This Girl Stripped Read online

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  Preview of His

  About Dawn

  THIS GIRL STRIPPED

  Copyright 2014 Dawn Robertson

  All rights reserved as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976. No part of these publications may be reproduced, distributed, transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the Author. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the publisher.

  These books are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  October

  The music blared in my ears as the lights damn near blinded me. My heels were far too fucking high, and the club was packed. Why did I ever think this was a good idea? Oh, that's right! I’m fucking broke.

  I kept telling myself I could do this. I tried to ignore the cat calls surrounding the stage. One drunk in the corner whistled before throwing back a shot. Another man shouted at me to take my clothes off. Twenty-four years old, and instead of being a college graduate or settling down, I’m taking my clothes off for money.

  That morning the owner of the small motel I’d been living in for the past three months gave me until the following morning to come up with three hundred dollars, or I would find myself homeless in Daytona Beach, far from any friends or family. I could’ve called my sister, Star. However, that would’ve meant admitting failure and that would never fucking happen. I’m just way too proud for that.

  I’m snapped out of my thoughts when some scumbag with a matted beard grabs my leg.

  “No fuckin' touching!” My voice failed me. Instead of the authoritative tone I was aiming for, I sounded like the scared little girl I really am. I seductively danced back toward the pole in the center of the stage. I started to untie the barely there triangles of pink fabric covering my tits. I’ve never been shy about being naked, but everything about this screamed run for your fucking life, Paisley!

  “Yeah baby! Shake that ass!” The rowdy men get louder, and I moved my thong -covered ass to the front of the stage again. The Buckcherry song, Crazy Bitch was almost over and I wanted to get as many singles stuffed in my crotch before I walk out that door.

  I dropped down onto my knees, and thrust my pussy into the faces of three men sitting center stage. My hand slide over my bare breasts, and make their way for the tiny piece of fabric that kept me from being entirely naked. I rubbed my hand repeatedly over my cunt giving them the show of their lives.

  When I open my eyes, I meet the most piercing set of green eyes I’d ever seen. His jaw was square. His hair was long and brown, pulled back into a lose ponytail at his nape. Theres a long scar that runs under his eye, and when our eyes meet, he flashes me the most beautiful smile. I forget that I’m on stage in front of hundreds of perverts and focus on him alone.

  He was the man that would make my every nightmare come to life. I just didn’t know it yet.

  I'm Not in Kansas Anymore

  A fist crashes into my face and my body is flung like a rag doll across the shitty motel room I’ve called home for the past month. My back slams against the wall and I gasp for air. The wind is knocked out of me, and I panic as I struggle to fill my lungs with my next breath; but it's not coming. The smell of vodka burns my nostrils, and when I open my mouth struggling to scream for help, not a sound comes out.

  A rough hand wraps around my throat and squeezes. His mouth presses to mine, but I’m paralyzed. I can't push him away, my arms simply won't fucking move. My brain screams at my body to react. Save myself from the assault that is imminent. I should have known better than to accept a ride home from him tonight. Everything in me screamed to call the bouncers and run as far away as I could get. The other part of me let me think there are actually good people left in the world.

  “You deserve this, you disgusting little bitch.”

  His words hurt. Cutting deep into my soul that had been so wounded throughout the years. I feel tears pooling at the corner of my eyes, but as many times as I blink they just don't fall. My vision begins to blur when I only want to see my surroundings. The fight slips out of my body, and I am lifeless in his unforgiving grip.

  The short plaid skirt wrapped tightly around my waist is ripped from my body just before the room goes black. I can't see or feel anything. I can't hear his words. I’m blissfully ignorant to the disgusting assault. He takes something from me I can never get back. Something I’ve held onto with my life as I watched my sisters dish out their cunts to any man who showed a vague interest. Not me.

  I don't know how long I’m unconscious; but when I finally wake from the coma like rest, he’s gone. My room is eerily silent and dark, just the way I left it before I left for the strip club. My bag is packed on the dresser and, surprisingly, my purse is still full of the cash I made during my shift. All four hundred and eight dollars - every cent I have to my name. I roll over onto my side and a surge of pain shoots through my entire body. My hands fly to my ribcage and I hold onto my side as if it will help the pain subside.

  “Fuck,” I mutter under my breath. “Something’s fuckin' broken.” I talk like there is someone else in the room to hear my complaints. Stupid, I was so fucking stupid. I swing my legs off the side of the bed and try to blink my eyes. I can see, it is really blurry, but I can see, thankfully. My left eye is swollen almost shut. I try to force it open further to no avail. My face feels like it came in contact with a fucking brick wall.

  I limp my body into the bathroom and flip on the light switch. My face looks just as bad as it feels. My cheeks are covered in black and blue bruises, there is dried blood caked to my skin with strands of my fiery red hair stuck in it. I look like holy fucking hell. And it’s all my fault.

  I slowly hobble to the shower, pull the curtain back and turn the water on as hot as it can go. Each movement is more painful than the last. I know I shouldn't wash the evidence away, but I want the filth of his touch off of me. I want to wash him away. I want to wash the memory away, even though I doubt that will ever happen.

  I pull my ripped white, blood stained t-shirt off, and let it fall to the floor. I kick off the white cotton panties that were placed on my body after he had his way with me. I can feel the tenderness of my womanhood. He was rough.

  Dried blood sticks to my thighs and pussy. The remnants of the one virtue I held onto into adulthood. He took it like a fucking savage animal. I’m sure it really got his fucking rocks off knowing what he took. I’m silently thankful I wasn’t conscious for any of it.

  I step into the shower and quickly wash him away. The tears flood out of the one eye I can open while I lather layer upon layer of soap. Nothing can get rid of him. The bruises leave behind the memory of what he did, even if I can't remember it.

  I wrap the shitty white motel towel around my body and slowly dry off every tender part of my aching, broken body; all while I wish I could wash off the damage to my soul. I can't kick myself over this for long because I’m worried he’s going to come back for me.

  I've always
lived as an honest person. I've paid my bills, and given what I want to get back from others. Karma ya know? But today, I’m going to run for the first time in my life. I’m going to bail on my bill and pray I have enough money to get to safety. My only hope is that none of my life from Florida ever catches up to me in the safety of Woodstock.

  “Seven?” I whisper into my cell phone as if someone is listening in on my call. Paranoia slowly has crept up on me since the moment I fled. Is this what my life is going to become from here on out?

  She is loud and commanding on the other end, brazen and bold like always. “Paisley, kiddo! I've missed you. To what do I owe this call?” Seven James is everything I wish I could be. She is a powerhouse. A business woman. Strong and demanding. Takes no shit from no one. I often wondered how she became who she is today with the way we were all raised. Shitty, I know. But, I am jealous none the less.

  I can't tell her, so I sit in silence on the other end of the line. I feel fucking foolish. Why did I even bother to call her? Because I need a fucking place to live until I can get my pathetic excuse of a life together.

  Just as I’m about to end the call, she yells through the line. “What happened, Paisley? You fuckin' tell me now!”

  Like the mother hen she has always been to us, Seven immediately knows that something is wrong. I’m terrified and thankful all at once.

  The tears begin. Just when I thought I was all cried out, somehow my body finds a tiny bit of hydration to squeeze out again. I hate crying. I hate my life. I hate the fuckin’ world right now.

  “I need someplace to stay for a couple weeks.” I guess this is better than calling my sister. I don't know what Star would do, but she can hardly take care of herself, let alone her fucked up little sister. Jesus, when did I let my life become so fucking tragic? Paisley, it always has been.

  “Where are you? I’m coming to get you.”

  Yup, Seven is as bossy as I can remember. I’m almost thankful for her commanding nature, because it’s what I need. I need someone to take control of my life. I always have. Looking back, I thought Star would always be there to help me – to guide me - but she can't even do that for herself.

  “Seven, I'm in Daytona Beach. I’m going to get a flight today. I’ll call you when I land.” And like that, I finally get the balls to hang up and make a break for it. I grab the small bag I've been traveling with for the past year and call a cab to meet me at the seven-eleven on the corner. Each step hurts. I press the small bag to my chest, while my other hand holds my gaudy black sunglasses in place praying no one can see the damage he has done to my pale skin. As if.

  Fuck Florida. Fuck Daytona Beach. Fuck that hole in the wall strip club, and most of all, fuck bikers! I hope they all rot in the fucking depths of hell for eternity.

  Twelve hours later I’m tucked in under the plush down comforter in Seven's spacious spare bedroom. The red silk sheets caress my body with the gentlest touch I have felt. It soothes away the pain of the brutal assault only hours earlier. I am slowly at peace.

  That is until I’m left alone with my thoughts. The thoughts of him. The laid back, fun, and flirty evening we shared full of a lap dance and a hand full of drinks. All in good fun, I told myself repeatedly. I should have known that men like him don't do good fun. Men in general don't do good fun; which is why I have always done my best to steer clear of them.

  Call me fucked up, call me damaged. Call me whatever you want to, but the God’s honest truth all circles around my sister and the abuse she suffered at the hands of Blue James, that fucking creep. She protected us; Journey and I, every time that creep would come within a few feet of us. We were young and it made no sense, but as an adult, I know exactly what kind of monster that man is. What a stroll down memory lane.

  Seven did her best to drag the details of my injuries out of me, but I knew the second I told her anything that happened she would be on the phone to Star. The same sister who desperately needed to get her own shit together. I was barely a teen when Star got knocked up, she gave the baby away to another family our shit-tastic parents knew; that was about the same time she spiraled out of control. Either way, she has her own problems to wade through, and I won't be bothering her with my own. Call me the considerate one in the family.

  Yeah, Star... by the way, some biker raped me after shaking my naked ass on stage. I deserved it, right? Not so much.

  His name was Zane, or at least that’s what he told me in between shots of vodka as he chain-smoked a pack of cigarettes. His long dark hair was sexy and I couldn't stop thinking about running my fingers through it while making out. Only making out. He was tempting, extremely tempting. But when you make it to twenty-three years old without fucking, you aren't about to let the first scarred biker you crush on pound you.

  A chill runs through my body, and I shake it off. I'm not exactly sure how I’m going to get through this, but I can tell you that after my childhood, this isn't going to break me. Not by a fucking long shot.

  Just My Luck

  (One Month Later)

  I can't stop staring at it. The white plastic almost blends in with the granite countertops in Seven's guest bathroom. I've been here for a little over four weeks - twenty-nine and a half days to be exact. I’m sure I could count the hours and minutes if I wanted to. I have nothing better to do with my time.

  My mind flies as I stare at the blue plus sign taunting me from the plastic dollar store pregnancy test. Pregnant with my rapist's baby. Why is the world so fucking cruel? I guess it was high hopes to deceive myself with the thought that he actually used a condom.

  I should have prepared myself for the worst. If I’d only been strong enough to tell somebody – anybody - what happened to me, I may not be in this situation. I could’ve gotten the help I needed. I could’ve had the morning after pill or a rape kit. But, I’m not strong enough to be a victim that stands up on her own two feet and asks for help. I wish I could be as strong as Seven.

  What the hell am I going to do? I pour over the details of my life while I continue to stare at the plastic pregnancy test. I have no job, no money. I can’t take care of myself, let alone another person. I could get a job. I’m really damn smart. I could work for Seven. I could ask her for a high paying job, I know she would give it to me. Hell, she would give me anything. I would get fat. I would be reminded of him everyday. Would I think of the attack every time I laid eyes on my round belly? Would it get worse when the baby was born? The thought alone turns my stomach.

  I wage an internal battle. I love this baby because it is part of me. I hate this baby because of him. I can't go through with this because it would only be a daily reminder of what he did to me. I always thought that some day, I would fall in love and give my virginity to a man who treated me like a princess. A man who would cherish every step I took, every breath I breathed. We would create a life out of our love and devotion to each other. But you know what they say about dreams? They are made to be broken; everything about me is broken.

  I mull over my choices. No matter how I slice it, abortion is the only option for me; something I’ve hated since I was old enough to know what it actually was. Something I’ve protested. Here I am, right in the same boat as so many of those poor scared girls I judged for so long. How's that for karma huh?

  A knock on the bedroom door startles me, and I toss the test into the trash.

  “Paisley, you here?” Seven's voice echoes through her spare bedroom. Her heels click against the hardwood floor, and I peak out of the bathroom trying to put on a mask, hiding the life altering news I just received via a three dollar piece of shit.

  “Yeah, I'm here. What's up Seven?” My voice cracks and gives me away, but from her flustered look, it’s obvious she has enough shit on her plate. The reality is, even though she’s tough as nails, she’s just as broken as the rest of us. You can’t be normal with what we came from.

  “Thanksgiving is next week. We’re driving up to Woodstock. I won't take no for an answer; just make sure yo
u have all your shit. I think Star is going to try to talk you into staying. It will be good for you to have a change of scenery for a bit, right?” She probably just wants her privacy too. I don't blame her, I kind of just took over her home.

  I nod in reply. It’s all I can do because when I open my mouth, I feel the urge to cry. I know once I’m alone again, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I need to get it out. All of it. I need to stop trying to be emotionally void and accept everything that happened and work on moving forward. Healing – it’s what normal people do.

  “Paisley, I know we haven't been the closest over the years. But honey, if you need to talk, you know I’m here for you.” Her words trigger something inside me. I break, shatter into thousands of pieces as the tears well up in my eyes. We have never been close; she is right about that, but right now she is the only person I want to cling to.

  “Seven, it was horrible,” my legs give out and I fall to the bedroom floor as I wrap my arms around my middle. Seven kicks her heels off, and plops down on the floor next to me. Her arms wrap around my body and pull me into her lap like a child. I willingly go to her. I am a child, I need the comfort. I need the reassurance. I need the love I have never been shown a day in my life. The love I have always begged for.

  “Shhh... It's okay Paisley. I got you,” her hands rub up and down my back as I bawl on her shoulder, holding on for dear life. My death grip will leave bruises, but I can't pull away. In between gasps for air, and wailing I begin to tell her everything.

  “He raped me. He beat the shit out of me and raped me.” I feel like I’m going to hyperventilate. I’m not sure exactly what happens, maybe I actually leave my body, but shit gets real. I calm down and the words begin to come out more clearly. My body stops shaking and the sobs subside.

  “Seven, he took my virginity. He’s a monster. I’m pregnant with a monster's baby.” I sigh and pull away from her to stand. I need to reclaim some kind of independence as I work through this. I need to get away from the touch of another. Even if it’s only Seven.