<p>Angela woke to a painful headache the next morning. She was no longer in the motel with the fifteen or so men. Once she observed her surroundings, she noticed she was in a house, a rather rundown one with hideous torn 80's style paper climbing the walls around her. The walls were nicotine stained, the floor creaked as people in the other rooms walked on by. She felt a stillness in the air as chills ran up her spine. She had been kidnapped.<br/> She had only seen this in movies. Women being brought to illegal brothels and being forced to work under men who wouldn't pay them a fucking dime. She struggled to believe she was going to be okay. But if there was one thing she was sure of, it was that she wasn't going to die. She was replacing whoever Foxy was. <br/> She remembered no details of the ride there. For all she knew, she could have been stuffed in a trunk whilst unconscious. Tears didn't fill her eyes as she thought this over, scanning the room for an exit. Her window view revealed that she was on the second or third floor - a survivable jump if she knew how to land properly; which she didn't. Shit out of luck, Angela waited for the door without a handle on her side to open.<br/> It wasn't until an hour later that someone came to the door. Behind it, she could hear someone struggling frantically. It sounded like two men were forcing themselves onto a woman against her will, one who clawed back, as many curses were heard in the process of hearing the woman wrestle for her liberty. She had undoubtedly lost and the door subsequently opened. <br/> "Shut your fuckin' mouth, floozy." A skinny black man no taller than 5'8" shoved her through the door, causing her to fall onto the floor. The door shut before Angela could do anything for herself. She was now stuck in a room with yet another kidnap victim who was probably drugged up and scared for her life. What was she to do? <br/> "Never seen you around," the dark skinned lady remarked. <br/> Angela grimaced. The woman was a whore. <br/> "Why are we locked up?" she asked.<br/> The woman laughed. Howled. Whatever sounded closest to a scornful mockery of everything Angela was on the inside and out. Her face hardened.<br/> "Answer my question, please." she pressed on.<br/> "We ain't locked up, honey. This ain't jail." <br/>Oh, God. Angela thought. This is how I came off to the entire town.<br/> "An' if you think this is bad, wait til they have you workin' the corner on skid row."<br/> Skid row sounded like some slasher movie. <br/> The woman stared at her unimpressed. It was obvious this white girl was only an escort who picked the wrong dinner date. To fix her green perspective, she added after what felt like minutes of silence, "The most impoverished part of town." <br/> Angela stared at her new roommate in pure disgust of the subject matter. The woman had a gash on her face from what looked like a stab wound. It added years to her face, not to mention her rough voice from drinking alcohol and what she suspected was smoking crack. Angela tried not to wince. Was this going to be her future, working as a gang whore?<br/> "When will they let us go to work?" Angela asked, hoping for an answer that wasn't prideful laughter.<br/> "I tried to take the money an' run off last week. Man beat me up so bad I still walk funny." <br/> It was then Angela remembered the face of the man who assaulted her. He had to have smashed her head against the concrete door frame at least four times before she passed out. She began to weep.<br/> Perhaps she had always been this alone throughout her journey of life. Her mother left her when she was merely seventeen years of age. The only thing she had left of the woman were a few keepsake items belonging to her and the inheritance. <br/> "Don't cry, lady." A voice containing a thick Slavic accent snapped her out of her despondent moment.<br/> She had been sobbing so hard her head hurt. Right away, she recognized the man as the one who had assaulted her. Assaulted was too small a word. She could have fucking died, and for all she knew, that might have been his intention. <br/> Fear filled her body. Then rage she had to force herself to control through tight fists that began to shake. For one, she felt raped by the man's presence. Secondly, she knew there was nothing she could do to validate herself. He was a criminal for what he had done and his demeanour revealed that he, simply put, did not give a damn.<br/> Who do you think you are? She wanted to say. Instead, her wise mind shut her up. She also stopped her crying, fearing the hell out of the man's commands. He looked like the kind of person to kick the shit out of her again.<br/> Angela straightened her posture and cleared her throat. <br/> "Let's go, bitches." The malefactor ordered, hand-gesturing both women to stand up and exit the room. What a fucker.<br/> The woman with the gash, who Angela learned was named Kassandra, walked with an obnoxious stumble as she complained about her knees. Appearing by the Slavic man's side was the black pimp from earlier, making a call on his cell phone and not acknowledging the beat up junkie-whore's request for heroin. Instead, he held his hand up, a hand that would indicate he had no problem with smacking her so hard her head would fall off if she continued to pester him. <br/> Angela was frightened. The body house reeked of liquor, cigarette smoke and bodily fluids. In one corner, she saw a woman shooting herself in the arm with a needle. She sat next to another woman who was significantly older tending to her nicotine addiction with a long cigarette in her mouth. They weren't happy, but they looked at home. Angela asked herself again. Was this going to be for the rest of her life? <br/> Realistically, she knew of no safe way out.</p>