Misguided Love

Seeking comfort a little sister turns to her only remaining blood. Only to face the horrors of ultimate betrayal.

WARNING MATURE CONTENT

*TRIGGER WARNING *

FICTION

18+

It was the eve after my first breakup. My first and most severe heartbreak. It was the first time I felt this extreme level of emotional pain that followed. It caused me to fall apart in ways I never thought possible. I was too young to realize that everyone has dealt with heartbreak. I was alone and had no one to guide me through it. It felt like the end of the world.

This heartbreak prompted me to run away from my toxic, abusive household. I ran away from the fighting and screaming. From the sunken holes in the wall and the shattered glass that scattered the floors after a table or lamp was thrown. I fled from the bruises and hurtful words. The words that told me I was not good enough. That I wasn't who they wanted me to be.

My sister, seven years my senior, stepped in to help. Or at least that's what I thought when I showed up at her doorstep with only a backpack to my name after she invited me to stay. She lived with three other girls, none of whom I talked to. All of whom I avoided.

My sister was an avid drug user. Something at the time I hadn't really processed but merely acknowledged. She was secretive as most users were. But her addicting habits spread like poison. Soon I began drinking to numb the pain. I wanted to escape the emotional turmoil from the breakup but mostly I just wanted to escape myself.

After a few days my ex's friend reached out to me. He said he wanted to help. If I could go back and tell my younger self something it would've been to go home right then. That any abuse at home was trivial compared to the disaster that would follow. But as we know, nothing can change or deviate the past. No matter how much we wish it.

I finally met up with this friend after days of binge drinking and not knowing what my name was. All I wanted was someone to talk to. I needed someone to make me feel better. I needed to be loved. After puking my guts out on the hardwood floor and causing my sister to throw a fit, he met up with me in this drunken stupor. I will spare the most gory details. He left scars on my back and a newfound trauma that I could not understand at the time. When I said no he told me that "no means yes" and to stop pretending that I didn't want it. I didn't know how to stand up for myself, I still don't. So I cowered underneath him and let him find whatever he was searching for. Whether it was a release or power or some other sick desire.

I felt like it couldn't be rape. I had not screamed or cried hard enough. I had not fought with all my heart. But I still knew something was wrong. The only person I had left was my sister, so I confided in her.

She told me that I was a slut for sleeping with my ex's friend. That I was asking for it by going to his house when I was drinking. I drunk in every word like I did my liquor and never spoke about it again. I blocked off the guy who did it and he continued to find ways to contact me. Claiming he loved me, claiming that he wanted to be with me. Telling me how gorgeous I was. The attention I had previously craved became bitter and mocking. I ignored him with a hate that churned in my heart. I knew I had been wronged but everything that was told to me said otherwise.

This is when I wish I had run home after the warning signs and crawled into my childhood bed and simply pushed through the pain. But I was stubborn and strong willed. I didn't want to admit that my runaway was a temporary event in which I would come crawling back to my parents with my tail tucked between my legs.

My sister declared she had no money. I wasn't an idiot. I knew she had spent it on all those pills she thought I didn't notice her taking. I told her I could get a job and work to pay my share of the rent. She claimed there was no time. That rent was due. I was confused, then what did she want?

For the soft hearted I suggest you stop the story here. The darkness and betrayal only stems further and deeper into the world my sister pulled me into. But for those who want to know about true treachery feel free to continue.

She mentioned escorting. And I remember thinking that it sounded exotic. Something rebellious and thrill seeking. I didn't know it was just another term for prostitution. I was just barely 17 at the time. I didn't understand the world my sister lived in. And I never imagined she would drag her youngest sibling into this land of predators.

Casually she mentioned that if I didn't make the money she would have to kick me out. She said I was too much with the drinking and being so emotional all the time. In my juvenile mind this made sense to me. This selling my body for rent. I already felt I had given myself to my ex's friend so I doubted this could be any worst. I couldn't have been more wrong.

I remember a shiny Cadillac pulling up and the disillusioned excitement. It was luxurious and daring. I remember we did our hair and makeup for hours in front of the mirror, listening to my sisters music. I felt a part of her world and suddenly I didn't feel so alone. She laughed and told me I was her mini-me. I felt included. I felt heard. She helped dress me in her skankiest outfit. But I remember I didn't feel skanky at the time. I felt sexy. I felt desired.

We drove together in this sleek caddy to the hotel out of town. The man in the front didn't say much. He put a hand on my sister's thigh and gave little instruction. I sat in the back and stared out the window unsuspecting. He didn't ask about me. He didn't ask my age or my experience. He didn't know that I had only been with one man willingly. Which at the time felt important.

I remember getting to the room and my sister explained what would happen. She showed me the site on her phone and explained that men saw our pictures and chose us based on our below the neck shots. So I posed for some and she uploaded it and in less than 15 minutes we had our first customers. Before they arrived I tried to get drunk. But I remember being too nervous and just couldn't stomach it. My sister pulled me into the bathroom and held out a small bag of white powder. I had never done hard drugs before but I knew it was cocaine. She warned me that she didn't have much of it so she could only spare a little. She prattled on about how expensive it was, all the while dropping a dimes worth on the counter. If I knew what was to come I would've taken the whole bag.

A knock at the door prompted my sister into hiding her stash. She told me to lie on the bed and look sexy. I felt ridiculously young in my too short dress and too high heels but I complied and rested on the bed. A middle aged fat, bald man waddled into the room and immediately I felt exposed. 

I remember he kept asking me why I was an escort if I was so young and beautiful. I told him it was my first time and he laughed and didn't believe me. I didn't understand what was so funny. I remember the sounds and the words my sister had advised "pretend like you like it, pretend like you're in a porn." I complied and after the man laid next to me and looked at me with admiration. As if I was something to admire. He told me how beautiful I was, and I remember in that moment just wishing I wasn't. So that no one would want me, or touch me. I was nothing to admire, not now.

After the first one my mind left my body. Something that I am forever grateful for but remained confused for many years as to why. The only thing I can remember is one of them telling me I looked like something was wrong. He turned to my sister, pointed at me and said "something is up with her." I didn't know if this was because of the drugs or because I was in a state of disrepair. The rest passed without me being able to hold any memory. Until the final one, the worst one. He had lumps all over his body, he was grotesque and perverted. He forced me to do things that I didn't want to do, not with him, not with anyone. The memory of the last experience burned in my brain for years. Taunting me, torturing me. Resurfacing every time I closed my eyes or laid with a man.

After it was all done my sister broke down and cried. We had made thousands and despite myself I felt excited. We were rich, we could pay rent, dine in expensive restaurants, buy a new wardrobe. I didn't feel connected to myself. I would come to later know that I was disassociating, but for now I was simply without fear or worry. After it happened I comforted my sister. I held her as she cried and she told me we could go home. I think that was the sickest part for me. That after everything she had done. I was the one to comfort HER. I was the one to hold HER.

We got in the black caddy and my sister handed him the money. I remember wanting to run away with it. But here she was handing over everything OUR bodies had made. He then looked at me with a burning gaze and asked how old I was. I wasn't sure if I should lie. So I told him, "almost seventeen." He sucked his teeth and shook his head. "This better not come back to me," was what he warned my sister. Without another word we drove back home.

After arriving I tried to get my sister in a good mood. She never told me how much we really made, but I suspected it was still a lot. To my surprise and shock after we had undressed and rinsed off the layers of makeup my phone rang. It was my ex, my love, my everything. The one I wanted to marry and to hold forever. I answered hopefully, desperate to reconnect and leave the past behind us. His words were icy and cool. He told me he knew, and my heart sank. I feigned ignorance and told him I didn't know what he was talking about. He explained that my sister had texted him and explained I fucked his best friend. He told me anything we had was over. Any chance we had was gone. And that he wanted nothing to do with me ever again. I blamed myself, it was me who decided to go with his friend. It was me who ran away from home and was put in this position. 

After the initial shock and self-blame I felt a surge of anger towards my sister. But also fear in confronting her. She was violent and unpredictable and had already hit me in the face, dragged me through parking lots by my hair, thrown me to the ground and overall abused me. She was prone to outbursts and her mood shifted like the weather. I was terrified of her but I was angry enough to say something.

Later that night I confronted her. I asked her why she had reached out to my ex and told him what I had done. She replied with a smirk, one that I wanted to rip off her face, and said "he had a right to know." I don't know what prompted the next move my sister took. In my mind now it was because she had already gotten what she wanted from me. Already taken my innocence, fed me to the wolves and thrown any of my remains to the wind. She told me she was kicking me out. I was outraged. I told her that I had done what she asked, that I had sold myself like she wanted. She told me it wasn't enough and made up a lie that the landlord wanted me out. If it was true I doubted it, the landlord hadn't even been around apart from smoking a fag with her out in the backyard. She claimed I was too reckless, too emotional and that my throwing up had inconvenienced and disgusted everyone.

So I asked her for the money I made. I would go on my own I decided. Find a motel for the night and plan it from there. She laughed again and told me my share was spent on rent for the past two weeks. I tried to argue, to tell her that the money I had made WAY surpassed the $300 in rent I owed.

She became irate. She knew she was wrong and it made her angry. Throwing my stuff into a bag she shoved me out the door and into the night. 

 It was then that I learned betrayal. Sitting in the street, bag at my side and crying under the glow of a streetlight. Robbed of all my money, trafficked by my own blood. I had no way home except to walk. So I pulled myself together and dragged my heartbroken, traumatized and bitter self back to my parents, tail between my legs. I lost the meaning of self-love. I lost the meaning of love for others. For many years I became angry, bitter and resentful. It was only in telling my story that I realized I was not to blame. I was not the one in the wrong. It made me become self-aware and advocate for others.

 To anyone out there who is struggling with abuse, remember, it is not your fault, it is theirs. It is not your downfall, it is theirs. It is not the end and it never will be. Keep fighting, hold your head up high and never let anyone determine your worth. Every horrible event will one day sink further into the past and you will find strength in yourself that you never even knew existed. Hold onto that strength, let it fill you and engulf you. And though sometimes it may waver NEVER forget that it's there. Although people can take your body, they can never take your mind. 

Always remember, there is a glimmer of hope in every existence. The feeling of sun on your skin. The sight of a snowflake, perpetually falling until it meets earth. This glimmer is so tiny at times that is is barely seen, like that snowflake. But it exists nonetheless. And holding onto that glimmer is holding onto the essence of life. This resiliency is what makes us human. And it is what makes us survive. We can and will conquer anything, because we are powerful, worthy and loved.