Chapter 1: Stoli
Author's Notice: My writing has been stolen twice by someone who tried to pass it off as their own. If you recognize my writing anywhere please contact me immediately.
A WARNING TO ALL REEDUS WRITERS: In light of posting a very angry author's note to the story that the content was stolen from. I have been informed by a fellow writer that many other writers in the Reedus fandom have had their work stolen recently.
This person will most likely make a new blog, steal more writing, and submit it as their own to another innocent fic blog. Look out for writing you recognize and if possible inform the rightful owner.
Author's Note: This is one of the two Six Ways to Sunday storylines I've had stored away in my head. It demanded to be written, I sincerely apologize to the readers of my other stories. Thank you guys for being so patient with me.
In this one Harry's alter ego Madden is not present because writing an OC with a Russian accent was difficult enough, he'll be in the other one heavily though. As far as her accent goes I tried my best to walk a thin line between making it prominent and not making it annoying to read. Feedback and pointers on the accent would be appreciated.
I don't know if or when I'll continue this. I've obviously turned into one of those writers who has a tun of unfinished stories that I used to despise when I was only a reader. I hope you guys like it! :)
He's revolting. A fat middle aged balding business man with bad breath. He probably has children and a wife at home. Not that he cares while he's balls deep in inside her, he only cares about his own pleasure. They all do.
"Come on baby Stoli, gimmie that tight little pussy." he groans as his sweat falls into her eyes, as though she has a choice in the matter.
She lets out a few well practiced sounds, wrapping her legs tighter around his generous girth while he ruts into her, slamming his pathetic excuse for a dick inside her overused orifice. He paid double to have her without protection, another couple hundred to cum inside her. And as his face reddens even further and a trail of drool drips from his mouth onto her chest she knows he's close, that it's almost over. That it'll start all over again in fifteen minutes, maybe with someone worse.
"Menya ot tebya toshnit Vy otvratitel'ny ublyudok." you make me sick you disgusting bastard. she whispers in his ear, sending him over the edge.
Being forced to pretend she enjoys it is the hardest part. It makes her die inside.
Another day. Another disgusting man grunting and moaning on top of her. Another customer satisfied. She used to use the time allotted for freshening up in between clients to cry instead, hoping she would look too horrible to be selected. But they always chose her because of how young she was and she always got beaten for not looking presentable.
It was almost better when they stuck her with needles filled with drugs to keep her still. It was always easier when she didn't have to participate, more peaceful. She'd been there too long for that now, the marks in her arms faded and unused. She wasn't a big enough nuisance for them to waste that kind of money drugging her up anymore.
As the man zipped up and left the money on her dresser she rolled over in her bed, letting a few tears escape before she remade her face just scarce enough to avoid a caning. She missed her mother and sisters, the way the air smelt back in her county. The way fresh air smelt at all.
She sits at the vanity table yanking knots from her once illustrious dark hair, anything to keep from having to look in the cracked mirror a little longer. Anything to not have to look at the disgusting whore in its reflective surface.
The red light comes on beside her door telling her it's time for inspection. Time for it to start all over again.
"Less rouge next time, not all men enjoy fucking clowns." the madam chides, sneering at a woman further down the hall of forever opening and closing doors.
The red cheeked woman is lucky, unable to be beaten for such a minuscule mistake. She's the kind of worker that gets to leave during the day or any time they wished. An American citizen who chose this profession. A woman who willingly sold herself for money.
Not like her. A permanent resident. A slave.
As the madam makes her way down the line the girl at the end keeps her gaze on the wall in front of her, working to keep her body from shaking at the encroaching pain that is sure to come.
"Stoli you have forgotten to put on perfume. I can smell your dirty cunt." Madam snaps, finding no visible offence to punish her for.
"Porheps you add too mach vater." she retorted, immediately wincing at being unable to control her tongue.
She doesn't dare look up to see the demented glee in Madam's eyes at having a legitimate reason for torturing her. The thin hickory stick is used on any exposed skin to avoid damaging the face or red sparkly dress. The last stripe was especially swift, making her give a slight whimper as a thin line of blood wells up along her collar bone.
"You will be at the front where I can keep an eye on you." Madam growls, fisting her hair at the roots as she drags the girl along.
She stands in her place behind Precious. Keeping silent as the madam reminds them all that Mr. Varga and his mean are her most valued customers.
"They are to be denied nothing." she concluded, narrowing her eyes at the unruly girl second in line.
The worst part outside the bedroom came next. Being paraded out in a line like cattle for auction. Such was the protocol for one or two clients at a time. For a large group like this it was a free for all, the other girls flocking to whoever they thought had the most money. She always aimed for the one who looked the kindest. As kind as a man in a place like that could be.
As soon as they enter the presentation room her eyes sweep over each one, searching for who will violate her for the next hour or so. She recognizes them all except the one drinking milk instead of alcohol. He is young and attractive, the kind she knows Ginger likes to go for if the big spenders are taken. For once she thanks her lucky stars she is in front this time. Though her preferred place in the back had spared her many times if there were enough women already provided.
With Precious headed straight for Mr. Varga she thinks her trick is safe, hers for the taking as she steps forward towards him. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Ginger stepping out of line, towards the one in the powder blue suit, the one she wants.
Breaking protocol she quickens her steps from the flowing elegant stride they are supposed to maintain, an offence that would surely be punished later. In exchange for more pain she wins the client of her choosing. Pain that would be unnecessary thanks to a man snagging Ginger around her waist before she was even half way to the one she wanted.
Perching herself daintily despite the pain beside the golden haired man she noticed him inching away from her slightly, glancing from her face to his hands and then back again shyly. For a moment she fears he will find her distasteful. Which only had two outcomes. Either she would be selected by another man to participate with one of the other girls or she would be excused to her room until another customer arrived. She didn't know which was worse.
When he tried to refuse what they provided all together she was shocked, stunned into near silence until a sharp look from the madam reminded her of her duty to be appealing.
"Ples not bee shy, no bite unless you vant." she purred, blundering the American sexual innuendo.
After his boss very firmly insisted he "have something" as though the women were snacks he looked over at her shyly while the other men were lead away into various bedrooms.
"You're a..you're bleeding." he mumbled, raising his hand as though he intended to wipe the crimson liquid away.
But his hand recoiled and his fickle blue eyes were cast downward once more as though he remembered something last second.
"Come, make mi bettar." she urged, rising from the lounge and capturing his reluctant hand as the madam watched.
Looking back as she led him down the hall where various sexual sounds could be heard from each door they passed, she was confused to see fear plainly displayed on his face. She couldn't understand it. Even if it was their first time young men were always excited to be at such a place, not scared.
With her door firmly closed behind them and her red service light turned out signifying she was occupied she began to undress slowly as he watched. Doing her usual halfhearted striptease until she was left in only her panties. A fairly short show thanks to her lack of clothing to begin with. When her steel blue eyes turned to him he moved his eyes elsewhere like he wasn't paying to see it all, as though he'd rather not be there at all.
"You take clothings off nao." she told him with humor in her voice, crawling onto the bed as he stripped down to white briefs.
If not for the slight outline highlighted from a lamp she would have thought he didn't have a penis, having never seen one flaccid before, in or out of underwear.
"No shame, I see much smaller pee pees bafore." she lied, trying to reassure him as he nervously shifted from foot to foot.
She didn't understand why he laughed at that, putting it out of her mind she began to writhe on her bed, emitting fake moans and beckoning to him as she was taught to entice a man.
"Um could we..could we maybe just…talk? I'm not really in the mood." he admitted quietly, making her become silent and still.
"No money for Madam, I get much t-trouble." she protested, fear at what would happen if she was short on her earnings at the end of the day making her voice waver.
"Oh no no no, you'll still get paid." he quickly told her when she sounded near tears, extending a wad of cash her way. "Here." he insisted when she only looked at the money like it would burn her.
"You no trick mi? No watch mi for Madam, tell her I not really do vork?" she asked suspiciously, rising one of her sharply angled brows at him.
"No, I won't tell her, honest. Just as long as you make them think that we…ya know." he promised, jerking his chin towards the bed so she understood what he meant.
"You fag, like man thing?" she wondered curiously. "Ve ave man downstors ef you like." she suggested as she deposited her money into a glass jar atop her dresser.
Harry almost fell over at her insinuation as he shimmied into his pants. "Ah..no, no men, thank you."
"Vhat den, you no like mi?" inquired as she wrapped herself in a robe and he continued to dress, becoming slightly offended when in any other case she would have been delighted.
"Nah." he began, backtracking when he realized she was getting angry, thinking he didn't find her pretty. "I mean I like you, you're a beautiful lady." he offered, blushing and rubbing the back of his neck.
When he began to head for the door she panicked, telling him avidly that it was too soon for him to leave without ruining the deception in Russian before she realized it, rephrasing in English once his confusion registered in her brain.
"What's your name?" he asked, leaning back against the door to watch as she lit a cigarette.
"You vant whore or veal name?" she questioned, looking away from his absurdly colored suit to her barred window.
"B-both I guess." he stammered, taken aback by her darkened demeanor.
"She call mi Stoli, like Russian vodka. Bad joke." she spat, literally spat. "My veal name Aleksandra." she continued softly, zoning out as memories of loved ones calling her by that name swept over her.
"Vhat you name?" she wondered aloud, not really focusing as he gave it.
They stayed quiet for a while. Her battling with an inner dilemma in light of the odd man-boy in front of her. Him dealing with a quarrel inside himself as well.
"Aleksandra can I ask you a question?" he requested, looking up from the cuticle he'd occupied himself with picking at in light of the stony silence.
"Da." she replied with a nod of her head, flicking her ash into a tray. "Russian for yes." she added when he only stared at her.
She watched warily as he approached the bed only to be relieved when he simply sat down across from where she was sitting cross-legged.
"Do I seem…Do I seem normal to you..sexually?" he asked timidly, almost afraid to hear her answer.
"No mood for mi..no mood for man…" she began, thinking, looking him over, making him fidget. "Any gurl evar ghet you in mood?"
When Harry shook his head in the negative she continued to ponder.
"Aneemals? Dog, sheep, horse?" she inquired, laughing when his eyes bugged wide and his head shook double time.
"Anything?" she tried, tilting her head as she gazed at him and took a slow drag off her cigarette.
"Violence I guess." he confessed with a shrug, ignoring her flinch as he slowly reached out to touch her, making her skin sting a little as he swiped lightly at something. "And blood." he murmured, bringing his reddened finger away to examine closely.
"No good." she spoke sadly, making Harry move his eyes to observe the tapping motion she made against her temple while she slowly shook her head.
As their hour neared its end Harry noticed how her breathing quickened. How her eyes kept darting from the door to him and then to the clock over and over. By the time they had ten minutes left she was practically shaking, water pooling in her eyes.
"You vith powarful men. You impor- import-…you ave power. Ples I beg you, ples tek mi vith you." she sputtered, her vastly improved English vocabulary failing her as she panicked and grasped onto the first ray of hope she'd seen in years.
"What do you mean take you with me? You work here, don't you have a work shift to follow or something?" he asked, trying to make sense of her desperate broken English, sensing the urgency in her tone.
"No. No vork. Slave. Other girls, thay vorkers, get some money. I slave, no money." she explained, forcing herself to speak calmly the best she could.
When he still seemed to not grasp the gravity of the situation she moved to reveal the chain and collar that were used to keep her captive during closing time and slow days, shaking it at him as his eyes widened in understanding.
"Four year a go man tell mi come to 'Merica, be big movie star, say evaryone love mi. He lie. He sell mi to man with most money, man pay big money for nevar touched gurl. After he use me first time, he sell me to Madam. I not vant to be whore, she make mi. Beat mi. Drug mi." she told him as she extended her arms to show him the track marks, the tears finally overflowing their lids, streaking down her face.
"You good man. First good man I evar see. Ples halp mi." she whispered, looking up at him with pleading pale blue eyes.
Harry's mouth was moving but he was at a loss for what to say, not a sound came from it before a knock sounded on her door.
"Your time is up sir." came the stern voice that made the girl in front of him cringe and cry harder.
"Okay, just trying to find my wallet." he yelled out, turning back to the devastated girl behind him who'd clutched the sleeve of his jacket at his words.
"Ples I do anything you vant. No leave mi here. Nother man vill come use mi after you leave, nother one waiting right nao." she whimpered in a whisper, sure madam had her ear pressed against the door.
"I can't just take you, I have to think of a plan. I'll think of something." he whispered back, moving towards the door.
"No no no no, ples. Ples!" she sobbed loudly, moving to clutch the front of his suit, crying into his neck.
She was so hysterical at her one hope of freedom slipping away that she didn't notice the way he tensed at her touch, didn't realize he was extremely uncomfortable, only pressing herself to him harder as a fist pounded on the door thunderously.
"I'll come back for you, I promise." he whispered just before the door bust open and she was ripped away from him.
"Sir I am so sorry for her lack of professionalism." the madam apologized, twisting the girl's onyx hair painfully in her fist, making her yelp through her silent body shaking sobs.
"It's alright." Harry murmured, speaking to the mistress but looking at the girl, his answer holding a double meaning he made sure she grasped before taking one more glance at her watery arctic eyes and walking away.
Chapter 2: Mother May I
Author's Note: The title of the fic, "Shlyukha", means whore in Russian.
Harry was silent the entire way home while the others carried on in drinking and bragging about their women of the evening. He was occupied inside his mind, thinking of the repercussions of just taking her. Madam Royce had guards posted at the exits he would have to kill. And there was no telling how many more might be throughout the old Victorian whorehouse. He also knew Mr. Varga had his fingers in every illegal pie in the city, no doubt getting a cut of the money the brothel made every month. His boss wouldn't take kindly to Harry indirectly stealing from him.
He knew the smart thing to do would be to forget her and decline if a trip to the house was ever brought up again. But he couldn't. In fact he couldn't stop thinking about her, or rather the way her blood felt on his fingertips. He was busy obsessing over it all. Until they brought her into their crude conversation.
"How did you like Stoli-doll Harry? The mouth on that one eh?" Hyman leered with motions imitating a head being held as it bobbed up and down on his crotch, rolling his naturally crossed eyes back into their sockets to exaggerate her skill.
"And that thing she does with her tongue." Abie added in agreement, sharing his appreciation for the girl's forced talent.
Harry only nodded with a falsified tight smile when they goaded him for his opinion. He was too busy fighting to keep the unexpected rage that surfaced at their disgusting comments contained. The rest of the car ride he kept his eyes downcast to keep the insane glare at bay that threatened to break through his false cheerful demeanor. His nails dug into his palms, skin stretched white over the knuckles with forced restraint.
Instead of sneaking right off to his room like he wanted Harry made his way to his mother's room seeking advice. He knew he couldn't tell her the whole truth. She wouldn't approve. But he did need her consent in a way.
"Hi ma." he murmured softly, coming forward when she opened her arms for a hug from where she was knitting in bed.
He noticed his mother eyeing his dress shirt as he pulled away, making him wonder what would cause her to make such a face.
"Is that ladies makeup on your shirt Harold?" she inquired with a false sweetness, trying to clutch his sleeve and prevent him from moving away.
Harry glanced down to see a black smear where the girl had cried into his chest. If he didn't have any intention of going back for her he would have told his mother the truth. He would have confessed it all like he was at church. So he lied instead and hoped one day his darling mother would understand.
"No of course not." he laughed a little nervously before continuing his fib. "I was playin' with a pen in the car on the way to dinner and it broke."
Kate looked at her son's hands, noting they weren't stained in any way to indicate that he was telling the truth. Panic began to bubble up inside her as wild scenarios played out in her head. Her precious baby falling victim to a predatory woman somehow in each one. A dark seductive faceless shape in the night trying to take him away.
"That is not ink. I know what ladies makeup looks like Harold! Why would you lie to me? Who is she? Why haven't you told your mother about this girl you're sneaking around with?" she ranted, her expression one of hurt and betrayal as he sat beside her on the edge of the bed.
Harry had to quickly formulate a new story, the stress of it making him swallow a thick lump of guilt. He'd never had to lie to his mother before.
"Look ma I didn't want to upset you. It was just a stupid coincidence." he began, hoping the truth wasn't showing through on his face. "Some girl bumped into me on my way to the bathroom. She was crying and I think she was pretty drunk because it seemed like she thought I was someone else until her girlfriends came over and took her away."
His mother's eyes scrutinized his face for a moment, looking for any traces of deception. Relaxing when he only smiled sweetly at her.
"Girls like that have no self respect. She was probably crying because her boyfriend found out what a dirty whore she really was." she commented with distain, patting his blue crush velvet covered thigh.
Relief swept through Harry and he nodded in a agreement with her harsh assumption, hoping to make her happy. He sat there for a while picking at his cuticles, listening as she hummed a song and continued knitting. He was trying to think of a way to ask permission without telling her exactly what about. Struggling with it until he decided to use her own words to do it.
"Ma?" he asked, pulling her attention away from the needles, getting a "Hmm?" in response.
"Do you remember when I was little and you told me I should have helped old Mrs. Henderson with her groceries?" he prodded, watching as she nodded her head in remembrance while looking at him over the rim of her glasses.
"If you see someone needs your help. You should always help them, right?" he inquired, looking for her unknowing blessing.
"Well of course Harry my dear. But who needs help? Is Arnie in trouble again?" she questioned, backpedaling to rephrase her answer. "You should always help those in need as long as it's not going to get you into trouble."
With the words he needed to hear spoken he shrugged off her questions. Claiming he was just wondering before bending forward to kiss his mother goodnight and heading to bed.
He couldn't drift off to sleep right away once he was tucked into his cowboy printed sheets. Though he'd left her back in that awful place she was still with him, haunting him. The line of blood standing out in his memory made his pajama pants tighten and him shift uncomfortably as he tried to ignore it. He forced himself to think about her voice instead. The way she spoke with broken words and backwards phrases. The accent of her home country making her speech entrancing to listen to. He eventually drifted off to sleep wondering what Stoli vodka tasted like.
All through his morning breakfast Harry's leg was bouncing impatiently. It seemed like his mother was purposely in the kitchen from the moment he'd woken up. Like she knew his plan and was determined to thwart it without saying a word. He listen to one of the stories he knew a million times with forced patients and attentiveness. Wishing for the first time in his life that his mother would go away.
His shock at that wish was interrupted by her announcing that she was going down to get the mail. Giving him his chance. As soon as she was out the door he sprang up and headed straight to the cookie jar that held his earnings from the jobs he'd done for Abie. The money inside had been saved in the hopes that one day soon they would be able to move out of their current squalor. But now that would have to wait because there was someone who needed it more than them.
"Wasn't he one of the ones here last night with Mr. Varga?" Precious asked everyone on the balcony in general as she blew out a stream of smoke.
Usually that early in the morning the women were free to relax. Have their morning cigarettes and coffee on the back balcony of the house in peace. Customers at that hour were uncommon except for scheduled appointments.
"That's the trick Stoli snatched out from under me last night." Ginger grumbled, leaning over the railing to catch a look at him as he walked up the rear entrance.
"Somethin' went down with him last night. I could hear her cryin' through the wall b'fore Royce busted in. Then after the marks were outta here…well..you guys all heard it." one put in, referring to the violence they'd all ignored the night before.
"She probably deserved it. She's been here how long and she aint learned yet?" another muttered, stubbing her smoke out.
"Well I'm not missing out on him this time." Ginger decided, gulping down the contents of her cup before heading towards the waiting room.
Harry nodded to the guard just inside the door, nervous about proposing his offer to the madam. He wanted to see Aleksandra first to make sure she was alright. Excitement replaced that nervousness when he entered the foyer, a strange feeling he'd never had before when a girl was concerned. Since the reception room was empty he peeked down the hall of doors, noting that all were open and empty except hers at the end. The door closest to an open doorway allowing fresh air, sunlight, and laughter to flow down the corridor towards him.
His line of sight was shortly blocked by one of the approaching ladies. Her morning robe strategically lose, threatening to fall open with every sway of her hips. Harry averted his eyes to his hands, in turn occupying those with the material of his bright yellow shirt. He glanced up again to see her continuing to approach him. The woman giving him a sly smile that sent his eyes downward before he began walking towards his desired room. Halfway down the hall they met, her moving to block his path and lean up against the wall seductively.
"What can I do for you today sweetie." she purred, twirling a piece of her dirty blonde hair around her finger as she tilted her head to look up at him enticingly.
"I just a-" he muttered bashfully, his face heating up as he tried to sidestep her and got blocked by her exposed body again.
"I'm.. a.. here to see Aleksandra." he blurted out with a tinge of annoyance when she once more halted his progress.
"Who?" she asked with confusion, a frown making its way to her lined face at him requesting someone other than herself.
"Stoli." he corrected himself, finally managing to get around Ginger and move another two doors down.
"Well she's with a client right now so I'd be more than happy to take care of ya honey." she offered insistently, striding to catch up with him and roadblock him with her physical wares a third time.
Harry was beginning to feel that familiar feeling. The urge to lash out and do harm. The driving force behind accomplishing what he did for 'work'.
"No thank you. I'll wait." he bit out, his voice holding less insecurity than it normally did as his temper took over and he blatantly brushed past the pushy prostitute.
Ginger stumbled a bit as the patron made his refusal of her services quite clear. Her mouth was agape for a moment before it snapped shut with anger. That little mail-ordered bride got all the best customers and Royce got one hundred percent of the profits. It pissed her off to no end, that the rest of them got whatever trash wandered in off the street while she got the wealthy patrons and good looking tricks. Her lips pursed as she watched the kid lean up against the wall across from her door, jealousy making her harass him further.
When the whiney voice sounded at his side again Harry had to clench his jaw and grind his teeth a little to keep his violent impulses at bay. It wouldn't do to assault one of the madam's women when he was coming there hoping to obtain something from her. He needed to stay in the boss's good graces. But the whore grabbing his arm was making it difficult.
"You can wait in the lounge." she snottily informed him, grabbing a hold to escort him to the designated area where customers were supposed to wait.
"I'll wait right here god damn it!" he snapped, jerking his elbow away from her filthy-to-him fingers.
It was the unbalanced gleam in his eye that made her back off before his expression shifted to disgust. His look of revulsion followed her out to the terrace where many curious eyes were now peering in at him, making him turn back into his shy nervous self. He thought women like that were vile. The ones who willingly spread their legs for money. That's the only reason he could excuse what Aleksandra did. She's different than them. She didn't want to be like that.
He was thankful for their idle chatter though. It served to partially block out the rhythmic thumping coming from behind the door of his fixation. It seemed like forever before the horrible sound stopped.
He couldn't wait to get out of there and take her with him. The daylight streaming in through the open balcony door brought the filth to light. Stains and burns on the shaggy carpet from clumsy patrons. Photos of women lewdly spread out for the camera covered certain holes. Dents and scratches on the brightly colored walls from more violent customers. Substances here and there from the impatient ones. Everything about the place made him sick to his stomach, right down to the cheaply perfumed air.
When her door opened the man who exited paused for a second with wide eyes at the sight of Harry. Before continuing on with averted eyes as he slunk down the hall. He had to keep himself in check as those same urges came flooding back again. He so very much wanted to follow the man down to his car and slit his throat for making her do that. For forcing her to defile herself like that.
Harry was startled by how protective he felt about the stranger he'd only met last night. That need to defend her he'd had in the limo the evening before returning with stronger force as he watched the man's retreating form. He found himself stepping away from the wall with murderous intentions before a soft sob broke through his haze of anger. He turned back, meekly peering around the doorframe.
What he saw made his rage return with a vengeance. She was on the bed laid out on her side, her small frame shaking as she wept quietly, a hiss of pain slipping out when she moved a little too much. She was dressed in a sateen nightgown that was the same deep red as her sparkly dress from the night before. The gown had an open plunging back that revealed fresh shallow slashes covering her skin, some of the deeper ones still dripping blood.
His words of hello were caught in his throat as he choked on the emotion washing over him. The last time he'd felt this sad was when his mother had 'accidentally' let his dog out the door while he was at school. But this was a different kind of sadness for her suffering. Something deeper that felt like it cut inside him and made her tears his own.
He hurriedly wiped away the liquid spilling from his eyes with the palms of his hands. Moving next to knock on the open door out of politeness. When she heard the noise her crying stilled and her voice sounded so despondent he hated himself for leaving her there last night.
"Price on vall. Put moneys in jar." she croaked out without moving to look at her next rapist, dreading every painful jerk of her sore body that would come shortly.
As he moved closer Harry's eyes widened at the steel collar around her neck, the connected chain dangling down along the side of the bed with the excess length piled on the floor. A bolt in the wall with a padlock secured the chain tethering her to her torture like an animal.
Rather than make her move to see him and cause her more pain he rounded the bed, coming into her line of sight. He'd expected her to be happy to see him. But she just glanced up at him for a couple seconds before her vacant eyes returned to the spot on the wall. The one they'd been fixed on for many hours while she was used. She seemed broken and empty. And though he hadn't laid a hand on her, he felt responsible.
She'd allowed herself to hope, to believe freedom was so close. And he'd inadvertently taken it away with his retreating back. It wasn't his fault she'd pinned him as her savior. And it wasn't his fault that nothing had in fact been "alright" after he'd left. But she still couldn't bring herself to look at him.
Harry stood there awkwardly with his hands in his pockets. He didn't know what to say. She reminded him of one of those shelter puppies on the commercials his mother always turned to another channel when they came on.
"I…I'm gonna..I couldn't." he mumbled, trying to figure out what to say to her.
"I couldn't just take you 'cause my boss is involved with your…with the lady who keeps you here." he began, wishing she'd at least look at him.
"I figure maybe she'll be willing to sell you to me." he explained, his stomach doing strange things when she actually moved her grey eyes to meet his.
"Vhat den? I be you whore? Make moneys for you?" she spat with more feeling, glaring up at him even though his eyes widened with surprise and his head shook vigorously.
"No. No, you won't have to do that with anyone anymore. Un-unless you wanted to with someone." he stammered, his face heating up as one of her brows raised with implication.
"Vhat you make mi do den vhen you own mi? Vhat you do vith mi?" she inquired quietly, afraid to allow herself to actually hope that the madam would sell her to this peculiar manchild.
He looked so much younger now without the ridiculous suit. She figured he was probably the same age as her or younger. It figured she'd pick a little boy to reveal her situation to. To rely on an inexperienced wet behind the ears teenager to save her. He appeared even more juvenile as he shrugged in answer, looking down at his feet shyly while she studied him.
"I dunno. I just wanna get you out of here." he finally mumbled when he glanced up to find her still staring at him expectantly.
Aleksandra let out a deep sigh as she tried to push down the giddy flutters of hope blooming in her again. Everything about him seemed so innocent and kind aside from his sexual abnormality. Right down to his golden hair, everything about him shined with light and it reminded her why she'd chosen him. If this was the way out as he believed it was, she hoped his kindness would continue to shine even after he was her new master.
"Good lock." she murmured quietly as she laid her head back down, depressingly sure that the madam wouldn't allow her to escape that easily.