All Things to All People Ch. 03

"Why haven't I pried? You're not ready. No one is when they walk through the door. I wasn't. you need to know your safe, so that's what we give you. If you want to talk later, we can."

"How old..."

"I'm 14. Been here for three years. I get tutoring three days a week and I keep the place running smooth. Would fall apart without me. Go get clean. Honestly, you stink."

Cynthia spent a full 30 minutes washing several days of accumulated crud off of her body. She could not seem to get clean enough. She only left when another woman, older looking, came in to shower as well. Self conscious, she left the shower and saw the box of clothes. Her old things were gone, not that she missed them much. Liz had a good eye for sizes, as everything fit. Panties, bra, jeans, oversized t-shirt and sandals made her feel human once again. Finding Liz, she was led to a small office with clutter everywhere, but strangely exuding a sense of order.

"There you are. Yes, you do look like you will live to see dinner tonight. This is your first time here, so I need to let you know how we work. We're a shelter for women in trouble, what kind doesn't matter. We're not the cops and we're not doctors of either kind. We give women a place they can stay and be safe for as long as they need. We don't ask a lot of questions. But we do expect something form you. All our ladies can't be safe if one of them is bringing danger into the shelter with her. No drugs. We don't even let our ladies keep aspirin for themselves. I noticed that you had a lot of cough drops. That's the limit, as long as they have no alcohol in them like a lot of syrups."

"No, just eucalyptus."

"Good. Now, if you are a prostitute, you can't operate out of here. The pimps stay away because they know that no lady here turns tricks while she's here. If you turn tricks, you have to spend at least one day finding your own way. We do get ladies trying to walk away from the johns and their money, and they're welcome. But they know that if they go back, they have to stay away until they are ready to try again. We also don't allow men inside. You can't tell what a man's intentions are for sure, and abusive boyfriends or husbands can put up a convincing front. Finally, after you've been here a week, we expect you to help out with the chores, at least a couple of hours doing what you can. Is there a problem with the rules?"

"No ma'am. They sound very fair."

"And please, call me Anne. Or if you feel the need for formality, Sister. Okay? By the way, what shall we call you?"

"Cynthia."

"Right. Cynthia, let's introduce you to the other ladies."

Everyone seemed friendly enough, reserved and nervous for the most part, except for Anne and Liz. She was shown the drawers under her bed where she could stow things. Since she had some money, Liz took her to a thrift store two blocks down where she could buy a couple of changes of clothes. The teen had a knack for finding inexpensive, but good clothes, a skill picked up by having almost nothing when she showed up three years ago. Liz idolized the nun, intending to take vows when she was old enough. The first three days were almost heaven, safe, no incredible need for sex, time to think and try to remember.

The remembering was hard. She hoped and prayed that she had not suffered any brain damage. A few things came back. She seemed to know a lot about chemistry and biology. She remembered that she should have been dead by now, dying in her sleep from a poison that had made her the way she is. She could only reason that the meth fumes had countered the poison, whatever it was. She thought it ironic that she may be the only person in history to have had her life saved by crystal meth. She remembered that there was a Dave in her life and that he had been hurt, maybe killed, but not much more about him. Everything else stayed a blank.

After the third day, she noticed that she was feeling increasingly lethargic, as if the will to do things was leaving her. She still avoided sleep, fearful that the cure was not permanent and wrote if off to that. On the fourth day, sleeping after going for 27 hours, she dreamed. In the dream she heard a doctor talking. "with your sense of self destroyed for the most part, your mind, trying to survive, is adapting to use what ever sense of being is out there to grasp. With the scents carrying the desires of nearby men, those are substituting for your sense of self. While inconvenient, it has saved your life." She woke with a scream. "Oh my God! I'll die without the sex! I'll wither away and lose what little self I have left. What can I do? How will I survive?"

Terror building, she dressed and went down to the front foyer, pondering her options. The door opened and a woman ran in, looking in fright behind her. A breeze carried a scent that only Cynthia picked up, a man. She saw him, anger on his face, running after the woman who was screaming for help. That rational part screamed inside, "No! Cough drop!" but it was too late. The sex crazed part rose up, knowing what this man wanted and ready to give it to him. She walked out the door, pulling it closed behind her.

As the man tried to get around her, she purred, "Come now. What do you want her for. She'll just fight you. I can give you everything you want."

"What do you know what I want? I want Julie!"

"No you don't. You want this." And she took his hand and put it at the neck of her shirt. "You want to rip this off and beat some sense into a woman, make her pay for what women have done to you for years. Once I've been taught a lesson, you want to use me and get off on me. Are you man enough to take me?" Cynthia asked, reaching down and squeezing his balls hard.

"You fucking bitch!" The man reared back and slugged Cynthia in the face, throwing her to the ground. "No whore is going to hurt me and get away with it!"

"Oh, I seem to be doing just fine. I mean. One punch? You call yourself a man?"

Enraged, he grabber her by the hair and threw her against the wall of the building. Cynthia heard something go crack, but had no time to wonder as a fist impacted her belly, doubling her over and forcing her to throw up. He kneed her in the face, bloodying her nose. He grabbed her neck and threw her to the ground, the pavement scraping along the side of her face. Rolling her over, he sat on her and hit her face, again and again. Her smile at giving him what he wanted most only infuriated him, enough so that he did not hear the sirens until it was too late.

"Get off of the girl motherfucker! Now!" The cop and his partner both had glocks pointed at the man, fingers itching for an excuse. They could see from her clothes that she was from the shelter. In his rage, he jumped up and pulled a knife out of his boot. Both pistols went off three times, the six rounds shredding his chest and blowing him back against the wall. The driver moved forward, kicked the knife out of the way and checked on Cynthia. His partner was on the radio, "This is unit 34, we have a victim in need of medical treatment. Send ambulance to our location. There's also been an officer involved shooting with fatality. Send the CSI unit as well."

The radio crackled, "10-4. Paramedics are on the way. Stay on scene until detectives arrive."

"10-4"

The rational part of Cynthia was returning, hearing male voices, but feeling no desires. She couldn't breath through her nose. Her vision kept swimming in and out. She tried to get up, but a handheld her down. "Miss, try not to move. You probably have a concussion and moving could make it worse."

"No. Must get inside."

"No, just lie still until the medics treat you. Why was he beating you?"

In her haze, it never occurred to her to lie or stay quiet. "I think he wanted to."

"Yes, but why?"

"He just wanted to. I don't know the reason."

The officer wrote it off to shock. Sirens approached, the paramedics and ambulance arriving. The medics treated the worst of her injuries. She was relieved to hear that there were no broken bones besides her nose. When they started to lift her onto the gurney for transport, she lost it.

"No! No hospitals! I want to go back inside. I won't go. Get your hands off of me. I refuse treatment!" No amount of persuasion would get her to relent. In the end, shaking their heads, they got her signature (she scrawled illegibly, not being able to remember her last name) and released her. Sister Anne took all this in and kept quiet, as was her want. Liz helped Cynthia inside and Anne turned towards the officer.

"Sister, what happened?"

"It looks like a woman ran in, being chased by her boyfriend. Cynthia tried to run interference and got beaten for it. She's been beaten before and may be gun shy about authority."

"We're going to need her statement."

"I'll see what I can do and get back to you. If she won't talk, I won't make her."

"I understand. If it will help, we can send a female officer to take it so she can stay inside."

"Good, that will help. She seems comfortable here. God bless you officer. Thank you for getting here so fast."

"God bless Sister."

Sister Anne went back inside, concerned. She had not lied, per se, but felt that something was not as she had said. She had seen Cynthia smile at the beating. Why? And why had she not simply closed the door? Where the other women in danger? While she preferred not to ask questions, this time it seemed needed.

Liz led Cynthia up to the bunk room and looked over the bandages that the medics had left on her, as if to check on their work. With an eye that had far more practice than any 14 year old should have, she took stock of the injuries and concluded that Cynthia would be okay, but would have headaches for several days.

Cynthia had been thinking and knew what she had to do. Ever since the man, her lethargy had passed. It seems that she truly did need some sense of 'who' from men, likely about every two to three days. The thought of subjecting herself to random men for whatever they wanted terrified her, but not quite as much as that growing feeling of not doing anything. She needed to talk to the Sister.

"Liz, I need to talk to Sister Anne. I appreciate all you've done for me these last few days.

"You're gong back out on the street aren't you?"

It never occurred to her to try to lie to this overly world wise young girl. "I can't explain it, but I need to. If I don't, I'll either wither away or do something that puts you all in danger."

"I don't understand that, I never have. So many of the prostitutes just go back to their pimps. Do you really have to? I mean, can't you go back home? Was it as bad as mine?"

"What do you mean."

"Why do you think an eleven year old runs away to a women's shelter. My dad would rape me and my mom let him. I left. I'll never go back. It's that simple."

Cynthia could see it wasn't that simple. A core of hurt lay inside a vulnerable young woman like a malignant cancer. Liz got through each day by trying to help others and doing good, keeping the hurt and sadness away. She reached out and hugged the young woman tightly. "Liz, I can't promise that I'll be safe. What I'm planning can't be made safe. But I will promise that if there's a way to make it safer, I'll do that. You're doing good here with the Sister, be proud of that. I think she would quote some bible verse about how God has used what was done to hurt you and bring good out of it. Hold on to that, you are making a difference in people's lives."

A small crack appeared in the fourteen year old's armor. "Do you really think so?" she asked, tears showing.

"I know so. You've done me good. Just knowing that you're here and carrying on in spite of everything gives me and others hope that we can too. But, little one, let yourself cry occasionally, even if it's just in the dark where no one will see, but you and God, Okay."

"Okay."

Cynthia walked down to Anne's office and knocked lightly on the door.

"Come in."

"Sister, can we talk?"

"I was hoping we could. Have a seat. I know I told you that we don't ask questions here, but I need to make an exception. What happened out there should not have. Others could have been hurt. Are my women in danger from you?"

Cynthia braced herself and answered truthfully, "I don't know. They may be."

"Why did you go out and confront such a dangerous man?"

"I know this will sound crazy, but I didn't go out to confront him, I went out to give him what he truly wanted. And what he wanted was to beat a woman senseless and then rape her"

"I was afraid of that. I saw you smiling as he beat on your face. So you are a masochist""

"No, not all the time. This is hard to explain. It will sound like something from a bad B-rated sci-fi flick. Something poisoned me a while back, poisoned my mind. I can tell, from the way they smell, what a man's innermost sexual desires are, and I can't resist giving him those. And I mean can't. When I'm near a man, it's like the part of me here now, the part that can think straight goes away and another part, almost slavish, takes over, offering me up to whatever pleasures he wants."

"That just sound's like temptation. With prayer, temptation can be overcome."

"It's not that simple. I'm not knocking your faith Sister. It's clear that it leads you and guides you and is responsible for you're helping who knows how many women. But I truly have some sort of brain damage that makes it impossible to not give men what they want. I think it's scent based, because when I can't smell, I don't go away."

"That's why you have enough cough drops to take care of an army?"

"Yes, And my problems don't stop there. I could stay away from men and be safe from giving them their desires, but I would die. Before the attack, I was lethargic and had trouble getting the motivation to do anything. Now I'm hyped up, able to function. This part of me was being killed off by the poison, I think, leaving the sex slave part as the only part of me. There's not enough of this me to keep going on. It's like I need that sense of who I am to be bolstered by men's sense of who I should be to have enough strength to go on. In two or three days, I'm going to need another hit of man. I don't want to be here when it happens. I'll put all of you in danger."

"I can't say I buy your explanation, though I can see that you truly believe it. I can't have you seeking out potential abuse on purpose while you live here. It will come back with you. It pains me to say it, but I have to ask you to leave."

"I plan on it. I would like another day and a half, time to let these injuries go down. I'm figuring that my best shot at surviving this thing in me is to turn tricks. Johns want predictable things. If I can somehow stay in control long enough to make sure I'll be safe with them, I can get what my mind needs, the money to survive on and the time to remember who I am, if I can. My memories, at least some of them, are coming back, slowly."

"Hon, tricking is never safe. Johns are not always up front about what they want, and some will want what that man wanted. If you're not deluded, you'll eventually let some killer have his way with you. Are you sure that you want to do this?"

"Want, no. Need to, yes. I'll be as careful as I can be."

"If you're determined to do this unwise thing, do it right. Go to 37th and axel. There's a prostitute there named Gloria. She sometime takes newbies under her wing, teaching them the ropes. She's good people and a rarity for her profession. Someone who chooses to keep caring and one who 'turns tricks' because she wants to, not because she has to."

"I've met her. She brought me here that first day."

"That does not surprise me. Take two days. By your own reckoning, you won't be feeling that need until at least then. Now you hear me on this. You get into trouble, you come back here. We both know how long you can stay safely and can work with that. You still need to spend a night without tricks to come back, but you come back."

"I will Sister."

"I'll be praying for you Cynthia, praying that God heal you of whatever it is that drives you this way, whether it's this poison damage you speak of or the willingness to give into temptation that I think it is. Either way, only God can truly heal you."

"Sister, I don't think I'm much of a believer, but I do covet your prayers. And pray for my safety. I know what I'm going to do is dangerous. I just don't see any other choice."

"I will."

Cynthia spent the two days she had left at the shelter preparing as best she could for the life of a whore. She bought a couple more outfits, these being revealing, similar to what Gloria had worn. She put in hours of chores, wanting to make up for the danger she had put them in. She gave her statement to a woman officer, claiming to have bee trying to protect the other woman. While she didn't remember where the knowledge came from, she taught Liz some basics of chemistry and biology, sparking an interest in the girl, especially in the life sciences (Liz thought that if she knew how life worked, she cold help more). She talked to the two hookers inside trying to get out of the life about where the better cheap motels were. They steered her towards the Bel-Ayre motel. At $99 per week, she had just enough to get a place and then would have to trick just to replace the money she no longer would have. At the end of two days, still light out for an hour or so, she left to tearful goodbyes and implorings to be careful, to reenter the streets. Fear walked with her, seemingly to be a constant companion.

She was not worried about whether she could turn trick. Let the sex maniac out of her box, and it will happen. She was worried about coming back afterwards. How could she train herself to take a cough drop after sex, every time? Popping a lozenge, she walked towards the Bel-Ayre. Street people eyed her, trying to gauge who and what she was. No one harassed her. At the motel, she was able to get a room easily enough, with a warning that she could not bring men to her room.

In her room, she took stock. It was a simple affair. It only had two rooms, a main room with the bed, TV, fridge, microwave and stove top(the appliances had cost her extra, leaving her with nothing to her name). She wasn't sure how things worked in the trade, when business happened. She dressed in one of her slinky outfits, advertising her availability. Tight pants that showed off her butt, lace bra and a zippered blouse that left her naval uncovered. High heels that forced her ass to swish invitingly. She felt slutty, like a whore. Of course, that was the look she was going for.

She put the food she had bought days ago in the shelf and saw that she already was short something vital. No eating ware. No plates, bowls, silverware, nothing. She had no choice, turn a trick tonight somehow, or eat cold chili with her fingers. Popping a Halls in her mouth and the extra large bag into her purse, she walked out, locking the door behind her and headed for the corner of 37th and axel.

This time, she got different looks from the people she passed. Ladies looked her over with an eye towards sizing up the new competition. That she didn't stop kept them from harassing her. Guys leered, imagining themselves in her bed, fucking her to ecstasy. She could spot the pimps from the greed in their looks as opposed to lust. They seemed to be holding off, unsure whether she was already in a stable. "Time will tell." They told themselves.

After twelve blocks, she arrived, Gloria leaning against a street sign casually, letting her charms advertise themselves. She saw Cynthia approaching and stood up straight, waving her over. Nervous to the max, she wandered over to the more experienced lady.

"So girl, you decided to do it."

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Tell me honest, you ever turn trick before?"