Page 5 of Shattered In Darkness

LOLA

THE PRESENT

When I tell men that I’m a model, they always ask if I meant to say ‘stripper.’ I don’t have a thin physique like a model. I have a stripper body. I know that.

They look at my curvy hips and my round ass. They admire my plump tits and my flat stomach. And they have the audacity to degrade my beauty by putting me in the stripper category.

They lick their lips and ask me if they can get a private show. I always tell them no, but they always persist. I am nothing but a body to them. A shell to lust after. It’s all I am, and I am afraid it’s all I will ever be. My father made sure of that.

It’s a trap. I know it. Every time, every single time, a man tucks that sly little smile under his voice and says, “A model? You’re kidding, right?” all he’s really asking is how much it would cost to own me, even if just for a night.

They see only what’s on the surface.

I refuse to flinch when their gaze roves over me, dissecting and hungry, because my father taught me early: never let them see you cower. They want weakness; I want war. I smile, matching their crude ogling with a cold, glassy stare. They back down eventually, or they double down, desperate to conquer something wild in me. There is always a catch. Always a line they hope I'll cross.

But nobody wants to acknowledge the soul within the shell. They’d rather imagine their hands around my throat or my knees on the carpet.

I am many things, but I am not for sale. Not to them. Not to anyone.

Beneath the bright veneer, the everyday prettiness, there’s something dark that seethes under my skin. A memory of my step-father watching me in the mirrors of our house, inspecting his handiwork. Making sure the bruises never bloomed where a man might claim me less valuable. He only wants me perfect on the outside, sculpted and immaculate, but inside?

He turned me to stone.

Trauma has stripped me of my identity until I am emptiness embodied. The girl I once was is gone.

Men like him control everything. The money. The words. The rules. Our family dinners were silent competitions for his approval, his mocking “love” curling like smoke between the dishes. I used to think if I could be beautiful enough, bright enough, good enough, I’d finally be free.

All I ever became was a cage of someone else’s making.

Marcus doesn’t just hurt me; he runs girls. That’s what he does. He hides it behind businesses and “events” and the kind of money that makes people stop asking questions. He calls it a network. He calls it protection, but it’s trafficking. Girls get moved around like packages, introduced as “models,” booked for “gigs,” and handed off to men who pay for silence. I know because I’ve seen them. New faces in the house for a week, a month. Girls who don’t make eye contact. Girls who disappear. Girls who come back looking empty.

If they come back at all.

That’s why he makes me do the modeling and the sex work jobs. It isn’t because he needs the cash. Marcus had money. Old money. Dirty money. He came from a rich family, and he used it to his advantage in a terrible way. Money taught him that power is everything. He loves to own things, and people. Like me. It keeps me trained and it keeps me scared. He likes putting me in situations where I can’t say no and can’t fight back without paying for it later. He likes reminding me that my body is something he can sell, trade, threaten, and use to control me. He likes knowing I’m not the only one, because it proves to him he’s untouchable.

I step out of my car and begin to walk. My phone vibrates; I don’t need to look to know who it is, but I do anyway.

The Monster

My stomach tightens. I answer on the third ring after debating if I should let it go to voicemail or not. I know what happens when I don’t come when he calls. I cringe at each memory burned into my brain. My father is a poison that is embedded into my veins, and I will never be rid of him.

“Hi,” I say. I keep my voice emotionless, but obedient. The voice I perfected from a young age, ever since my dad died. Ever since Marcus barreled into our lives.

“Where are you?”

I keep my eyes focused on the horizon in front of me, my hands tight on the phone. “I’m in town. On my way to a job.”

I can almost see his cruel smile on the other end of the line. As long as I stay compliant and sweet, no harm will come to me. My mother’s words ring through my ears.

Stand tall, sweetheart. Don’t let them see any weakness.

My heart drops at the thought of my mother. Gone too soon. She brought the monster into my life after the death of my father, then left me with him.

I look towards the sky.

Look at me now, momma. Look at what he turned me into.

“Good. Do not disappoint me. This is a well-respected client, and I expect you to perform your best. Just the way I taught you.”