Broken
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Broken Ch. 00 free porn video
Prologue
She is nineteen years old, with the body of a fifteen year old girl, and the eyes of a ninety year old holocaust victim. Her lips are a thin line of pink and crimson, and when they are not, they are parted in unspoken protests, revealing to everyone what happens when those protests are made audible. Her hair is a mess of knotted brown and dirty blonde strands, and her skin is a surprising contrast with its tan almost olive color, and amazingly the bruises are a purple contrast to the color, like dyed pearls littered under the skin. Her clothes are torn, and look as old as they are. She doesn’t have any money to buy new ones. All the money goes to her ‘boyfriend’.
Making no attempt to hide the weariness of her body, she slumps against a wall, weariness decorating the stunning green of her eyes. She closes them slowly, inhales, then opens them again, as if preparing herself to face the brutality of another night on the block. She had been out there for a week now as ‘punishment’ for not taking a job. Only the respectful girls worked inside, the rest: outside like the dogs they acted like.
But anyone passing by, even with a sideways glance, could see that she didn’t belong with the others. She didn’t belong with any of them. The other woman strutted their stuff with seven inch platform heels and shirts that they took the liberty of turning into dresses. Hair that wasn’t theirs and nails that could be used as weapons. Unlike her their skin was flawless, their makeup perfectly masking the ugliness that came out when they opened their mouths. Their legs showed no bruises and their eyes showed no weariness.
They were made for this work, their bodies practically bred for the abuse they endured. It was more than obvious that she wasn’t.
He had been watching her for almost three nights now. Watching her do the same ritual of coming to the alley wall, and preparing herself for another night of abuse. Watching her get into random men’s cars, and drive to the alley that she centered herself in. She would disappear from the rear window, resurfacing a matter of minutes later and exiting the car with a wad of cash in her shaking hands. She would wait till they drove away. And then she would vomit. Each night she would vomit less, and he deduced that she was being fed less.
Business was slow tonight, he could tell because there had already been three fights between women. One side of the block was getting more business than the other, but everyone was assigned their separate work stations. There was no crossing over. The fights had been broken up swiftly by Damien, who ended the bickering with a punch in the face or a chokehold to the offending woman.
‘Shut the hell up,’ he had said. ‘Or you can go the fuck home, and get a fuck ass job at McDonalds.’ The women had shut up. As if working at McDonalds was way worse than selling your body to the highest bidder. Periodically after that he came out to make sure there were no more fights. And there hadn’t been. The majority of the woman had ventured passed their block, to more residential streets, which was illegal, but no one seemed to care. As long as Damien got his money, he didn’t care where they went.
A woman, who has been strolling up and down, stops at the alley wall, and looks down at her. There is almost pity in her eyes, as she pulls out a flask from her bra, which is peeking through a tight fitting white tank top, and hands it to her. She does not take the flask, shying away from it. The woman pushes harder, turning her body towards her, forcing it in her hands. On the woman’s pants it reads ‘Easy’, and the letters jiggle as she shoves the flask into her hands.
She takes it finally, and ‘Easy’ doesn’t stop to see if she drinks it. Frustration decorates her walk as she polishes off the last few steps of the block and turns the corner.
He watches her as she sets the flask down next to her, staring at it as if it would hurt her if she turned away, and it is only when she stands up abruptly does he see that Damien has come out of the building.
Even from where he is parked, halfway down the street, he can see the wobble in his stance as he jerks his head back and forth, searching for something. For someone. For her. He opens his mouth and let’s a large amount of air out. He is calling her. In his mind, he wills her to move from around the corner to face him. To tell him that she is right there and that he can shove their so-called relationship up his ass, but without even knowing her, he knows that she will not do it. She is scared, her too-old eyes show it, and her shaking hands betray her.
His drunken swagger takes him to the opposite side of the block. He looks left and he looks right. He goes left, disappearing behind his building for a matter of minutes before returning with a determined stride. He is calling for her more rapidly now.
How dare she leave the block without consulting him?
Damien calls a few more times before coming to the alley wall. He would have kept walking, but the slight movement of her white blouse in the darkness catches his eyes.
Form where he is sitting, from his car, he can feel the force of the yelling that she is enduring. Damien is mere inches away from her face. She looks down at the ground. Her body is shaking from pure fear. Abruptly he grabs her hair and pulls it back, causing her back to bend in the wrong direction and her legs to give out.
She begins to fall.
Damien lets her, but continues to hold onto her hair. Continues to yell at her.
It is taking every inch of him not to get out of the car, march up the street, and shoot the man with the gun underneath his seat. He simply prays that it will be over soon, so that he can release his steering wheel. So that he can calm down.
His prayers go unanswered, as Damien continues to hold onto her hair, yanking it hard every so often. Yanking it hard whenever she reaches up to grab hold of his wrist, so that she doesn’t lose any hair. With an angry finale, he gives her one last hard yank, picks her head up then slams it down hard on to the concrete. Her ‘boyfriend’ doesn’t wait to see if she is okay, he merely kicks her legs out of his way as he stumbles back to the entrance of his building, and disappears behind the double doors.
For minutes she doesn’t move. From where he is parked, he can’t see if she is bleeding or not, but he knows that there is no way that she can be conscious. His hand is on the door, ready to open it if she doesn’t move soon, and mentally he is counting to thirty. It was not part of the plan to get her while she was at work. While there was a chance someone would see, or that he could be hurt. His mission thus far was purely reconnaissance. But how quickly things could change for him.
26…27…28…29…30…31…
He pops open the driver door, and proceeds to leave his car, when he sees her leg move. It is slight but it is enough for him to know that she is alive. He gets back in his car, closing the door softly. For a number of minutes longer, she simply lies there, alternating between her hands being on her quivering stomach and on her head. ‘Easy’ comes around the corner unexpectedly, but doesn’t stop even when she sees her lying on the ground, the flask at her toes. This world was purely for animals. She truly didn’t belong.
His stomach churns unhappily, letting him know that he has seen enough for the night. As he moves to start his car the loud crinkle of paper breaks the silence that surrounds him. He fishes in his pocket for the culprit, pulling out a note that was written on the back of receipt for toilet paper among other things. The hand writing is messy and rushed, and the ink is smudged from being in rain, but he can make out enough of it to know what it was all about. He has been reading it and re-reading it for weeks on end. He could probably quote it from memorization if he had to. But in the darkness of midnight, with nothing b
ut streetlamps as his light, there are only five words that he can see, the five words that are the most meaningful. Those five words were the reason why he was watching her take the beatings that she had taken over the last few nights. With a broken whisper, he reads them aloud, testing them on his own ears, for the first time since receiving it.
‘Dear Gabriel,
Save my sister…’
Avriella
- 25.03.2022
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