Evi's Escape {Prologue}

In the bustling city of New York, there are dancers in tan leotards and walking in blistered shoes competing for a spot on the world’s most recognized ballet company. Skyscrapers stand inhumanly tall packed with CEOs sporting classic black suits and ever-so-boring pinstripe ties. 1

Travel towards the city limits and you’ll find the east and west side members armed with guns and illegal drugs; the place where the number one concern of police officers is why a seventeen year old boy shot a child for his designer jacket and how come he has nine pounds of marijuana in the trunk of his Mercedes. Welcome to the Projects, my friend. 2

If you take a trip to the suburbs, you’ll find the perfect American family where a middle class couple eat pancakes every morning with their two children and say prayers with a smile before dinner every night. Almost like an updated version of the Brady Bunch where brains actually mature.3

Lastly, there’s the part of town where a neighborhood looks more like a landfill than a housing development. Streets are littered in whiskey bottles and cigarette butts of drunks who hang out at a moldy little tavern where beer tastes like watery Pepto Bismol and people who can’t tell the difference between the dance floor and the wobbly tables they end up dancing on instead at two o’clock in the morning.4

In the alleyways between graffiti covered walls and broken apartment windows, there are unkept flats with dirt paths leading to a much darker area that the police don’t ever bother to investigate…5

♠6

“Hello, sweetheart.”7

A young girl sits near the headboard of an old oak bed. She wears a corset and other skimpy lingerie, covered by a sheer, black robe. Her arms are wrapped tightly around her legs, as if she’s trying to hide from the world. The head on her shoulders rests on bony kneecaps. The lady can’t be much older than seventeen. She’s barely a girl. A child is what the creature is. Merely a child. Barely a child.8

A cold breeze flutters through an open window located on the other side of the room. The sound of rustling leaves is heard as branches clink on the glass covering. Shivers and uncomfortable thoughts fill the empty space. Immobility engulfs the child. Impatience smothers the man in the doorway. Yet, he stands still, waiting for a hesitant reply. That is, if he’ll get one. 9

Finally, the lady looks up. Her eyes are weary and it’s obvious she doesn’t want to play with the hand the gentleman is dealing. She doesn’t want to gamble tonight. He comes closer. The dealer shuffles.10

In this moment, she examines her visitor. Brown that lies on the man’s head is greasy and matted. As the girl’s vertical glance continues, red eyes reach her vision. A layer of glass-like impairment blankets the irises. The expression the visitor wears is almost indifferent than anything else she’s seen, but still very readable. He had come to her bedroom in search for one night’s worth of ecstasy. Sometimes, she wishes that fantasies didn’t always come true. There were too many fantasies bottled up in her and no money was worth it, either.11

The child speaks softly now.12

“How’d you get in here?” Her eyes are soft and feminine, yet sharp enough to cut shards of glass. An angry glare replaces the surrounding nothingness.13

“Your uncle left a key,” is the man’s reply. In a ghostly manner, he continues his stride closer to the girl. He slips her a cynical smile. She tightens her lips. “Why, Eve? Are you not glad to see me?”14

“It’s Evi, you bastard.” Eyes that simmer on the child’s face are clouded with anger. Dangerous, horrifying, anger. 15

“Now, now, Tazia, is that how you woo all men? Being a bitch can’t be that attractive, can it?” Stern glances clash into the man’s question. The teenager could care less about his curiosity. More cold words escape the lips that rest between her cheekbones.16

“Get out of this house. Get the hell out of my house.” 17

“I’m not leaving until I get what I want.” 18

Worn boots move even closer now. Weight stresses the bed’s frame, making the old mattress fold at imaginary creases. Warm breath is felt inches away from the child’s face. Rough hands touch smooth legs. The sensation continues upward. 19

“I’m done for tonight. I need sleep.” Five fragile fingers brush the hand away. Or, at least try to. The grip strengthens. 20

“You’re not done until I say you’re done.” The man leans in for a kiss.21

“Andy, don’t.” 22

Cut lips make a second journey to the teenager’s face. She feels hot air upon her neck as the torso below her shudders. Seconds before the lips are close enough to become intimate, the girl turns her head. Wet saliva covers her cheek. Not a complete victory, but not a complete loss, either. Anything is better than having to go to bed with a harlot hunter.23

“I don’t think you quite get it, Taz. I’m going to get what I want.” The words hit like concrete cinderblocks. A much heavier strain is on the mattress now as the gentleman crawls on the bed, trapping the girl between his knees. Calloused palms meet slim, female fingers, forcing them to the bars of the headboard. Freedom is nowhere near. 24

“No, please, stop.” A rip sounds as the weak fabric of the teenager’s robe is torn, exposing bare skin. The man’s mouth lowers to her navel, wetting her body thick with spit. The temperature rises, sucking all oxygen out of the room. 25

What is occurring is wrong; both parties know that. The only thing is, morals are hardly evident in situation taking place. A bony knee is brought to the predator’s face. As the drunk curses the vixen, she runs with only one thought sprinting through her head:26

I need to get the hell out of here