Bait the Hook Page 3

  School was probably going to suck with the drama this was bound to cause in our little group of friends. Luckily it was almost over and we’d all be graduating soon.

  I tore the steel band of my headphones angrily out of my bag and set the foam covered ear pieces in place, pressing play on whatever was in my battered Discman, and attempting to drown my thoughts out with music.

  Black Sheep's 'Similak Child' came on. Perfect. A song about a girl who thought she was too good for a boy. I already got enough crap at school for being aloof and for taking my class work too seriously and speaking 'proper English'. I had my gramma to thank for the massive stick that some of my less motivated friends thought I had up my ass.

  Gramma always drilled into my head how important a good education was and how hard the people who came before me had worked to be able to give me the right to get one. She was always talking about civil rights history and the women's rights movements. She was pretty awesome. Both sweet as pie and tough as nails, with a brain much sharper than a tac.

  A whole forty. I’d stupidly let myself drink an entire forty while at Karl's, hoping that the alcohol would help calm my nerves and soothe away the uncomfortable tension of being alone with him. It hadn’t, and now I was buzzed and frazzled and lost in a sea of conflicting thoughts about how poorly the night had gone. I wasn’t paying any attention to my surroundings, just walking the familiar steps home on autopilot.

  That’s when it happened.

  One second I was walking, taking a shortcut through the alley on Dodge Street, or “Dodgy Street” as we liked to call it, and the next my face was scraping along the brick wall of the back of the The Thirsty Dog.

  My headphones were knocked off my ears, falling around neck, when I was shoved roughly from behind. Foul, beer flavored breath panted in my ear and a pudgy male body pressed my petite one into the scratchy, red bricks.

  I was in utter shock for a moment, failing to comprehend what was going on. Then I began to tremble in fear and panic, as the grave reality of my situation set in. My arms, which had come up by reflex to protect my body from some of the impact during my fall into the brick, instinctually began to push against the wall, in resistance. I tried to drive my attacker backwards, but at barely more than five feet tall, I was no match for the larger man’s weight or strength.

  He chuckled malignantly as he grabbed one of my wrists, prying it off the wall momentarily, only to slam it back into the brick with bruising force, high above my head, making my arm useless. His other hand was fumbling with the waistband of my cutoff jeans shorts, as he kicked my legs apart with his feet.

  “I watched that nice booty of yours sashaying past the bar,” the man’s ugly voice slurred in my ear, as he punctuated his words by sliding his hand to my rear and squeezing it so hard I yelped in pain. “That’s right, you little black bitch. I’ll teach you to tease me like that, bouncing your big titties in my face while you walk on by, all uppity, pretending you’re not just another little whore on the prowl for some big, fat dick.”

  I could not believe this was happening. I could not believe the amount of anger and rage and filthiness -the pure evil- that was spilling out of this man’s nasty mouth. It was the most foul and repugnant thing I’d ever heard in my life. I began to buck in panic, my free arm flailing and trying to connect and cause harm, trying to free myself.

  “Mmmmm, that’s right, you dirty little nigger bitch,” he spat.

  His offensive words immediately enraged me. No one had ever dared to call me that to my face before. I wanted to gouge this fucking pig’s eyes out with my fingernails.

  I began to scream, "get off me you fucking pig. STOP! NO!"

  I bucked and twisted and kicked like a wild animal. But he just licked the side of my face, while pushing his beer gut into my back, forcing the air out of my lungs and grinding his hard erection into me, through the layers of our jeans.

  “I’m gonna fuck that sass right out of your pink little pussy, and tear it to shreds. I’m gonna make your cunt bleed, bitch.”

  He was pawing at my waistband, fumbling with my button and my zipper, and yanking my shorts and underwear down. I began to scream and howl in wordless fear and frustration, in hopelessness and helplessness. My eyes were wet with tears and there was so much adrenaline and terror coursing through my body that I was practically vibrating with the violence of my trembling.

  What had I done to deserve this? Why was this happening to me?

  His words made me want to vomit, and his touch even more so. This bore no resemblance, whatsoever, to my silly fantasy notions of gently forced seductions. This was sickening, hideous, disgusting, brutal, hate-filled rape.

  “Shut your fucking mouth, you dirty little cunt,” the man ordered as his forehead slammed into the back of my own head. The force of the impact smashed my face into the brick with a jarring thud that left me disoriented and immediately quelled my cries.

  His hand found my tight, dry vagina and he shoved two fat, blunt fingers inside, roughly, making me gasp in shock and pain as he tore at my resisting flesh, violating me. This was actually happening. This was so absolutely wrong. I felt so much shame, disgust and rage that I wanted to fucking die. I wanted him to die!

  My attacker made an irritated noise and yanked his fingers away. I heard him spit a few times before he thrust them back inside of me, covered in his own filthy mucus. It was beyond repulsive.

  I began to sob quietly, nearly letting my body go limp, trying to send my mind away from the hideousness that he was about to perpetrate upon me.

  But then he shoved against me, roughly and told me to, “cooperate you dirty, little bitch, or I’ll make it hurt way worse, and I’ll cum so far and so hard, up that tight little pussy, I’ll breed you with fucking triplets.”

  Something inside me went berserk at those words. I wanted to castrate him. I wanted to chop his filthy fucking cock off and stand over him, watching him bleed out, while I shoved his lopped off meat down his throat, until he choked on it. I wanted to watch his ugly soul drain from his body and the light go out of his evil eyes.

  He pulled his fingers away again and began fumbling with his belt and pants. I heard the thud and rattle as his jeans fell and his belt hit the pavement, sending another rush of adrenaline spiking through my system, as new levels of terror assailed my body.

  I heard him moan and felt his hand rhythmically hitting my bare ass cheek as he readied his cock to violently rip apart the last vestiges of my virginity. My left hand was still free. I knew this was the only chance that I would get.

  In a lightning fast move, born of desperation and murderous rage, I unerring reached behind my body, with my free hand, to grip his disgusting balls and shaft as hard as I could, twisting them roughly and yanking as forcefully as possible. I dug my nails in, trying to inflict as much pain as I possibly could.

  He screamed in agony and reflexively tried to back away, releasing my other hand and doubling over in pain. I shoved back at the drunken rapist with all of my strength, toppling him over to the ground. I pulled my shorts up as I backed away from him and ran as fast as I could.

  My bag, which I managed to keep only because of the thick strap that was crossed diagonally over my body, slapped against my ass with each powerful stride.

  I did not stop. I did not look back.

  By the time I finally got home, my side was filled with the agony of ignored running cramps, my feet were sore and blistered, I was long since out of breath and I needed to throw up urgently. I lifted the lid of the trashcan and spewed all of the excess adrenaline, fear, disgust, shame, overexertion, and other things that were coursing through my system, out over the full, reeking contents. I dropped the lid back down and crumpled into a sobbing puddle, huddled by the trashcan at the side of my house.

  I hadn’t even heard the back door open.

  “Where the fuck have you been Dee?” My father ask angrily, in a very slurred voice, as he staggered down the back steps, leather belt, with thick, shin
y, heavy, brass buckle in hand.

  I held my hand out in a plea for him not to come any closer, “daddy...” I sobbed.

  It was too much. To come home to this after everything else that had already happened tonight. It was just too much. I had no idea how he could be this drunk already. I couldn’t have been that late getting home.

  “Lost my job today Dee. You should have been here,” he accused, advancing towards me menacingly, in just his boxers and a stained and dirty wife beater.

  That explained it. He must have been drinking for hours, stewing in his anger and looking for someone he could take it out on. I weakly crawled to my feet and began backing away towards the front of the house.

  “Don’t you walk away from me girl.” He demanded of my retreating form. He barely raised his voice, but I had no trouble hearing every, deep, rumbling word and it struck terror in me.

  "You'd better get on into that house Dee." He contradicted himself. "Don’t want to do this outside.” Using logic when drunk wasn’t really my father’s strong suit. He often opposed his own statements when he was like this, and it didn’t matter which order I chose to follow. There was never a right choice to be made. There was never any way to win.

  I was terrified all over again. This was going to be bad. Very bad. I limped up the front steps, inside the house, and kept right on going, all the way up the stairs. I locked myself into my room and sat with my back propped against the door, hoping it would keep him out. I was hoping he would be too drunk to make it up the stairs, and praying that he would pass out and not remember any of this.

  My prayers went unanswered.

  My father broke my bedroom door in and beat me until I passed out, never once asking why I was already bleeding and bruised, why he found me puking my guts out and huddled next to the trashcan with swollen, tear stained eyes.

  I hated him.

  I hated him, and I hated this shitty little backwards ass, redneck fucking town. I hated the south. I hated being poor. I hated being little. I hated being a woman. I hated being black. I hated myself. I hated everything.

  When I came to, it was still dark out and my father’s heavy, loud, drunken snores filled our ramshackle, little house. I took a long, hot shower, unheeding of the stinging pain the needle-like droplets of water caused as they bore down into my many cuts, scrapes and bruises.

  I soaped my body to within an inch of its life, scrubbing away the whole evening , along with the top layer of my skin. I got out and toweled off, quickly getting dressed. Then I packed my backpack with some spare clothes, whatever money I could find, and a little food and water. I also took the big, nasty, sharp knife my father kept to deter thieves and then I left.

  I walked out and I never looked back. Not once.

  Dot Matrix: Chapter 2

  Present Day...

  “I can barely believe these numbers,” I said, glancing up at my best friend, Mimi, over the rims of my vintage, tortoise shell cat glasses. I’d discovered recently that I needed them for reading. If my eyes were going to betray me by succumbing to the aging process, they were at least going to do it with fabulous style.

  I sat at Mimi’s desk analyzing the quarterly financial report. I’d just finished compiling the numbers for Hardwood’s Burlesque, and I waived her over with an animated hand, so that I could share her own computer screen with her. “Ever since we brought Jizzie on board, and the rest of the new dancers…” I trailed off excitedly.

  “I know!” Mimi replied giddily, as she looked over my shoulder, at her screen. “Business is outstanding! I swear we’ve had a packed house every night for the last month.”

  “We have,” I agreed. “I’ve got the numbers right here to prove it.”

  “Jocelyn was such a great addition,” Mimi beamed like a proud mama and went on. “I wish we could get her in here full time, but it’s probably best she only dances a couple times a week,” she paused before adding, “that way the novelty doesn’t wear off too quickly...”

  “There’re only so many times our audience can be surprised when her clothes come off and out pops that gargantuan, glittering, red strap-on.” I chuckled in agreement and winked at my best friend.

  “We have too many regulars to keep the shock value on that going for very long,” she affirmed.

  Sharing Mimi’s office with her, and sharing our thoughts and observations about the burlesque had become such a familiar and comfortable routine over the years. Hardwood’s was such a huge part of my life. Even though I wasn’t a true partner in the business, I had such an enormous emotional investment in it that it felt like I may as well have been.

  It was hard to comprehend that only five short years had passed since Hardwood’s had opened its doors for the first time. I’d been there from the very beginning, helping Mimi turn her dreams into a successful reality, as her second in command.

  And I’d been Mimi’s best friend for far longer than that. I owed so much of my own happiness and personal success to her. She’d taken me in when I was lost and alone and rudderless. She’d gotten me a job, a place to live and most importantly, given me her loyal friendship for nearly two decades now. I could not conceive of a life without Mimi in it.

  “I can’t believe how much has changed in the last five years,” Mimi said, reflecting some of my own thoughts. “After such a shaky start, I never even dared to hope that we would ever reach this level of success,” she mused in my ear, while scanning the numbers in wonderment, and I craned my neck around to look up at her.

  “You’ll get a crick in your neck staring up at me like that, Dee,” Mimi admonished, encouraging me to spin back around, with a twirling finger. “We sure aren’t getting any younger,” she complained, flopping down and parking her butt on the settee, a few feet away and giving my poor old neck a break.

  “I know that’s right,” I commiserated, stretching my neck this way and that, and producing a few cracks and pops for my efforts. “Things have certainly changed a lot from those first days of shaking our asses in front of greasy truck drivers.”

  I pronounced it ‘greee-zeee’ so Mimi would get the full emphasis of how much I loathed the caliber of clientele we used to dance for. “I don’t think that crowd would really have appreciated seeing giant girl cock up on stage,” I chuckled. “Too much homophobia, and penis envy,” I grinned while holding up my pinky finger and wiggling it at her.

  “Heh, heh,” Mimi let out a husky chuckle at my rude observations, adding, “nothing scares a small minded man more than an intelligent, strong woman. Give that same woman a bigger cock than the one he’s carrying between his own legs and you’re guaranteed to strike fear into his heart, and send him packing. And good riddance too!” Mimi finished with a loud slap to her thigh, for emphasis.

  “That girl’s such a damn hoot,” I went on, shaking my head and steering the conversation back to Jocelyn. “You know, I was worried that I was going to get irritated having to share my dressing room with such a shy little mouse, but she’s really come out of her shell a lot in these last few months,” I happily reported. “I can’t even remember the last time I heard the girl stutter or fumble over her words. In fact,” I sighed like I was feeling heavily put upon, “I can barely get her to shut up now!”

  “Except when she’s daydreaming plot lines for her next novel,” Mimi interjected with a chuckle. “She’s got a real knack for zoning out then.”

  “Yes,” I agreed, “but then she snaps out of it, and asks me the craziest dang shit!” I tattled to Mimi. “She’s got me busting a gut and trying not to ruin my eye makeup when I laugh so hard my eyes start to leak."

  “She does have a way with words, when she’s not too shy to use them,” agreed Mimi. “I’ll give her that for sure.”

  “You know,” I forged on, in a voice I would typically reserve for only the juiciest of gossip, as I raised the backs of my fingertips to the corner of my mouth, in a conspiratorial aside. “I wouldn’t be surprised to find out her next novel is going to be about a bunch o
f fabulous and frisky burlesque dancers,” I let slip in my best stage whisper, while I wiggled my eyebrows like I was Groucho Marks.

  “Dork,” Mimi name called, playfully slapping my bicep as she pulled a face, obviously not willing to play along. “Girl, you know that wouldn’t be a surprise to anyone in this place,” she said, clearly unimpressed with both my (brilliant) deductions and my dancing bear routine.

  “Anyway, it’s so good to see Ryan back in here again,” Mimi went on, glossing over my failed attempt at stirring up a kettle of shenanigans. “It reminds me of the good old days,” she reflected with a nostalgic smile. “I wish I could get Ryan to dance though,” she admitted, her voice taking on a dreamy quality. “Those two are hotter than Georgia asphalt.”

  “Mmmhmm.” I agreed with a finger snap and sassy, little shake of my head, making my curls bounce. “Hell yeah they are.”

  I bet they’d light up the stage together,” she sighed dreamily, clearly imagining just that.

  “Oh, puh-leaseeee,” I replied, rolling my eyes and sighing. “I’ve seen enough,” I laughed, holding up a hand in a ‘no more’ gesture, while using the other to cover my weak heart. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve walked in on them, this close,” I emphasized with pinched together thumb and forefinger, “to doing the deed?” I asked in an exasperated voice. “I’m like to go blind soon,” I professed, with a heavenward glance, pretending to pray. “Lord, give me patience and strength.”

  “You just shush.” Mimi laughed at my antics before her grin split so wide-open it practically engulfed her entire face.

  Mimi had a passion for matchmaking, eclipsed only by her passion for making Hardwood’s Burlesque -her baby, a hugely successful venture.

  “Mmmm,” she purred in her husky, sultry voice. “Now I bet that was a hell of a show,” she remarked, with a wink.

  “Yeah it was,” I winked back in total agreement, and chuckled.