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Kim Corum Breaking the Girl Page 96
allowed him to kiss me back. He kissed like a teenager. It was all
tongue. I felt his crotch. He was hard. He'd do.
I unzipped his pants, pulled my skirt up and helped him put it in.
He fucked me. I stood there and let him, not feeling any of it, just like
a whore. I felt tears stream down my face. I felt so bad, so awful. I
wanted him off me. But I was whore and whores don't do that. They
let their customers finish. I decided to fuck him back, to give him his
money's worth. He deserved it. He didn't deserve some whore who
didn't like her job.
He moaned and buried his head in my neck as I held onto him. I
felt him move faster and knew he was about to come. I was relieved.
I was so relieved. I was leaving. I was leaving. I was leaving! I
made the decision as he fucked me. I would go home. I might go to
Florida. Start a new life. But I was leaving. I was leaving Frank.
He'd never see me again. All my stuff was in his house. But I had
fifty bucks. No car. My car was at his house. I could get a bus ticket
to somewhere.
I started to cry harder, knowing it was going to be hard as hell to
leave, but knowing I should. Why did he have to do that? Why? I
didn't like that game. I hated being called a whore. Guys in the strip
club would call us whores when we wouldn't fuck them. "So what?"
they'd say. "You take it off. What's the difference?"
Was there a difference? Was there? What fine line was there,
separating me from the others, from the whores? Maybe there wasn't
a difference. Maybe all men classified all women as whores, like we
sometimes classified all of them as jerks.
Maybe Frank classified me as a whore.
And that's what had done it. That's why I had freaked out. Why I
wanted to leave, to run away. Did he think I was a whore simply
doing his bidding? Doing everything he wanted and asking for more?
Yeah. He must feel like that.
Suddenly, the guy was pulled off me and thrown on the ground. I
gasped and looked Frank right in the eye. I scowled. He looked at the
guy, who looked up at him in disbelief.
"What is your problem, buddy?" the guy asked.
Kim Corum Breaking the Girl Page 97
Frank pulled him up and punched him in the nose.
"Hey!" he yelled, holding his nose. "What'd you do that for?"
He gave him another punch.
"She's a whore, man," he groaned.
"Yeah, she's a whore, but she's my whore, motherfucker!"
This time he went at him, pummeling him with his fists. Beating
him to a bloody pulp. I watched in horror. I had to go. Go. Go now.
I turned and raced out of the alley. Frank was immediately on my
heels, pulling me off the crowed street and into his limo. He shoved
me in, got in, slammed the door and the car took off.
"Why did you do that?" I asked.
He was breathing hard, but he was trying to stay calm. "How could
you do that?"
"I did what you told me to do!" I screamed in his face. "I'm a
whore, remember?!"
He backhanded me. I fell against the seat and groaned as my head
swam. He'd never done that before, backhand me, like a pimp
backhands his whores. I held my face and stared at him, feeling all
the love I had for him drain from my body. I couldn't give it to him. I
didn't want to give it to him. Not anymore.
I took it back. All the love I had for him, I took back. And I was
leaving him, no matter what, I was leaving. He was no better than any
other man I'd ever had. Fuck him anyway.
I grabbed the door handle and tried to get out. It was locked. From
the driver's side. I couldn't get out. I banged on the window.
"Let me out, Tony!"
Tony ignored me.
"Fucker!" I yelled at him.
"Shut up," Frank said.
"Fuck you!" I screamed and pulled on the door. "Let me out! I'm
leaving!"
"Leaving?" he said and grabbed my arm, pulling me next to him.
"And go where? To your little shitty town? To where? You got
nowhere to go but home. With me."
"I would rather die than go home with you!" I spat in his face.
Kim Corum Breaking the Girl Page 98
"Now let me out!"
He released me and turned to stare out the window. I almost
panicked. But I had to stay calm. Once we got to the house, I'd jump
out first, then run like hell to get away.
And I would not, I repeat, would not, look back.
Kim Corum Breaking the Girl Page 99
The wine cellar
Before I had a chance to put my plan into action, he opened his
door, grabbed my arm and pulled me across the seat, out of the car and
into the house. I beat at him with my free arm and screamed bloody
murder, which he did not heed. Neither did the neighbors.
He pulled me through the house, down to the basement and to the
wine cellar. He shoved me on the floor, left the room, and locked the
door behind him. I stared up at the ceiling. Only one bulb hung from
it.
Oh shit. Shit. SHIIIIIITTTT!
I jumped up and ran to the door, beating it with my hands and
screaming. I couldn't get out of there. The only way out was that
door and it was old, made of rough wood and at least three inches
thick. It made my hands bleed as I beat it. But I didn't care.
Someone had to hear me. Pierre, the cook. Maybe even Tony would
take pity and rescue me.
I beat on that door for ten minutes. Then I beat it for an hour, three.
And no one came. I was a prisoner. I wasn't getting out.
I was all alone.
Just for fun, I broke a few of the old wine bottles, laughing crazily
to myself, thinking about how mad it would make him when he found
out. Then I thought I might need them. So I decided to make a party
of the whole thing and get drunk.
I looked around. No corkscrew. Huh. I grabbed a bottle, slammed
the neck against the shelf and cracked it open. I took a drink and spit
it out. Good. No glass slivers. It had been a clean break.
I drank the whole thing and got another bottle from a very good
year. I sat down and drank the bottle clean, threw it the side and
started to cry. I cried for a long damn time. I cried until my eyes
were dry.
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