That Girl Is Poison (13 page)
Read That Girl Is Poison Online
Authors: Tia Hines
“I told you all that I had was what I gave you. You can't steal it?”
“No, it's behind the counter.”
“Just get some yogurt and put it up your vagina.”
“What? I'm not doing that!”
“Okay, suit yourself. I'm just trying to help you out.”
I wanted to go behind the counter and steal the damn thing after Jen put the idea in my head. I would have never gotten away with it though. It would have been impossible to climb over the counter, grab the bag, and jet. It was just not happening. There was no way I was going to be able to do that. I had to just say forget it and be on my merry way.
Had I known any better though, I could have stolen a generic over-the-counter medicine. Silly me, I didn't know. I'd never had a yeast infection before. It wasn't like it was something that was common among teenagers. I guess, unless you're sexually active.
Anyway, as I was walking out of the store, I thought about Jen's suggestion. It was a silly one, but guess what? I stole some yogurt, y'all. Yup!
I went back to that family van too and took the test. It was weighing on my mind too heavy. Plus, that little man on my shoulder said,
“Just do it.”
“Just do it.”
They told me I could have the results in three days. I was scared as hell, but all I could do was wait.
Chapter 15
The night before I could get my test results back, I was shitting bricks. I couldn't sleep for nothing, and I had no one to ease my troubles, because this test was between me, myself, and I. The more I worried, the more I felt sick. It wasn't any better with yogurt up my vagina either. I did what Jen said and at first I thought it was silly, but it really worked. I had been stealing plain yogurt for the past two days praising Jen's suggestion. I vowed to never eat it again though.
The day had come. I trooped my way back over near the clinic to get my results. The health van was in the same spot I left it when I had taken the test in the first place. I knocked on the door, they let me in, and there I got it.
Don't ask me why I was shocked when the results came back positive. I guess I made myself think that my fear was a joke, and I was going to get good news. The staff on the family van tried to offer additional services, but I declined. I didn't want anything from anyone. I ran out of that van numb all over. I felt like I was marinating in a tub of ice cubes. I was distraught, like how could this be? Why me? I just kept telling myself my life was over.
I roamed the streets for hours before I decided to go back to the hotel and off with my head. Yes, I made the decision to kill myself. I was going to find the sharpest tool in sight and jam it into my neck, right at my jugular vein. It was time to take myself out of my misery.
I walked in my hotel room with my hair all over the place. My clothes were everywhere, not fully covering my body.
A crowd of men stared at me, yelling, “The stripper's here!”
I had no idea what was going on. I looked around for a stripper because I knew I wasn't one.
Then Chuck pulls me in the bathroom. “I need you to strip for my man's bachelor party.”
I didn't answer.
“You all right? You look like somebody just died.”
“I'm fine,” I lied.
“Cool. I need you to strip.”
“I don't strip.”
“Listen, put this on and go on out there and shake ya tail feather. Do you have makeup or something you can put on? 'Cause you can't go out there looking like that.”
“No.”
“Oh well, it doesn't matter. Just put this on. They don't care about how you look anyway. They just want to see some ass.”
“I'm not doing it,” I said, firmly handing him back the skimpy outfit he gave me.
“If I say you're doing it, then that's what it's going to be. Remember, I hooked you up with this room.”
He was right, and I had nothing to say.
I was too frightened to speak anyway. I was alone in a room full of guys. Guys I didn't know. They could have ganged up on me and done anything. Quite frankly, that was not a chance I was willing to take. I needed my place of shelter. I had to do what I was told, so I shook my tail feather.
I danced with no joy or excitement in what I was doing. I wasn't taking my clothes off either. I refused.
Until I saw a dollar bill go in the air.
A few more followed, and that was enough.
They may have only been dollars, but I needed them desperately. That was my motivation to pretend to enjoy what I was doing. I started getting into the music. I was shaking it and dropping it like it was hot. I was letting them know I was working with something, ya heard!
I couldn't believe I had actually stripped and got paid for it. I got fifty-three dollars for showing my breast and letting some horny nuccas see my ass. For the rest of that week, Chuck had me doing strip parties.
It wasn't too long after that Chuck had me doing regular after-hour hotel joints. I was showing everything then and getting paid more. Well, not a lot more.
I was making like two hundred each gig, but of course, I didn't see all the money. Chuck kept a big chunk, leaving me with less than half of the money, saying it was his rent for letting me stay in the hotel. I couldn't dispute it. The rooms were like a hundred and something a night.
But if I was smart enough at the time, I would have known that he was playing me and pocketing the money. For the hotel, my ass! He worked there, which meant he got a discount. What a dummy I was.
Anyways, all in two weeks, I got accustomed to making fast money. I was smoking, drinking, and wilding out. Forgetting entirely that I was pregnant. I couldn't forget it too long though. I was definitely starting to show, and my metabolism was getting low.
It got to the point where I wasn't able to get it anymore or shake it fast. Shit, I used to get down with my individual lap dances, flipping over backwards, popping my pussy in their faces. Whoa! Those were the days. Now I was constantly tired, and my body just gave out.
Chuck was kind of getting pissed when I began to slow down in my gigs too. He didn't like how I was showing less of my body. He started making comments about me being lazy and getting fat, saying that was the reason why I couldn't dance the way I used to. I prayed his comments remained comments, and he wouldn't get the bright idea that I was pregnant.
“We're going to the gym today.”
“Who?”
“Me and you. We gotta get your strength up and tone that body 'cause I'm losing money with you being lazy and not wanting to show shit. You think you slick, stripping in those shirts that have holes at the nipples. I know you putting on weight, and you don't want to show your stomach, but you gotta get naked, boo.”
“I've been working out.”
“Baby, picking up a cheeseburger and muscling it to your mouth is not working out. You need to hit the gym. You eat like you're pregnant or something, or like you got a tapeworm.”
I had a sour look on my face, hoping he wouldn't ask if I was pregnant, and thank goodness, he didn't. I knew sooner or later though, I was going to have to pull out on this stripping thing before he figured out I was pregnant. I didn't know how I was going to do it, but I had to come up with something and risk the chance of being a real homeless person with no where to lay my head.
I danced for another week without any plans of how I was going to get away from the atmosphere. I knew I could have probably just left out one day and never came back, but I was scared. I don't know why, 'cause dude probably wasn't gonna find me once I bolted, but I don't know. I guess you can say I was being the stupid, scary person I was. I had nowhere to go though.
On top of that, I needed money. So, there, that was a good reason to stay, right?
It didn't matter though, 'cause I got put out anyway. Yeah. Me and dude parted on bad terms.
See, I was doing this party, and I had been dancing for like over an hour. I was dead tired, exhausted, and damn near on the verge of passing out. The perverts I was dancing for didn't want me to stop dancing, and Chuck was granting them their wish.
They had reason to try and get whatever out of me because frankly I was slacking that striptease. I hardly showed anything. I wasn't really dancing.
But they were getting some feels on me. Yeah, I let them touch my titties and squeeze my ass. I let one guy go so far as touch my clit. Then he had me feeling his hard-on. Not so much of a striptease, now that I think about it. I'd say more like a freak fest.
I went from low-budget dancing to cheap feels. I guess that's why they were so into the so-called striptease. I was only letting them feel though, because I thought it would speed up the process of them leaving, but I should have known better. It only made them want more, and Chuck was on some ol' give-them-what-they-want.
I, on the other hand, was ready to just drop dead. I came up with a plan to make that happen too. I put an end to that bootleg striptease quick. I thought of the nastiest thing you could ever imagine and made myself throw up. Ugh, it was disgusting!
You should have seen their faces. They were mad as hell. They wanted all of their money back, but Chuck wasn't having it. He kicked them out and went off on me. He gave me a good cursing out while he chased me into the bathroom, calling me every sleazy name you could think of.
I was scared because I had never seen him that furious. I locked myself in the bathroom afraid of what he was going to do to me. He kept pressuring me to come out, but I wasn't hearing it. I cleaned myself up while he was on the other side of the door yelling.
I had just taken my soiled shirt off when he kicked the door in. For the first time in months, he got a closeup on my stomach.
His eyes bulged out as he got a good look. “No, no. I know you ain't fucking pregnant. Are you fucking pregnant?”
Before I could answer him, he rambled on. “You stripping and fucking, and you having my baby? Wait, is that my baby? No, that ain't my baby. Wait a minute. Are you pregnant?”
I hesitantly answered yes.
He grabbed me by my neck and threw me up against the wall. “Bitch, are you serious?”
I didn't say anything.
“You fucking ho! Get your shit and get the fuck out!”
Without putting up a fight, I gathered what I could in a hurry and hauled ass. Moving so fast, I didn't even grab my little stash. I thought about taking the money I had just made, but I dared not. I got the hell out of dodge while I could and added myself to the midnight homeless bunch on the street.
I walked the streets lifeless until my body and swollen feet said stop. My legs were giving out. I had made it as far as a park bench by Boston Common. And guess what? That was my hotel room for the night. I put my bags behind me, placed my hood on, stringed it tight, laid down, and called it a night. I was hella scared, hoping no one would bother me or try to touch me, but at the same time, I was so tired, it didn't matter. I just needed to rest.
I woke up that morning with the sun fully raised and a dirty-looking man staring me in my face. I jumped up and screamed.
He jumped back and screamed too, then walked away like it was nothing.
My heart was racing. I started crying, checking myself out to see if I was in one piece. I was fine. I held my stomach, hyperventilating, thinking the guy was a bastard for what he had done.
I calmed myself down. Then I sat on the bench, looking around cautiously, trying to see if there were any other psychos around me. The coast looked clear. All that was left was for me to figure out was what the heck I was going to do, or what my next move was. Hell, I never knew what my next move was.
I needed guidance. I needed to be rescued. I needed immediate help, but I had nothing. I was all alone, homeless and lost, because no one cared.
I blended in with the homeless well. I had my bags and dirty clothes on. I was pretty much a hot mess. I had on an oversized, striped hooded sweatshirt that hung below my old school windbreaker jacket. My sweat pants were white, baggy, and dirty, dragging the ground as I walked. My once-white sneakers had turned a dingy black from wear and tear. I'd only had them since forever. They were run-down with holes in them, and too small, since my feet were swollen from being pregnant. Huh, I had to wear them as slippers. What do you know? I was “America's Next Hot Mess.”
No money, no home, and no one in the world to care. Not even God. That's how I felt. I only had myself to blame though. From all the stripping and fast money I was getting, I should have never left so fast and not grab what I had left of the money I'd made. I was shook though. I didn't want a beat-down from Chuck because, as mad as he looked, he was bound to do something to me. He probably would have blocked me from taking the money anyway.
Damn.
Thinking about it makes me mad all over again. I was really on some bummed-out status, with more ignorant situations to come my way.
Thinking about it makes me mad all over again. I was really on some bummed-out status, with more ignorant situations to come my way.
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