XXX Debauchery.

When She realized the fourteen hundred dollars was spent and gone. Leaving a black tar stink in my empty pocket, she freaked. A restless anxiety overcame her, and she would not be still, until she had a plan. This was the first time I'd ever seen her so concerned. So, fearful. A quiet, self loathing anger fell upon her, and her mind walked into a dark place. Sifting through downtown that day, not one smile would beam from her delicate features. The denial had packed up and ran away on her, and there was nothing I could say, to fill that empty space. The reality of where we were at, had amplified inside of her, and the weight was dragging her down. Hard.
Running into Babyface on those dry sullen streets, she had been drawn to him, like a moth to light. Or rather, a witless insect, to an electrifying bug zapper. A dull, sluggish house fly, spastic in it's movements, hovering towards it's end. Unaware of it's demise, searching for the gratifying warmth.
Babyface took one look at that melancholy face, and pounced like a lion on a sick and frail gazelle. Bending his long thin arm around her shoulders, and pulling her inside his cocoon of waste. A yellow smoking exhaust, flowing from his mouth, with each poisonous word he whispers, coiled snake in the Garden of Eden. Twisted body, swollen ashy knuckles, unsightly thin hands running along the back of her neck, stealing bits of her youth and innocence with each fowl touch. Like a horse fly at the beach, taking small, but painful bites as it wavers around you indiscreetly. Diving in swiftly, darting away even faster.
This is exactly how this all got started. She. Afraid and dependant, drawing in the attentions, fueled by her weakness.  
The vulnerable and naive voice, salty, warm tears in her eyes. Spilling her concerns, to this sleazy piece of shit. Babyface, joyfully welcoming it, and relieving her fears with premeditated lines. The Pimps Monologue. Lures me into daydreaming of vomiting in his face. For fun.
 I try to tell her,  baby girl, this is all a big game, he doesn't give a shit about you, but she refuses to listen. Her desperation numbing her and narrowing her perception. Tells me, maybe I'm wrong, and he'll help us out. Yeah, help us out, by slapping you on the ass and sending you out to Montreal Rd in a mini skirt and platform stripper heals. She tells me, maybe she could handle that, maybe it's not as bad as I might think. That we need the money. I'm revolted just to hear it, appalled that she would even try and believe this offensive bullshit. That she would, for even a second, trust this grim and lowly character, made my hands shake in disgust. I could have just walked away. Left her, to suffer the consequences of her uneducated approach, but I couldn't do it. Not only was I afraid for her, but I was just as lost as she was. Just as empty, as viciously alone and ashamed. As much as I was sick to my stomach with this, I was beginning to allow myself to believe, that perhaps this was our only choice. The vile, unsympathetic streets surrounding us, had begun to take it's toll. We were tired. So tired, that the idea of prostitution, had begun to lose it's perversion and filth, and become an option. It's not that I thought I could follow through with it, but that I thought maybe, I could watch her go through with it. Morphing me into a villainous, crooked woman. The starving witch inviting Hansel and Gretel for dinner. That I figured, at the very least, I could benefit from this. Use her. Even though, I didn't verbalize it, in the same way Babyface did, I was still just as two-faced and self serving as he was. All the more corrupt, because, willing or not, I was ready to throw her under the bus. At least Babyface could say it out loud, be forth right about it. I on the other hand, protested against it for only a short while, then quickly shutting my mouth, as I watched her fall into his diabolic charms. Convincing myself, again, that she is a big girl, and if she wanted to do this, I would be the first one to reap the benefits of her financial gain. So, I agreed to follow through with the plan. Plan being, two things. Babyface would be taking us clothes shopping,  then we would proceed to his house, and he would teach her the ropes. Within an hour of running into him downtown, we are in a perverse triple x sex shop, perusing hooker shoes and stripper gear. She, perks up seeing all the shiny sparkles on the shelves and turns to Babyface with a smile. Girls and shoes. Even in this repulsive moment, she's lavishing in the idea of new footwear. Totally blind to the shamefully vile porn, and sex trade debauchery. To the lingering degradation, and bad taste left in my my mouth. Claimed as audience to this undesirable shopping trip, my stomach turns in painful knots. Nausea permeating through me, vibrating in my chest. My skin feels like it's been touched by a frenzied crowd of middle aged child molesters, and I cannot sit here. Cannot watch her try on pair after pair of clear plastic plat forms and trashy spandex dresses. Watch him run his greasy hands over her body, inspecting her curves, perversly touching her to make sure all fits well. Not enough ass here... we need your tits to push out more here, and he already owns her. I imagine the kind of residue he leaves on her with each humiliating touch, and before I lash out in rage at them both, I step outside for cigarette. Each drag I take, is followed by lashing tears of perfectly hell bound shame.
I don't even know who I am anymore.