The Beautiful People (17 page)

“You
will do whatever Luigi wants and you will stop being difficult. I own you and I
own your brother, remember? You will do as I say.” It felt like my eyes were
going to burst from the pressure and little black spots danced in front of me.

He released me and I
collapsed in a heap on the floor, sucking in big gulps of air. “I und-er-sta-nd,”
I managed to choke out. Satisfied, Marco left me on the floor. Down by the
front door Sam stared off into the corner, pretending to be oblivious. Crawling
into the bathroom, I struggled to regain my composure. I looked into the mirror
to assess the damage. My eyes were wide with shock, and dark next to my pale
skin. An impression of Marco’s hand remained a red phantom on my neck. I combed
my fingers through my hair, splashed cold water onto my face and focused on
getting my breathing under control. I really wanted to hide in the bathroom and
wait the nightmare out, but I wasn’t easily forgotten as Marco was soon
pounding on the door.

I started to open the
door slowly, but Marco forced it open. “Mr. Genovese is waiting for you
upstairs, the first door on the left.”

So this is how it was
going to be; pimped out like some cheap whore?
I was backed into a corner without any options. Unwillingly, I made my way up
the stairs.  The door on the right was slightly ajar, it revealed the sofa I
had woken up on months ago, Brittany was pinned down, naked and was being
brutally raped by one of the men from New York, and two others waited in line.
Her screams were silenced by the gun forced in her mouth, but her eyes pleaded
for help. I looked away consumed by the fear that I was about ready to face the
same fate.

I bolted down the
stairs, missing the last two as I leaped for the door. One of my high heels
snapped from the impact of the landing. Sam blocked the doorway and pushed me
back. Marco appeared in the entryway of the bar. “I thought we had an
understanding,” he glowered.

Sam escorted me,
shaking and on the brink of hysteria, back up the stairs. Ignoring my begging
and pleading, he forced me forward to the first door on the left. In one fluid
movement he opened the door, pushed me inside the room and slammed the door
shut. Mr. Genovese sat on a bed, the only piece of furniture in the room. He
was wearing boxer shorts and a wife beater. His suit was folded in a neat
little pile on the windowsill. The white fabric of the wife beater made his
skin look jaundiced.

“Ah,
Miss Ross. Glad you finally made it.” He sat on the edge of an old, bare
mattress decorated with a pattern that was popular twenty years earlier.  It
might as well have been a throne the way he sat there with authority, his back
straight and shoulders squared. He didn’t say anything to me, just patted the
empty space next to him, inviting me to sit. I stayed rooted to the floor and
didn’t budge. He smiled at my defiance. Then he stood up and walked over to me
so he was right in my face.  I held my breath and turned my head away so I wouldn’t
have to inhale his noxious odor. Grabbing my chin, he dug his fingers in and
forced me to look at him. I glared back. He smiled, briefly, before he kissed
me. He pried my lips apart and invaded with his tongue. He might as well have
shoved an ashtray in my mouth. I started to gag, bile rising in my throat. I
placed my hands on his chest and tried to push him away. His arousal grew the
more I struggled and he made sure to press against me as I protested. I lifted
my knee up and hit him square in the balls. Instead of dropping into a fetal
position, which is what I expected, he backhanded me again and I felt my lip
split open. The pain was sudden and surprising, but I would take that over his nasty
mouth on mine.

He shoved me against the
door, my skull cracking hard on the wood.  Dazed I shook my head, trying clear
my vision. Mr. Genovese used his body weight to subdue me and attempted to rip
my skirt off. His shoulder leaned in towards me so I bit, sinking my teeth into
the flesh as deep and as hard as I could. He howled in what I thought was pain,
but when he looked at me I saw a tobacco stained grin and anticipation in his
eyes.

“Feisty
and a biter – even better,” he declared. I was horrified. All my self defense
efforts were working against me. He was getting more aroused the more I fought
back. Catching me off guard, he grabbed me, spun me around and threw me onto
the bed. My one hundred fifteen pounds didn’t offer much resistance. He ripped
off my skirt, shredded my pantyhose and went for my underwear. I kicked and
thrashed, trying to inflict as many blows to his head as possible. He laughed
as if enjoying the challenge.

My thrashing got weaker
as exhaustion set in and my head throbbed with every movement. Finally I stayed
still. All the fight in me was spent. I prepared for the violation. Mr. Genovese
licked his lips with anticipation as he traced is fingers up my legs to the
waistband of my underwear. His hand slid underneath the corset and he twisted
my left nipple, painfully. He paused as if waiting for a reaction. I stared
vacantly at the blank wall, my vision blurry from tears. I felt the mattress
shift as he moved off of me.

He glared at me
frustrated, the tent he’d pitched in his boxers was deflating. He turned away
from me, put on his clothes and silently left the room.

I don’t know how long I
laid there. I heard faint voices downstairs, the front door slamming and then
silence. The room lightened to gray as the sun began its ascent in the sky.
People would be getting up to go to church, to the grocery store, or maybe take
a day trip to the shore.  I just stayed there, beaten and bruised, afraid to
move.

The stillness of the
house was disrupted by a soft whimpering. My ears perked up and focused on the
location of the sound. Someone else in the house was also crying and in pain.
Then I remembered Brittany. She had been through worse than me. I forced myself
into a sitting position and when the dizziness subsided, slowly stood up. My
broken shoes were useless so I kicked them off before I walked across the room
to retrieve my skirt. When I opened the bedroom door, Brittany’s cries were
much louder and filled the small landing. I crept across to her room. She was
completely naked and curled up in a ball on the floor. Blood stained the back
of her thighs. She twitched when she heard me approach. Both of her eyes were
bruised and swollen shut, it was obvious she couldn’t see who was in the room
with her. Her whimpering grew louder.

“It’s
ok, Brit, it’s me, Natalie.” At the sound of my voice, she broke down into deep
heaving sobs. I knelt down beside her and pulled her partly up, so she could
lean against me. The force of her sobs wracked my body too. I rocked her
gently, like a baby and her sobs slowed down. The damage to her body was far
worse than mine. In addition to her swollen eyes, her nose was crooked and bloody
and her lips were puffy, most likely from the gun being forced in her mouth.
Bruises were beginning to darken and covered the front and back of her torso. I
looked around the room for her clothes and couldn’t find them. I remembered her
strip tease downstairs and figured that’s where they were.

“I’m
going to go get your clothes. Can you stand?”

“I…I
think so,” she answered in a hoarse voice. I helped her to her feet, steadying
her as she trembled on uncertain legs. Blood was smeared down the inside and
front of her thighs too. I grimaced at her condition and was grateful she
wasn’t able to see herself. I helped her over to the sofa. As I straightened up
the front door downstairs slammed. We both stiffened, fear raised the hairs on
the back of my neck.

“Nat,
are you here?” a familiar voice echoed through the house. Dominic. I almost
cried in relief.

“Up
here!” I managed to yell out. Footsteps thundered up the stairs. Dominic
appeared in the doorway, Grant’s head barely visible behind him.

“Oh
my God!” Dominic stopped in his tracks when he saw us. Brittany was cowering
behind me.

Grant forced him
through the door and followed Dominic into the room. Miranda was right behind
them. Her eyes grew wide with horror when she saw us; color fled from her face
before she bent over and threw up. Grant rubbed her back and sat her down in
one of the club chairs. He and Dominic rushed to my side.

“I’m
fine,” I lied. I wasn’t, but compared to Brittany I was perfect. “We need to
get Brittany to a hospital.” Grant grabbed his cell phone and spoke quietly
into it. He snapped it shut. “A doctor is waiting for us. He’s able to see both
of you now.” He inhaled sharply when he saw the full extent of Brittany’s
injuries.

“I
was just going to get her clothes. I think they’re by the bar downstairs.”

Miranda had recovered
from her initial reaction and she ran down the stairs. She returned in seconds
and helped me dress Brittany.

We slowly made our way
down the stairs. Dominic helped me get Brittany into the back seat of the
Mustang. Brittany was clinging to me and refused to let go so I slid in next to
her. We followed Grant’s Lexus as he weaved through the South Philly
neighborhoods; block after block of row homes passed in a blur. A few minutes
later he stopped outside of a small clinic. A wiry, middle aged man paced out
in front. He jumped when he saw us pull front and he hurried over to talk to
Grant. He gestured for us to follow him inside. Dominic helped me out of the
car and I turned around to help Brittany. She winced in pain with every
movement. I suspected she had some bruised or broken ribs.

The cool, sterile
atmosphere of the small clinic was refreshing. The doctor started to take
Brittany back to the examination room and she threw a fit, demanding I go with
her. Grant went to follow us and I stopped him.

“I
don’t think Brittany’s ready for more male company.”

“Oh,
right,” Grant responded awkwardly, taking a step backwards.

“Miranda,
can you come with us?” She didn’t hesitate and joined us, taking Brittany’s
other hand in hers.

Dr. Russo helped
Brittany up on to the examination table. She hissed with every movement. But
the doctor was quick, thorough and gentle. He filled a basin with warm soapy
water and asked Miranda to wipe away some of the blood with a sponge.

“Brit,
I’m going to help clean the blood off your legs, okay?” she reassured Brittany
before getting close to her private areas. The doctor reset Brittany’s broken
nose and she yelped in pain, squeezing my hand hard. He laid her back on the
table and set an ice pack over her nose and eyes to help reduce the swelling.
Overall, she had three broken ribs, multiple contusions, a broken nose and
possible ocular nerve damage, once the swelling was reduced he would be able to
better assess. Brittany had some rectal and vaginal tearing, but that would
heal over time. He stared down at the battered and bruised blonde beauty and
shook his head. “Who would and who could do this? What kind of monster…” he
wondered out loud.

“Monsters,”
I corrected him. I saw him shake in reaction to the plural.

“Physically,
she’ll heal, but mentally…she is going to need help.” I nodded in
understanding. We were both going to have to sort this out.

It was my turn for the
physical exam and except for a split lip, some scratches, bruises and a minor
concussion, I was in good shape.  I was lucky the doctor said. I wouldn’t
exactly describe it as luck.

Dr. Russo injected
Brittany with a sedative which took almost immediate effect. “She needs some
peace right now,” he explained. I on the other hand needed to stay awake
because of the concussion.

Miranda went to get
Grant and he lifted Brittany up, carrying her out of the exam room. Dominic
stood when he saw us walking down the hall.

“I
want Brittany to come back with us,” I explained to him. “She can stay in the
guest room. I don’t think she should be alone right now.”

“I
understand,” Dominic agreed. Grant carried Brittany out and set her on the
backseat of the Mustang. Dominic held the door open for me and I gingerly sat
down on the passenger seat. My whole body ached. We drove in silence to our
condo.

The doorman opened up
my door and did a double take when he saw the condition I was in. He grew even
more alarmed when Dominic lifted the unconscious and disfigured Brittany from
the backseat. Speechless, he held the door open to the lobby. I could feel the
eyes of the concierge follow us as we strode across the marble floor.

I folded down the
comforter on the guest bed and Dominic set Brittany down. I pulled the
comforter up to her chin. Her bruised face stood out against the white sheets.

Dominic put his arm
around me as we stared down at Brittany. I couldn’t help but flinch at the
contact. He withdrew his arm.

“I’m
sorry,” I whispered. “I can’t help it.” Tears welled up in my eyes. “It’s just
that the past few hours I’ve been trying to keep that pig from touching me!” I
cried out. My skin still crawled at the memory of the assault. Dominic reached
out and pulled me towards him. I shoved away from him. “Why didn’t you do
anything?” I yelled. “That monster – why did you let him take me?” I slammed my
fists into his chest. “Why? Why? Why?” I couldn’t yell anymore, the tears were
choking me, my fury dissipated as quickly as it sparked. Dominic crushed me
against his chest and let me cry. And cry I did - bawled until the tears
wouldn’t spill anymore. The crying jag made my head pound even more and I
slumped against the sturdiness of my boyfriend. He scooped me up effortlessly
and brought me to our bedroom. He set me down on the bed and then turned and
walked into the bathroom. I heard water running and Dominic moving around the
room. He came back out with a glass of water and some Advil.