Chapter 5

The limousine pulled up in front of my house at 5:30 in the morning. Everything was still dark. The coach lights were not even on. It felt like an omen or, more precisely, it seemed to exemplify the state of my marriage.

With a sigh, I opened the door and stepped out. I stared up at the house I had loved for years, the place where we had raised our children, the place I had shared with the love of my life.

Now, that person, who had been my husband, had sold me as a sex slave. He had turned me from a soccer mom into a high-paid prostitute, a slut, a kept woman. What did my Judas get with his bag of silver?

I walked up the sidewalk, slid the key in the door and stepped inside this empty shell of a home. The only saving grace was my children, my two beautiful girls. I dropped my clutch and keys on the table in the foyer and kicked off the slutty, come-fuck-me heels I had worn to the “interview.”

I climbed the stairs in silence and walked down the long hall to the back of the house. The door was open, and I could see my girls asleep in their beds. Chrissy, the older had the top bunk and her sister Maggie the bottom. I approached the pink bunk beds and stared at my angels. I wanted to touch them, to hug them, to kiss them, but I felt dirty, unclean and tainted. Tears ran down my cheeks as I turned and left them.

I made my way to the kitchen and with shaking hands, poured myself a half-glass of orange juice, then filled it with Vodka. I drank it rapidly, nearly choking on it. The juice did little to lessen the burn of the alcohol. I was not an alcoholic; I just needed something to calm my nerves and to make me feel better about myself.

I left the empty glass in the sink and felt an overpowering urge to get clean. I stripped off the whore’s costume, the dress, the bra, the thong, and walked naked through the house to the room I shared with my pimp and husband, Dave, my betrayer.

He was there. Asleep. Snoring.

I stared at him in the half-lit room. I bet he was so happy now. He had everything he wanted, everything he had worked so hard for. A price had been paid for him to get it all. A price that he didn’t have to pay. He was not the one who was fucked repeatedly and forced to submit to the dominant will of his boss. He left that duty to me, while he was rewarded.

I felt a wave of nausea and I ran to the bathroom. I failed to vomit. Somehow that saddened me more. If I could purge myself, could I purge myself of this new life? Could I go back and undo it all? Could I be free again? But no, the bile subsided and I was still a whore.

I turned on the shower and climbed in, gasping as the icy water hit my body. The shock took my breath, but could not take my pain. Gradually, the water warmed and then became scalding. I felt it searing my flesh. I grabbed a loofa and began to scrub. I wanted to clean the scent of infidelity from my body and my memory. I tried to wash away my sin, my guilt, my humiliation, but most importantly I wanted to cleanse myself of my desire for more.

I washed and scrubbed until the water became cold again. Finally, shivering, I turned off the shower and got out. I dried, looking at myself in the mirror. Had I changed? Visibly, there was very little sign of my transformation, only a bruise here and there from when Steven had been too aggressive. The mirror lied and hid the reality. I was no longer the Julie that had looked into this mirror twenty-four hours ago.