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It’s now 6:00 in the morning.

 I would usually be up by now, but things haven’t been of the usual. I would wake up around this time, make breakfast, get ready, and head to my 8:00 A.M. class. After finishing my classes, I would come back to my dorm and study or sleep.

Instead, I’ve been spending my nights “working” late and my mornings’ downing expressos and rushing to my first class just to push myself through the other two classes of the day and disregarding my need to study when classes were over.

Today is one of those days I wish I would’ve been living one of those typical days.

It’s 7:00 in the morning now and my alarm yelps until turning it off. 20 minutes’ pass and my second alarm go off. Rushing now, I brush my teeth, untwist my hair, fluff my curls, put on clothes, and speed to my class.

A few months back I was still living on campus, but now I’m in a townhome downtown. Exactly 15 minutes from campus, but with traffic and having to park It can take 30 to 50 minutes to get to class.

Today I found myself stumbling into class at 8:10; just in time to sign role. The class ends, and that’s one class down, with two to go. I made it to my second class, with one to go. But while heading to my third class, I received a strange call.

After hanging up, I changed directions and headed back to my car.

I drove out of the parking deck and veered onto the main road.

Only going through the motions: steering, braking, pedaling… it was like one of those drives where you reach your destination and can do nothing but thank God for your safe arrival because you were in a daze the whole time.

While driving, my mind drifted four months back to me sitting in my dorm room, writing this stupid plan in my notebook. It made no sense to anyone else. Just a bunch of words, arrows and explanation points, but I had to write stuff down to see the bigger picture.

When I showed Bel and Ty this, it meant nothing to them. It was gibberish. To me, it meant a way out. I explained.

“Ty, you don’t like what your mom does, but it’s helped. It’s supported you and kept you guys comfortable. She has all the contacts of essential people– all wealthy men who are disgustingly stimulated!

Bel, you know a bunch of girls who enjoy doing whatever to get what they want– specifically from males.

Oh, and Ty you have Cam who works security at that hotel.”

IMG_1165

IMG_1166.2IMG_1167IMG_1168IMG_1169It is now 600 in the morning.

I hear myself all over again as I stare out at the road. Seeing myself wave this sketched paper in their face, as both of them laughed. It was the laugh you give when you’re not sure if someone is being serious or not.

 Right now, I wish they only would’ve laughed at me, but they didn’t. Later that day, we all sat together and planned it. Cam agreed, so we used vacant hotel rooms, and had someone watching our backs; he also decided to make the drop to our hotel room.

The clients would place the money in an ice machine or a laundry cart, and Cam would leave it at our door with a knock.

The tricky part was getting Ty’s mom to agree, but she eventually caved. She provided us with rates that she uses regularly and set up a private informational/party… it was similar to a brothel except it wasn’t as trashy, and there was no sex– you pick who you like and keep moving.

 I trusted Bel to handle gathering the girls.

We had six girls. I met them for the first time, 20 minutes before the event and broke down the rules to them.

  1. Do not tell anyone about your career choice
  2. No outside contact or exchanging numbers, emails, or anything with the clients
  3. They do not know your real name so don’t give it to them
  4. We need a spare key to your home for safety reasons and will provide you with a phone
  5. We will pay you every Monday at your house, don’t accept money from anyone else but me, Ty, or Bel
  6. You will not put this money into the bank
  7. Store your cash in your bedroom, underneath your bed, and inside your floor boarding… if you don’t know how to make that happen, we will make it happen
  8. There will be no drug or alcohol abuse
  9. Don’t get personal with the clients
  10. Use condoms!

After giving them the rules, I saw Ava. She was probably one of the most beautiful females there.

During the event, the men craved over her. All the girls had a number on them, and when I walked around collecting papers from the prospects, the majority of the men left their phone number, with the number “4” written on it.

They chose the ones they wanted to treat them, and Ava was in high demand– she was number four.

Right now, I don’t feel too right about that fact as I did then.

After 30 minutes of driving, I pulled up to 825 Old Crescent lane. I punched in a gate code and drove to the back of the neighborhood. Ty’s work car was there. It was Monday, so he and Bel were making their drops to our girls. They met me at the door, and I followed them to the bathroom.

Ava was there, laying in the tub. She had on a nude gown, her toes and nails were painted nude, and her hair was in a ponytail. She had on mascara. It was smeared.

“What do we do?”

I just stared at her until Bel grabbed my arms and repeated herself

“What do we do?”

I looked at her for a second and told her to get all the money from underneath the bed, the phone, and the hotel keys. I told them to wipe down everything they’ve touched. I went back to looking at her and felt a tear roll down my face. There was so much blood.

I stood there staring at her until they finished up. We left, and I drove to a pay phone and called the police anonymously.

I don’t remember the drive home, I just remember pulling into my garage, and I found myself sitting in my living room, attempting to study. I wanted to avoid the reoccurring question that kept crossing my mind.

Did I cost this girl her life?

2 Thoughts to “Ava!”

  1. Imani, I finally found time to sit and read. This story gave me chills and now I wish there was more. Keep at it, don’t leave us hanging!

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