" I cock my head to the right. He chuckles at my anticipation. Everything that he did just to show little indication of satisfaction, scared me.
"Well, y'know, I had just bought this new puppy," he pauses. His eyes light up with mine at the word of 'puppy.' "and I had left him in my car, but somehow he escaped." He showed indication that he was sad by hanging his head and shaking it slightly.
"Where did he go?" I ask, a little jittery. He shrugs.
"That's why I came. I was hoping you could help me find him?" My eyes lit up. I mean, being only eight, it wasn't expected of me to have a whole agenda for the day. Without any exchange of words, he holds his hand out, waiting for my skin to interlock with his.
I reluctantly grasp his three main fingers, while the rest of his hand graciously clasped onto mine. A little tighter than I would've hoped.
He loosened it after I almost wince at his strength. "Oh, sorry! I don't know my own strength sometimes!" He tried to sound playful and apologetic at the same time, all I could manage was a slight nod.
I look up at his face. He had a side smirk, and his pool of glorious blue eyes, turned icy, and dark.
I had the intuition that I was being an idiot for wanting to follow through. I knew about strangers and not trusting the first person you meet. But this guy was a security guard. He would protect me.
We were outside. The curses and cat calling didn't even draw me any attention. Since I was too sidetracked in my own thoughts.
"Charlotte, I suggest you can go check the back seat, since you are small and can fit into tiny spaces." He spoke rapidly, seeming in a rush. I
Nodded, and took my place in the backseat of his 69' Toyota model.
I fish through the gallery of cigarette buds and loose papers. I try the easy route and call for this so-called-puppy. To no avail.
I hear a door shut in the front seat. A set of keys clatter and turn. My head shots up at the sudden change of events. All I then remember, is feeling my hand in pain, and the sounds of the car peeling off...