Broken

CHAPTER SIX: The Thorns

"You are such a lovely spectacle."

Edith Wharton, The House of Mirth

I checked into a cheap hotel teeming with hookers and drunks on my eighteenth birthday. "Home sweet home and happy birthday to me," I murmured to myself as I closed the door to my shabby room. I couldn't complain because even that shithole was better than living with my mother.

I was poor and, for the most part, uneducated, but I was pretty. I learned the creative use of eyeliner and the right touch of a southern accent meant money for a waitress. I made enough to get a one-room apartment in a terrible neighborhood. Gunshots rang out every night and the police rarely intervened. My piece of s**t car was broken into twice before I stopped bothering to lock it.

With my newfound freedom, I went to see Sarah as often as I could. I worked doubles to make extra money for us both, but it was never enough. The nursing home was a desolate place and I knew they were not caring for her. I tried to make up the difference by doing it myself. I came in the mornings before work or in the evenings if I got off on time.

The nursing home staff left her in filthy clothes. I was helping her change them when I discovered bruises on her. They covered her legs, hips, and arms. It didn't matter how she got them. They were neglecting her, and someone had hurt her.

"Sarah, where did these bruises come from?" I demanded. She frowned and told me her aide refused to help her dress. She explained that she ended up falling all the time. I felt a dark fury but I stayed calm.

Sarah told me about an orderly who had s*x with her. I was aghast. "Sarah, why would you do that?"

Sarah gave me a pleading look and answered, "Paige, I only had s*x once in my life before I got sick. It isn't fair! I thought it would at least be interesting, but it was awful. It was like a dog humping me and I couldn't feel any of it, which depressed me. He wants to do it but I wish he'd leave me alone."

I told her in the most understanding voice I could manage, "Sarah, I can't say anything of value on the subject of s*x. I have never really had it."

Defeat filled Sarah's voice as she said, "If you can't manage to get laid, I have no hope." I giggled and told her with honesty that the experience was overrated, anyway.

"It can't be that bad. There are a million songs about it, poems, books…" Sarah's voice trailed off, leaving me to fill in the blanks. She thought I was trying to pacify her. I told her about the time I attempted to have s*x with a very good-looking pilot I had met waiting tables.

I was leaving his check when I heard him say, "Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?" I was shocked and turned around to see if he was talking to someone else. It was hard for me to imagine someone like him being interested in me. He was charming and I figured I was eighteen, I should have at least attempted s*x by then. It was horrible and he spat on me.

"It was disgusting, Sarah. I didn't even let him do it. I got up and walked out. You're not missing anything at all."

Sarah was grossed out and her nose wrinkled as she asked, "Why would he spit on you? Yuck! You should have hit him!"

I had no answer for her. Why would anyone want to be spat on? I shuddered with revulsion at the memory. Sarah said with a tiny bit of hope in her voice, "Perhaps that was the wrong man? There may be hope for the right one."

I shook my head and said, "I don't know. I could always try again someday."

I filed a complaint against the orderly. I wanted to keep that man away from Sarah but not because I wanted to deny her the experience. I knew the man was taking advantage of someone weaker and that he was a sick f*****g pervert. No one listened to me or did anything about the orderly. Sarah was only a crazy girl in a wheelchair to them.

Sarah had to be moved out of the state nursing home because it was no longer safe. I would have moved her in with me, but I knew the apartment would be too difficult for her. It didn't have any of the necessary equipment and I would have to work. I couldn't care for her properly alone. We had no one to help us.

I knew I had to get her out of there but private care facilities were expensive. I needed a better job. I bought an old typewriter at a yard sale and taught myself typing. I thought I could become a secretary. I discovered those jobs were difficult to get with no experience or connections and paid less than waitressing.

The cost of a private nursing home would be an extra three thousand dollars a month. I had no idea how to make that kind of money legally and I would be a hopelessly inept criminal. There had to be another way. I whispered, "Help me find the money to keep Sarah safe forever." It was my call to the universe, and I hoped it was listening.

I scanned the newspapers for jobs daily until I noticed the ad. "Dancers Needed." Figure skating and ballet had taught me to move with grace. It was a stretch but I had nothing to lose.

Thus, my career as an exotic dancer began.