Ghostface Killer(4)
"Uncuff me and let me go, and all my distress will be gone."
He stops at a red light and gazes at me through the rearview mirror. "Now you know I can't do that." The light turns green, and he steps on the gas. A little heavier than I expect as I'm thrust back against the seat.
A few silent moments pass before he surprisingly continues, "I can't do that without somethin' in exchange." His muddy brown eyes now flickering with something dark and corrupt. I stare at him coolly. I know exactly what he wants. It's what most men want from me. It's not like I would be compromising my virtues. That ship sailed when I was eleven and I traded my virginity for a warm bed and a cold bologna sandwich. I don't make a habit of whoring myself out. That's why I steal. But desperate times call for desperate measures, and right now, I'm fucking desperate. Spreading my legs for this douchebag for a few sickening minutes sounds way better than suffering for years in juvie.
"Are you saying if I give you what you want, you'll give me what I want?"
The cop licks his lips like a salivating animal. "You bet."
"Fine," I agree on the spot. I'd agree to almost anything if it means getting me out of these handcuffs.
The crooked cop makes a hard right, and my anxiety spikes. God knows where he's going to take me. I try to breathe steadily. I try to talk myself off the ledge. I'll just close my eyes and think of something else while he does it. Pretend I'm somewhere else. The mind is more powerful than the body. The mind is more powerful than the body.
As he navigates down a maze of backstreets, the surroundings become shittier by the second and thinly populated. I can't stop my heart from hammering. This is going to suck.
He finally stops at what looks like a loading dock. Tons of stacked pallets hide the car, and the strong smell of gasoline burns my nose. When he opens his door, I swear I hear the sound of a gong. Dread pools in the pit of my stomach. The mind is stronger than the body. The mind is stronger than the body, I chant silently as he drags me out of the back seat.
It's absolutely freezing out, the December air pricking the small amounts of my exposed skin like a thousand little needles. I visibly shiver, and the cop takes notice.
"Don't worry, little lady, I'll be warming you up real soon." He grips my jacket, and I almost throw up in my mouth when he calls me little lady.
He inhales the scent of my hair as he presses his pelvis against mine. Ugh. There's a bulge already poking me in the thigh. I just stand still, more rigid than a statue as he begins to touch me, opening my jacket and groping my breasts. The tiny things that they are. There's barely even a handful. Humiliating does not begin to describe it. My nipples tighten through the thin material of my shirt from the cold, not from his touch, and he groans disgustingly when he runs his palms over the points.
"Hot for me." He sounds pleased as he squeezes both my breasts way too hard. I whimper from the pain. Hot for him? Yeah, right. Repulsed is more like it. This, right here, is the reason I trust no adult. This man is a police officer. He's supposed to protect me from people like him, yet here he is, taking advantage of a young girl in a vulnerable position. Story of my life.
"I am going to make this little body sing." He bites my neck and shoves both his hands under my shirt. I'm not wearing a bra. I don't even own one, and when he discovers this, it's like a jackal comes out. He laughs crazily as he molests me, mauling me against the cruiser.
"So soft. So soft and sweet and innocent." He sounds like a madman. His tone is hushed but to me it's laced with dread. My pulse pounds faster than a frightened rabbit's as he pushes my coat off my shoulders, drags up my thin t-shirt, and pulls down my pants. I'm awkwardly naked and completely humiliated.
Can we please just get this over with? He steps back and admires me. I can barely look at him.
"God, you're pretty," he heaves as he scans his eyes over my helpless form. He hasn't even uncuffed me. "I gave you a compliment." He grabs my face in a fit of anger and forces me to acknowledge him. "Say thank you."
It takes me a few heated seconds, but the dangerous flickering in his eyes tells me not to cross him.
"Thank you," I mutter.
"You're welcome. You'll say thank you every time I serve you a compliment. You'll be my good, obedient, sweet little lady, understand?"
I try not to shake in his hold as I agree to what he says with a pathetic head nod.
"Good." He releases my face, satisfied. Taking my arm, he drags me to the front of the beat up old Cutlass. "Turn around and bend over," he orders. Here it comes. I hold my breath as I do as I'm told. My eyes stinging with hot, unshed tears. I will not cry. This is the ticket to my freedom. I chose this over going to jail. So suck it up. I press my cheek against the warm hood and screw my watery eyes shut. The chilly air against my bottom brings me to an unwelcome collision.