Young girls usually form bonds with their exploiter who will pretend to be the girls’ boyfriend.
“He’s not my pimp—he’s my boyfriend.”
—Trafficking survivor
SADLY, MANY TRAFFICKED GIRLS in the United States do not recognize their own victimization. This is a pimp’s strategy from the beginning— to seduce the child into a one-sided relationship of complete submission and blind devotion to him.
This trafficking tactic is known as “Lover boy syndrome” and is, by far, the most common approach pimps use to lure young girls into commercial sexual exploitation.
“We eat, drink, and sleep thinking of ways to trick young girls into doing what we want them to do.”
—Chicago ex-pimp1
A Lover boy will target young girls who are defenseless and can be manipulated easily. Vulnerabilities traffickers look for in girls are low self-esteem, isolation, a history of sexual abuse, homelessness, a fatherless or broken home, conflict with parents, and other signs of insecurity.
“Any player can tell when a girl has the look of desperation that you know she needs attention or love. It’s something you start to have a sixth sense about.”
—Chicago ex-pimp2
The primary means of control this type of trafficker uses is psychological manipulation. Lover boys are typically charismatic and persuasive, priding themselves on their ability to control young girls through finesse. Their tactics are systematic. First, they initiate conversation with the intention of drawing out the child’s vulnerabilities. Next, they listen intently and develop a relationship based on the child’s needs. Whatever she needs— father, boyfriend, or caregiver—that is what the Lover boy provides.
“He was able to lure me away from home with things like he could help me become a model, he could help me become a songwriter because I really wanted to join a rock band. Things that might sound not so real to an adult. They worked well on me at fourteen. And so he lured me away from home, and within hours of running away, I was forced into prostitution. … ”
—Holly, survivor3
The relationship will have an initial period of false love and feigned affection, which is known as the “honeymoon” phase. The bonding that occurs during this phase is critical to attaining long-term mind control over the child. Some bonding techniques traffickers use are gifts, compliments, sexual and physical intimacy, and promises of a better life.4 As the relationship progresses, the girl becomes dependent on her trafficker to meet her physical and emotional needs. Once this dependency is developed, the Lover boy will ask the girl to help support him financially by any means necessary, specifically prostitution.
“A few months ago, seventeen-year-old Sarah was walking to the store alone. A thirty-year-old male drove up beside her and told her how pretty she was and asked why she looked so sad. Sarah told him that she was angry with her mom and just needed to take a walk. He asked if he could take her to get her nails done down the street to cheer her up, and she agreed. … They spent a lot of time together, and he asked Sarah to move in with him, but after a month of living together, he told her he couldn’t make the rent payment and needed help. He asked her to go on dates with older men and engage in commercial sex. Sarah felt uncomfortable, but agreed because she would do anything not to return home and wanted to make him happy.”
—Sarah, survivor5
Once a girl has been “turned out” by exchanging sex for money, the relationship changes. The honeymoon phase soon ends, and the trafficker typically becomes verbally and physically abusive, forcing her into continued prostitution. She is confused by the loss of affection and will do anything to get back her trafficker’s love and attention. This connectivity between the victim and the trafficker is called “traumatic bonding” and is similar to Stockholm Syndrome. Traumatic bonding is a “strong emotional tie that develops between two persons, where one person intermittently harasses, beats, threatens, abuses, or intimidates the other.”6
“Weakness is the best trait in a person you want to control. You have to tear down someone’s ego to nothing before they will start looking to you for salvation.”
—Pimpin’ Ken7
Despite this abuse, the child becomes brainwashed into believing she has chosen a lifestyle of prostitution and is in complete control of her own life—fully convincing herself that she is not a victim.
When a girl has resigned to or even embraced a lifestyle of sexual exploitation, she will likely conform to the “rules” required by her trafficker to please him. Pimps often require girls to write and recite the rules they are to live by. Police found a hand-written collection of rules in Carlton “Privilege” Simon’s car when he was arrested on suspicion of promoting prostitution in 2006.
Pimp rules, Suffolk County Sheriff’s Office
“Rule #7: Be down and dirty, side or die for your pimp, even if it involves sacrificing yourself. Your pimp is your priority, your primary, and your number one, and you are to see to his every need.”
—Privilege, a pimp8
While flying into Dallas, Texas, for the 2011 Super Bowl, an anti-trafficking associate of mine overheard one pimp talking to another on the airplane. He said something to the effect of, “Most of the girls flew in last night and are waiting for me to arrive. We will do good business. We are bringing in carne fresca (fresh meat) for the game.” This pimp’s victims were clearly “on automatic” and didn’t even need him in the same city to stay “dutiful” to him.
Once a girl has reached this degree of bonding with her trafficker, she will seldom attempt to run away. He and the other girls have become her support system. She will either “love” him and choose to stay under his control, or she will be too fearful of being on her own to leave. This bonding creates a mechanized return response in the girl. Even if she has an opportunity to leave, she will choose to come back to her pimp. This is known as being on automatic.
“The process of sending girls on automatic allows the trafficker to keep a distance from the crime he is committing.”9 Keeping her isolated from others outside of the pimp “family” and dependent on the family to have her needs met ensures that she will remain on automatic. In the words of one hardened pimp:
“One of the best ways to keep a ho off balance is to move her around. If a ho is in a location too long, she will get used to the place, and her mind will wander to her own thoughts. … Without roots, even the mightiest tree can be easily moved here and there. People are the same way. Without strong ties to a place, family, or loved ones, they can be easily manipulated and controlled. If you can keep a person off balance, they’ll be too busy trying to regain stability to try to unbalance you.”
—Pimpin’ Ken10
Denver Police Department and Prism magazine, progression of eighteen-year-old girl prostituted over a period of one year.
“He’d make me go stand out on the street until a trick would pick me up. Sometimes it was dangerous, but I knew he cared about me, ‘cuz he said hed buy me a Taser once I earned enough money to afford one.”
—Survivor, age fourteen
Sex-trafficked children are losing more than just their innocence. They are being robbed of their very lives. Tragically, most trafficking victims will die within seven years of first being trafficked. An average woman may live to be eighty-one years old and a man seventy-six, but these children can expect to die at an average of twenty to twenty-one years old.11
“You start by making rules for yourself, but if you’re out there and you’re not getting the money you want, you can start giving in [unprotected sex].”
—Youth survivor12
It is important to emphasize that commercially sexually exploited children suffer from a number of serious physical ailments. They more readily engage in unsafe behaviors such as “raw,” or unprotected, sex to make more money. This makes them highly susceptible to HIV and AIDS. Sexually exploited children also are exposed to excessive forms of violence, including bondage, dominance, and sadomasochism, known as BDSM, along with snuff or splatter films, which often include the actual violent death of a participant engaged in a sex act. Along with these disturbing realities, there are other abuses from which trafficked children might suffer, including:13
• Sexually transmissible infections
• Drug and alcohol addiction
• Malnutrition
• Sterility, miscarriages, and menstrual problems
• Physical injuries such as broken bones, burns, and vaginal and anal tearing
• Traumatic brain injuries, including concussions
• Death
“Prosecutors allege that he [pimp] kept a new pair of Timberland boots in his car that he would put on and use to stomp a prostitute.”14
For those fortunate to live through the abuse, many will suffer short-and long-term psychological effects from the trauma:15
• Depression or hopelessness
• Low self-esteem
• Anxiety
• Insomnia
• Extreme grief
• Fear
• Suicidal thoughts and behaviors
A natural progression for a girl who has been with a pimp for an extended period of time is to become his “bottom.” The role of a bottom is considered to be a position of power and status over the other girls under the pimp’s control. She might be required to handle finances, train and recruit other girls, work the track (common prostitution areas) in her pimp’s stead, run interference for and collect money from the girls under the pimp’s control, and look after the pimp’s affairs if he is out of town, incarcerated, or otherwise unavailable.16 Having become solely devoted to her pimp, a bottom will assume a defensive role to protect her trafficker.
“When he went to prison for ten years for almost killing one of his girls, she took over the business to raise money for his attorney fees.”17
—Bottom girl
Most girls regret that, in their role as bottom, they participated in the recruitment of other unsuspecting victims. While the girls have clearly been victimized initially, after time, they become desensitized to the life, and some assume positions as bottoms, recruiters, and even traffickers themselves. This seems to be an area of great shame for many women who have been prostituted. In the next story, you will witness Tiana’s progression into the role of bottom alongside her trafficker.
After all of this sobering information, it’s time for a little inspiration. There are so many wonderful stories of men and women who have not only come through being trafficked but are now powerful leaders in the fight. They didn’t transition from being held captive to leadership overnight. They each had their own journey of overcoming, step by step.
These next two sections, titled “There Is Hope” and “The Inside Story,” appear at the end of each overview. There Is Hope will give you a brief tale about a survivor or advocate, and The Inside Story will give you a small fact about the survivor whose story you are about to read.
“Jazmine was waiting to interview for work at the strip club. She had been sleeping on the streets, turning tricks for an abusive ‘boyfriend,’ and was desperate for help. So a friend and I made some calls. The one home that would take her demanded that she leave her cigarettes and drugs behind. She had a BIG decision to make. Did she really want out of the life or just a short break from the streets? Time would tell. I dropped her at the home—but didn’t know if she stayed. Months later, I unexpectedly ran into Jazmine. After big hugs, she said, ‘It isn’t easy, but I’m still at the home and taking it one day at a time.’ Jazmine stayed and was taking steps toward freedom—now, I call that success!”
—Alisa Jordheim, Founder, Justice Society
“It was a victorious and painful day for Tiana, as she sat in my living room sharing the details of her captivity. This was the first time she had put her experiences into words. The retelling was difficult, and we cried a lot that day, but Tiana was committed to have her story told. She believes that if sharing her story will help keep one girl from falling prey to a ‘Lover boy,’ then it is worth telling.”
This is what Tiana had to say after reading her own story for the first time: “Wow!!!!! Alisa, I can’t tell you how overwhelming it was to read that. Not in a bad way at all, just kind of surreal. I love it.” The following story is Tiana’s courageous journey from captivity to freedom.
I sit alone on my bed in my grandma’s trailer looking out at the Alabama sunset. It’s that moment during dusk when the sunlight is a deep yellow just before turning orange and disappearing. Watching the dust float in the sunlight streaming through the blinds of my window, I think, Grandma would be cleaning now if she were here to know how dusty it is.
I shake myself out of my dreamy state to look around my room for the last time, pick up my one small bag of possessions, and say goodbye to the only place I’ve ever been loved. Taking a deep breath, I inhale the smell. Grandma’s trailer always smells so clean. Goodbye, home.
I feel sadness overwhelm me again, and I want to lie down and cry. There’s no time for that. Grow up, Tiana. You’ve cried enough, and there’s nothing you can do to change this. You have to take care of yourself now. … But how? My aunt is taking me in at her assisted-living apartment, just until after Grandma’s funeral. She’s allowed to have guests for only few days at a time, so after that, who knows where I’ll end up?
I manage to get through the funeral without a total meltdown, and after one day with my aunt, I still have no ideas on where to go. I decide to call Mom. I know she’s been too consumed in her grief and drugs to be worried about me. But I don’t have anywhere else to go, and it won’t hurt to ask if I can stay with her a while. The phone rings. I bite my nails, waiting. She answers.
“Mom? It’s me.”
“Wha’s it, Tia? I’m busy righ’ now.” Her words slur.
“Well, I just wanted to ask if maybe I could come stay with you a while? I won’t have anywhere to stay in a few days, and I could come help … ”
“How can you ask me that, Tia? You thin’ I need one more thing to think abou’?”
Ugh, she can’t even let me finish talking! Deep breath. “I know, Mom, but I won’t be any trouble, and I’ll help out, and you won’t even know I’m there. I just need … ”
“Tia, thire’s too much goin’ on righ’ now. I juss got through yur brother’s funeral an’ then had ta plan yur gran’ma’s. I don’ have the money ta feed myself. I can’ feed you, too. I’m sure you can fine a frien’ or someone ta stay with. I’m sorry.” She hangs up.
Why did I even try calling her? I knew she wouldn’t want me. She never wanted me. Her life has always been consumed with drugs and taking care of my little brother, Tyler. He had muscular dystrophy, and Mom gave everything to care for him. That’s part of why I left when I was a kid to go live with Grandma. Mom couldn’t handle taking care of me, too. She catered to Tyler’s every need for years and years, even damaging her shoulders to the point of needing surgery because she had moved his heavy, limp body around by herself so often. I thought maybe—just maybe—things would be different now.
A couple of weeks ago, ten days before Grandma died, Tyler’s heart gave out. It was unexpected, and I know Mom blames herself for his death. She still can’t manage to think about anyone but herself and him. And I’ve still got no place to call home.
It’s my junior year of high school, and I want so badly to graduate with my class. The next several weeks, I hop from one friend’s house to another*, trying to stay in my school district and keep up in class. But it’s hard to focus on homework and projects when I’m on the move all the time.
One night, when I’m trying to find the next place to move to, my friend, Alexis, comes to mind. I haven’t talked to her since she dropped out of school a few months ago when her mom died. I text her and ask if she has room for me to crash with her for a while. She texts back right away: “Ti! Yeah, girl, come on! I haven’t seen you in so long! I’m staying at the Motel 6 and am bored as hell over here.”
I meet up with her in front of the motel where her boyfriend, Bruce, pays for her room. She squeals when she sees me.
“Oh, my god, finally someone to have some fun with! Bruce has been so grumpy lately, and I’ve been so lonely. Did I tell you he’s married?”
“Um … no.”
“Yeah, he keeps saying this place is our little getaway, but that soon he’s gunna leave his wife for me. I just wish he’d leave her now.”
She puts on a pouty face, but then smiles: “You and me’ll have a great time, though!”
She locks arms with me, and we walk up to the room.
“So tell me, what’s up with you?” she says. “Are you dating anyone?”
Memories of living with my mom and seeing her with naked men flash through my mind. I can’t imagine why someone would want that. I’ve never even kissed a guy, and that’s fine with me.
I smile at Alexis. “You know me! I never have time for boys.”
“Well, maybe you will now,” she says with a wink. “You’re not going back to school, right?”
I’m not sure how to answer her. I’ve tried so hard for so long to stay in class and make it to graduation, but it just isn’t working.
“For now, I think I’ll take a break. At least until things are more stable. Maybe I’ll go back next year to finish.”
The room Alexis and I stay in isn’t bad. There’s a microwave where we cook TV dinners, and a maid comes every few days to clean and change the sheets. It’s nice having a friend around, although Alexis mostly just talks about Bruce and the latest fight they’ve had.
After a couple of weeks, Alexis says to me, “So, I have this friend Chris who’s really fun. He said we could stay with him for a while. He has all kinds of connections.” I’m not sure what she means by “connections,” but I figure if it’s a place to stay, I’ll go along.
“OK, sounds cool. What about Bruce and the room?”
“Don’t get me started. I’m so sick of him! I’m not even telling him where we’re going. He thinks just because he gives me money that he can keep me here, ready to put out at his command. He’s never gunna leave the dirty slut he’s married to, but I can get any man I want and any thing I want. He’ll be pissed when he finds out I left right after he paid for this room another week!” She laughs.
The next day, Alexis drives us about twenty minutes to another town and parks in front of a dilapidated apartment building.
“Is this where Chris lives?” I ask. I guess my face shows my disgust because she responds:
“Oh, come on. It’ll be more fun than it looks. I promise.”
Once inside, I really wonder what Alexis means. Chris’s apartment hardly has any furniture, and it’s dirty. The smell of mold hits my nose, and I’m immediately nauseated. There’s a small crowd of people lounging around, but it still feels lonely. Chris opens his fridge and says, “I’d offer you a drink, but … ” His fridge is empty except for one beer. He takes the one beer for himself, and we sit down on the filthy couch that has a card table in front of it. There are rows of white powder on the table.
“Told you it would be fun,” Alexis says.
What the… No way. I can’t do this.
“Your friend looks kinda freaked,” Chris says. “Not gunna wuss out on us, are you?”
“Oh, she’s fine. Just got a little car sick on the way here,” Alexis lies. She leans over to me and whispers, “Don’t bail on me. It’s fun, I promise. Besides, you can’t knock it ’til you try it.”
Right now, that statement doesn’t make sense to me, but these people are my meal ticket, and I have nowhere else to go. Maybe it will be fun? I take my first line of coke.
We stay the night, and the next day I feel awful. I’m never doing coke again. I walk out of the bedroom I slept in, and Alexis, Chris, and a few other guys are gathered around the card table talking. I sit on the couch, listening to what they’re saying. I don’t know if it’s the aftereffects of the coke or the smell of mold, but I feel like throwing up.
“These Asian guys came into town on some kind of business yesterday. They let me know they want some girls tonight,” says Chris’s friend.
“Perfect,” Chris says. “I know just the girls. I’ll send ’em over tonight.”
He bags up a hit of cocaine and hands it to the other guy in exchange for a wad of bills.
I am freaking out inside. After living with Grandma for so long, I realize I’ve been really sheltered—I’ve never heard talk like this. My mom may have been an addict and even slept with guys for money, but she didn’t discuss it in the open like these guys are.
I try to keep cool, like Alexis. I don’t want them to know I’m scared as hell. I have to leave this place. Slowly, I stand up, head to the bedroom, and start packing my stuff. Hopefully, I can just walk out the door without them noticing and catch a bus out of here. I’m headed for the front door when one of the guys sees me.
“Where is she going?” He sounds panicked. “We can’t just let her leave! She’ll go to the cops!”
“I’m not going to the cops,” I say, trying to stay calm. “I feel sick and just want to go home.” Whatever that means. “Look, I promise, I’m not telling anyone what’s going on here. Just let me leave, and I won’t tell anyone.”
Chris looks paranoid. “Grab her bag!” One of the guys does.
“Whatever, keep it,” I say. “I don’t care.”
I swing the door open and start running. They don’t come after me. Not even Alexis. My heart is racing, and I’m running as fast as I can. I make it all the way to a gas station two blocks away before I realize I don’t even have my ID. My clothes, shoes—everything I own except the clothes on my back—are in my bag. At least I have enough money in my jeans pocket for the bus.
My great-aunt, the same one I stayed with before Grandma’s funeral, should be able to put me up again. That will buy me some time until I find another place to go. A lady at the bus stop lets me borrow her cell phone to call my aunt. This time I can stay with her for a week, and that’s more time than I thought I’d have.
Three days pass at my aunt’s, and I still don’t know what I’m going to do. Maybe I can go back to stay with Alexis. I don’t think she was staying long-term with that guy Chris—that was just a short stay. She seems to always be looking ahead to her next step. I text her.
“Hey, grl, just wondering if you know of a place I can stay? Im at my aunts and only have a few more days I can stay here.”
“Grl u calmed down since the last time I saw u? I’m in Atlanta with this guy Marcus. Hes got room for anthr grl. He’ll give u a job n take care of u. Give him a call. Hes real nice.”
She texts me the number, but I’m not sure what I want to do with it. As I crawl into bed, I start thinking over my options. It doesn’t seem smart to go stay with a guy I don’t know in another state. On the other hand, a job sounds great, and Alexis said he’s nice. I’ve never been to Atlanta, let alone a state other than Alabama. It’s gotta be better than what I have here— nothing. What choice do I have? I really don’t have any options. I have nowhere else to go. In a few more days, I can be either on the streets or with this guy, Marcus, starting a new life. The next morning, I call the number.
“This is Marcus.”
“Hi, this is Tiana. … I’m a friend of Alexis’s. I’m looking for a place to stay, and … ”
“Oh, yeah, Alexis told me about you. Baby, you’re in Alabama?”
I feel shivers go down my spine. I’ve never been called “baby” by a man.
“Yeah. I don’t really have a way to get to Atlanta, though.”
“Don’t you worry about that. I’ll take care of it. I have to make a little trip to Mississippi and can pick you up. You have to be willing to do the job I have for you, though. Have you ever danced? For men, I mean.”
I falter. I could have guessed it would be a job like this, but I’m really not sure how to answer. Time to woman up.
“No, but my mom used to, and I know I could do it.”
“Good. I can teach you the ropes. It’s not hard, but you can’t be scared, you got it?”
“No way, I’m cool. It’s no problem.” I hope my voice isn’t shaking like my hands are.
Marcus starts explaining the details of the job to me. It’s more graphic than I expect, and my stomach is churning. I wonder if my mom did all this stuff. Hearing this man I don’t know say these things in reference to me is surreal. It doesn’t seem like real life, and it’s frightening. I can’t let Marcus know how scared I am. Just act like it’s all normal to you, Tiana. You can do it, no big deal.
“And make sure you’re there and on time when I come to pick you up. Don’t back out on me, got it? I’ll take care of you if you take care of me.”
A couple of days later, in the evening, a black Lincoln Town Car pulls up in front of my aunt’s place. I’m waiting outside. Don’t freak out until you know what’s going on. A big, well-dressed black guy gets out of the car and walks toward me. He’s wearing designer jeans and a dark purple button-up shirt. He’re very handsome.
“You’re Tiana?”
I nod, and he asks, “Where’s your stuff?”
“This is it. Just me and the clothes I’m wearing.”
“All right, well, we’ll fix that soon enough. Get in the car.”
There’s a skinny black girl in the car. She looks younger than me, maybe fourteen. She doesn’t look at me and doesn’t say a word. We drive for a little while, then stop at a pretty nice hotel and get two rooms. We’re only about twenty minutes away from where I grew up with Grandma. Marcus puts the other girl in a room, and then he turns to me.
“Are you hungry?”
I nod.
“Come on.” He takes me to the IHOP next to the hotel.
There aren’t many people inside, and we sit in a booth in the corner. He starts asking me questions.
“Tell me about yourself. Where are your parents?”
“Well, my mom doesn’t live too far from here, actually. But she’s crazy and on drugs and stuff. My dad left when I was a baby, so I never knew him.”
He asks more questions, and I tell him all about Grandma and my life with her, how I used to make good grades. I tell him about how my mom and all her siblings were abused by their dad and how they’re all just messed up now. I even tell him my memories of my mom having sex with strangers. It’s a little strange to me that Marcus is interested enough to listen, but it’s so nice to be with someone who seems to care, I just keep talking.
I don’t know what I expected Marcus to be like, but I didn’t expect the man in front of me. With everything he does—the way he walks, the way he talks—he’s so sure of himself and sounds educated. He flirts with the waitress, and we get a free pot of coffee. As he talks to me, I feel safe, like he really is going to take care of me. After being on my own for so long, I rest in the feeling that maybe there’s someone to look out for me now.
We go back to the hotel, and Marcus takes me into the room across the hall from where the other girl is. My legs start to go limp, and my stomach’s full of butterflies. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I have a feeling he’s going to tell me more about the job he has for me, and I’m terrified.
“Take off your clothes.” My stomach flip-flops, and I look at him to see if he’s serious. He’s serious. Oh, my gosh. OK, I’m not gunna run, and I don’t think I can tell this guy no. He said he’d take care of me. There’s nothing else for you, Tiana. I turn away and take them off.
“Turn around, let me see you.”
My heart feels like it’s going to beat my chest open. I turn. Why am I doing this? I ask myself. Because you can’t be a little girl forever. Because you don’t have anyone else to help you, so you might as well do this now and get it over with.
“You look scared,” he says.
“I’ve never been naked in front of anyone but my grandma.”
He laughs.
“You’re shittin’ me, right?”
“You mean to tell me you’ve never had sex?”
“Yeah, I’m serious. I’ve never done anything like this. I’ve never done anything with anyone.”
At that, he cracks up. “Well, I guess I’ll be your first!”
I’m shaking so badly, I can hardly control my hands. He has me get on my knees and then shows me how to give him a blowjob. I feel like I could faint.
This is it—this is your life now. Grandma’s gone, childhood is over; it’s time to grow up.
Then it’s over. I’m relieved I don’t have to do more. He stands over me.
“You should have gotten money for that, and every time you do it after this, it won’t be for free. You got that?”
I nod, curled up on the bed with my eyes closed so I don’t cry in front of him. I don’t want to look at him, anyway. Stop being such a little girl! How many of your friends were doing this and more with boys a long time ago? It’s no big deal. Grow up!
Marcus starts to leave, then turns around, walks over, and takes my face in his hands. I look up at him, and he says, “I guess like momma, like daughter, huh? Don’t you ever forget what you came from.”
I don’t see him again until morning.
The other girl who was traveling with us gets dropped off at a house somewhere just outside of Atlanta. I never see her again. When we finally get into the city, we stay in a nice Comfort Inn in an upscale neighborhood. Alexis is there, with a few other girls, and we all have our own rooms. I get the feeling that none of them really like me. They’re all very cold toward me, all except Alexis, who is her friendly self. But she goes straight to her room after I get there, so I spend some time resting in mine. I wake up to knocking at my door.
“Open up. It’s time to get ready for work.” It’s Marcus.
I let him in, and he’s holding a skimpy red dress. He tells me to take my clothes off and get on the bed. Then he starts getting undressed, and I know what’s about to happen. He doesn’t yell or force me. He doesn’t have to. I’m so nervous I’m shaking, but I’ve made my decision. I’m in this for good and just have to suck it up and survive.
After he has sex with me, I put on the dress and attempt to do my own hair and makeup. One of his girls named Rochelle comes to my door. She has a black eye. “You’re riding with me tonight. You follow my lead and do what I say. You don’t, and you could end up in jail or dead behind a Dumpster, got it?”
I nod.
“Here’s what’s gunna happen: When a trick comes over, I do the talking. I make the deals, and when I tell you to go with him, you do whatever he asks. Don’t look at anyone but the trick, and don’t ever, ever come back without the full amount of money I set in the deal.”
I examine her black eye and nod again.
She drives a black Mercedes to a shady looking part of the city, to a street called Forsyth. We just drive, windows down, back and forth on that street. Rochelle honks at the other cars driving by and motions for them to pull over. If they like what they see—either her or me—she makes a deal with them. They get back in their car, and we follow them, sometimes behind an old, run-down building and sometimes to one of the nasty motels nearby.
Everyone driving the street is here for the same thing; they’re all either prostitutes or johns, and they’re all in cars. No one is walking the streets; it’s just driving and honking. Rochelle and I do this all night. I sleep with so many guys that night it doesn’t seem real.
The first week is pretty crazy. I get arrested. I don’t know what I’m doing yet; I just know I’m supposed to ask every guy I see if they want a date. I’m driving Forsyth, doing just that and, unaware, I ask a cop.
Honk! Honk! I wave out my window at a little Ford. This guy looks interested. I pull up next to him.
“Hey, handsome, wanna take me on a date?”*
He holds up a badge. “Pull your vehicle over, ma’am.”
So I go to jail and sit there for three days until Marcus finally gets me out. When we get home, he punches me hard in the stomach. “That’s for making me waste my time and money.”
After that, I get arrested so many times it just seems like part of my routine. More than just going to jail, I’m ticketed regularly for solicitation. The local vice cops know me by name.
Clearly, this is not the dancing that Marcus led me to believe I’d be doing, but I’m not completely naive. A guy isn’t going to offer to take care of you if all you’re doing for him is dancing. And I’m going to do whatever I need to do to survive. This is my only choice, so I adapt quickly.
It’s not long before Alexis leaves to go with another pimp, and I hardly see her after that. Eventually, Marcus moves all of us into a huge house in an upper-middle-class area of Atlanta. It’s big enough for each of us to have our own room, and mine has a big, comfy bed and a closet full of clothes.
My days consist of sleeping as much as I can, waking up to Marcus banging on my door to get me up, then out driving the streets until morning the next day. The only break in my schedule is when I make the occasional trip to Walmart to buy condoms and other necessities. Marcus always makes sure his girls have everything they need as far as food, clothes, and a comfortable place to stay, so I figure it’s a pretty even exchange when I give him the money I’ve made after a long night of working.
Even though it’s physically wearing doing this seven days a week, I’d rather have this than no roof over my head. I’m so tired all the time. Sometimes I fall asleep in the bathtub after getting home and don’t wake up until Marcus is practically beating down the door. Mindlessly, I will my body to move and begin the routine that has become so familiar.
Marcus always makes sure I’m on time. Time is money, and we can’t be one minute late to the job. He keeps all his girls in line with his rules: Don’t be late, don’t get drunk, and drugs will not be tolerated—at all.
One night, we’re all getting ready, and down the hallway I hear Marcus shouting.
“You’re wasting my time and my money! You knew the consequences when you bought the drugs.”
I step out of my room and see clothes and things being tossed out the doorway of one of the rooms.
“Please, it was just this once, I swear! I’ve never even … ”
“Stupid bitch, you were warned. You think you can use my money to feed your addiction? Get out. Now! Before I beat you!”
After that, I know Marcus is serious about his rules. The bottom line for Marcus is, it’s all about the bottom line—the classier and cleaner the girl, the more money she’ll bring in.
He doesn’t even allow us to cuss around him because he says a real lady doesn’t use those words. He even encourages us to use condoms—except, of course, when we sleep with him. I definitely don’t need to complicate things with a pregnancy or STD.
The first time I have a condom break on me, I flip out. I’m with a john who looks real sleazy. Who knows how many girls he has slept with?
“Oh my god … oh my god! It broke—the condom broke! What do I do?” This guy could have AIDS, for all I know. I could die because a freakin condom broke!
“Calm down, baby. It’s not the end of the world. I shouldn’t have even used one,” he says.
“Just give me my money. I have to get out of here.”
I rush myself to the ER. “I got raped. I need you to do a rape kit on me!” I lie to the lady behind the counter. She looks suspicious but says, “OK, I’ll need you to fill out this paperwork.”
Everything comes back fine—no STDs, no AIDS. I’m so relieved, I almost cry. After that, any time a condom breaks or I’m raped, I leave the job to go to the ER. I’m constantly paranoid that I’ll get AIDS and die. Marcus will be so furious—probably beat me—if he ever finds out that I go to the hospital. Not only is he missing out on clients and money, but it means I am putting him at risk for getting caught and the authorities finding out that he’s pimping me out. Of course, I never tell him when I go, but I’m more afraid of getting AIDS than I am of him.
I make sure I never go to the same hospital twice in a row, but there are only a few hospitals around Atlanta. As often as I have a scare, I’m in the hospitals enough that the nurses and doctors start to recognize me. I’d never tell them that I’m a prostitute, but they probably suspect it. All I say is that I’ve been raped and need them to do a rape kit on me. It’s a messed-up thing to do, I know, but what other options do I have?
I learn a lot about how to look out for myself. Sometimes that means taking a lesson from Marcus about what happens when I don’t follow his rules—such as not looking at a man who is not a trick.* One day, Marcus and a couple of us girls are walking down the street, and I look up at a man passing by me. Immediately, Marcus grabs my neck and pushes me around the nearest corner.
“You think I didn’t see that, bitch?!” He hits me hard across the face. “Don’t you ever, ever look at a man you aren’t planning on fucking, you got that? You get off the sidewalk and walk in the street before you walk past another man!” He hits me one more time, and my nose is bleeding.
He doesn’t always beat me, but after a while I’ve been hit enough that I almost get used to it. Somehow, I just turn off my emotions to everything. Things such as getting beaten or being raped by johns are just a part of my “normal.”
One night, I’m in the car waiting for another girl, Kiki, to finish at a hotel with a john. A Hispanic man comes up to my window speaking Spanish. I understand enough to know that he’s asking for directions. I barely crack the window to tell him, “Hablo muy poquito español” because I speak and understand only a little Spanish. I hear my passenger-side door open, and before I can even fully turn to see if it’s Kiki, I’m punched in the face and dragged from the car.
The guy and his friend, who he’s calling “cousin” in Spanish, throw me into the backseat of my car. They get in the front and start driving. We go for a few minutes and stop behind a building I’m not familiar with. The first guy gets in the backseat and rapes me. The other guy is up front waiting his turn. When the first guy is done with me, he says something to the other that starts an argument. I’m not exactly sure what they are saying, but I pick up enough to piece together something about shoving me in the trunk and taking me to someone’s house. They try to fistfight between the seats and end up getting out of the car to fight. As soon as the door shuts, I jump into the front seat and take off. I can’t believe they left the keys in the ignition. It’s a miracle that I get away.
It’s less than a month later, and my car breaks down at a 7-Eleven. I’m with another girl, Jocelyn. I see a good-looking, middle-aged white guy watching us as we open the hood, and he comes over.
“I can give you ladies a ride, if you need one.”
“OK, sure, we don’t have far to go,” I say, and we get in his car.
As soon as we’re in, he looks at Jocelyn and says, “I’d like to have a little fun with you before I drop you off.”
“Sure, baby, whatever you want,” she says, cozying up to him. She knows how to get the most money for her work.
He takes us behind a row of auto-repair garages.
“Yeah, it’s safe here. I come here all the time,” he says as though he’s answering someone. He’s talking fast, and I notice he has a wild look in his eyes. I realize he must be on something.
I get out of the backseat to wait outside, and bam! He’s suddenly on top of me punching the shit out of me. I scream for help as I see Jocelyn disappearing around the corner of the garage. Like a switch being flipped, I feel myself shift—it’s like my instincts kick in and the only thought in my head is stay alive. I fight back. I fight him as hard as I can, punching, kicking, screaming, ’til I think I’m going to pass out if he hits me one more time.
Then he grabs me by the hair and shoves me back in the car, down on the floorboard. Maybe he thinks all my screaming will attract attention, or maybe he thinks Jocelyn will come back with help. Whatever the reason, he drives me somewhere unfamiliar. He takes his hand off my head and lets me sit up. I go for the door, get out of the car, and begin running as fast as I can, but he’s faster. He grabs me, throws me to the ground, and starts beating me. He starts taking sticks and anything he can use to rape me. It’s a level of evil I’ve never experienced before. I know I’m going to die if I don’t get away. I can feel his hatred for me and his desire to kill me. He takes out all his anger on my body. I’m starting to pass out, and he slaps me. “Don’t you pass out on me, bitch!”
It feels like hours have gone by since I first got in this guy’s car. He has to be on some strong drugs to be able to keep going the way he does. He beats me, then wears out. I try to run, and he catches me and beats me again. Eventually, I’m barely conscious, and I can tell he’s finally losing strength. He sits down and pulls out a bag of crack and a pipe. He tries to get me to smoke with him, but I won’t. He leans up against the building we’re behind and inhales deeply.
I lie next to him on the concrete and watch fluid drip from his car parked in front of us. I’m too terrified to move, and my body aches so badly I don’t even know if I can. I smell blood and urine. Is it me or him? I don’t have the energy to look at myself to see.
He starts talking. This guy is insane for sure. He starts asking me questions like he wants to get to know me. Then the next minute he gets violent again and threatens me, saying he’ll kill me if I tell anyone what he’s done. I lie to him. I tell him I have a baby girl at home, and I just want to get home to her. I swear I won’t tell anyone about him, and I don’t even know who he is. I’m just a whore; cops don’t listen to me anyway. I just want to get home to my baby, that’s all I care about. I don’t know if that’s what makes him let me go, but he finally stands up, makes me give him all my clothes, walks to his car, and drives away.
I stay just a moment on the rough ground and watch his taillights disappear. You have to get out of here, Tiana. I don’t know if I can sit up. God, my body has never been in this much pain. I force myself to sit and then start crawling. That guy is crazy. What if he changes his mind and comes back. He could come back any second. With that thought, fear and adrenaline surge through me, and I push myself up into a staggered run. I run into the first open business I see—an Asian karaoke bar. I’m crying and bleeding and completely naked. The workers there don’t speak good English, but they wrap me in a blanket and hand me a phone. I call Marcus.
One day off to heal is all I get, and that’s longer than Marcus wants to give me. He tells me that Jocelyn showed up at the house and told him what happened. She said she ran because the guy had a gun, which is a lie because I’m positive he would have pulled it on me if he’d had one. After going to the hospital and giving the authorities a description of the guy, I find out that he’s a serial rapist and did the same thing to at least four other girls—all prostitutes. I figure this is just one of the dangers that come with the job.
After I’ve made it through my first year, Marcus comes to me and says, “I know it’s been a little rough for you, but you had to pay your dues. I’ve got big plans for you, now that I know you can really hustle.”
“What kind of plans?” He has me curious.
“There’s a few new online connections I’ve made to get clients. We’re going to use them to get you some upscale clients … men with real money. If you can do that, you won’t have to drive the streets again.”
“OK, but I don’t understand. Why wasn’t I with these ‘upscale’ clients in the first place?”
“Because I had to know you were right for the job. You had to prove to me that you’re worth the investment I’m making in you. Now, I’ll teach you how to speak like them, and how to carry yourself around them. These guys care about that kind of thing. They don’t want a whore who looks and acts like one.”
“What if I can’t talk and act like them?” I don’t know what a wealthy john would expect, but I don’t think it’d be me.
Marcus slaps me across the face. “Look, bitch, stop with all the questions and complaints! You’re going to do it! You’d better learn fast and appreciate what I’m doing for you. I’m the only person who cares enough to look out for you. If you’d had a dad to teach you this shit like a normal person, I wouldn’t have to.”
Marcus gets me hooked up with different Internet sites and several escort services run by women. I don’t know where or how the women get their clients. They just call me and tell me a time and place to show up, and I do. It’s totally different from when I was driving the streets. Marcus has me wear expensive clothing to go meet these clients, and it’s always in a nice hotel. These johns will pay more for just a few hours than I made in several days when I first started out.
I would have guessed that these types of men would act like gentlemen— be less freaky and violent in bed than the johns I had dealt with on the streets. But they’re just as bad, if not worse.
While I’m doing well, the rest of Marcus’s business is not. Girls start leaving him. A few go with other pimps, and others go home, back to wherever they grew up. Marcus isn’t like some pimps who force their girls to stay. He gives us the option of leaving, sometimes even lets girls come back. He might use physical force at times, but Marcus’s main game isn’t to just beat us into submission like some pimps do.* He charms and manipulates his way into our hearts, where he can do more than physical damage.** The thing is, I can’t help feeling like I need him.
Eventually, I’m the only girl left. We move to a smaller place, and he and I share a room. We start hanging out, just to hang out, not for work. I used to hardly see him except when he came to wake me up in the evenings and then in the mornings to give him my money. I start thinking, maybe he really cares about me, and we’re going to be a couple. But that doesn’t last long. Sometimes we hang out with a pimp friend of his named Selfish. He has a girl, Halo, who is to him what I am to Marcus. She and I get along; our friendship doesn’t last long, though. Halo and I aren’t ever allowed to hang out alone, without Marcus and Selfish there. Then one day Marcus tells me, “I don’t want you hanging out with Halo anymore.”
“What?! Why?”
“She’s low class. I don’t want you picking up bad habits from her. She could never get off the streets to do the kind of business we do. Selfish’s OK with that, but I’m not OK with that for us, you understand? You owe me for what I’ve done for you, and I’m not going to let some cheap ho undo my hard work. If it wasn’t for me, you’d still be on the streets whoring yourself out for pennies like your momma did.”
“This is bullshit! She’s the closest thing I have to a friend! And I’m fully capable of doing my job, thank … ”
Marcus steps close to me, with a look in his eye that warns me not to cross him. “I said, it’s over, you hear me, bitch?”
So I don’t get to hang out with Halo anymore. And not long afterward, things start to really change. Marcus comes to me and tells me it’s time to start rebuilding the business, and he needs my help.
“You’re a smart girl, Tiana. Two people can get more accomplished than one, and I can teach you more about the business side of things. Nobody else is gunna do that for you. You’re damaged goods, so who else would take you in? No one.”
I know he’s right. So he starts recruiting girls off the streets and from clubs, and I start training them.* A lot of the girls he gets are already turning tricks for guys in clubs for extra money. They know exactly what they’re getting into when they decide to go with Marcus.
He brings them in, and I coach them on driving Forsyth, how to deal with the police—everything. I’m the go-between from Marcus to the girls. Anytime a girl has a problem, she brings it to me, and if I need to bring it up with Marcus, I do. It’s strange; in a twisted way, I feel like we’re a boyfriend and girlfriend running a business.
Sometimes, a girl wants more time with Marcus—she feels like she is being ignored or that she could find a pimp who would give her more attention. Marcus tells me that as long as we have these other girls, I won’t have to work as much. So even though it drives me crazy, I always tell Marcus when he needs to spend more time with one of the girls. I know it means he’ll sleep with her and give her special attention, but I’d rather have to deal with that than taking more tricks.
One night, we’ve got about six girls out driving and Marcus gets a call from Selfish. Halo was out driving, doing her usual, and one of her regulars picked her up in his van. He beat her then choked her to death. I can’t believe it. I’ve been choked plenty of times, and I know the feeling you get when you think you’re about to die. But Halo really is dead. The reality sinks in that we’re all just trying to survive.
Halo’s death reinforces in me what I’ve known but haven’t wanted to admit: Marcus isn’t really my protector. My life is at risk every time I’m out with a john, and so are the other girls’ lives.
But after Halo’s death, life carries on as always. Sometimes we take road trips with the girls to other cities where we might be able to make more money. Marcus has connections with other pimps—he calls them “pimp partners.” He calls these guys regularly to find out where they are, how they are doing, and what kind of money they’re making. So, every now and then, we pick up and move for a month or two, following his partners to where the money is.
I hate going on road trips mostly because I hate traveling in cars. On road trips, we’re packed in for hours—me, Marcus, and the girls.
Marcus decides to spend a month in Memphis, and I really hate it. Girls just walk the streets here, and it’s worse to me than when I had to drive in Atlanta. In Atlanta, I at least had the protection of a vehicle when I was driving, but here I’m more exposed and vulnerable. In Atlanta, I can meet a client for drinks and no one else would know what I’m really there for. Here, it doesn’t matter how expensive my clothes are; I’m walking the streets, so everyone knows what I am.
Marcus makes me go out there every night, and every night I’m scared for my life. But then, after a week of this, I get picked up by this guy Randy, who’s a professional DJ. I spend the whole night with him, and we do a lot of talking. I tell Randy how much I hate walking the streets here, and he tells me he wants to help me. He gives me $1,000 at the end of the night. After that, he picks me up every night the rest of the time I’m in Memphis, and every night he gives me $1,000.
For the short amount of time I spend with Randy, we get to know each other really well. I tell him some of the crazy things that have happened to me with the more violent johns, and he starts thinking that he’s going to save me somehow—get me to stop hustling.
“I want you to use this money for yourself,” he says to me one night, handing me the usual $1,000. This time it’s not cash, though; it’s a money order.
“You know I can’t keep it for myself. It all goes to Marcus.”
“No, see, that’s why I made it a money order. You can hide this easier than cash.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Have you thought about what you’re gunna do one day? Do you really think you can do this forever? You’re gunna need money when you start a new life. Promise me you will use this for that.”
“OK.” I immediately realize Randy is one of those johns who thinks he’s my “savior.” I’ve had plenty of johns like him; they get some kind of twisted gratification out of acting like they’re going to help get a girl off the streets. But I’m definitely not going to turn down Randy’s money, and he gets me thinking. I can’t keep this life up forever.
Once Marcus has enough girls, I don’t have to go on the road trips anymore. Everyone won’t fit in one vehicle, and he needs someone to stay home and oversee the other girls he doesn’t take with him. He leaves the girls who make the most money at home with me, and he takes the girls who aren’t making much to see if they’ll do better in another city.
With my new position, I don’t have to take any new johns at all. I keep my regulars, but my primary job is overseeing the girls. I keep them in line, see a regular once or twice a week, and other than that I’m pretty free to do what I want. But while Marcus gives me some freedom, he always reminds me who I am—that I’ll never be anything but a whore, and he’s the only one who’ll ever take care of me.
Marcus and I still share a room, even though we stay in big houses in the suburbs with all the girls. He likes the big houses, always making sure the landscaping is immaculate and parking our expensive cars where neighbors can see them. I wonder what the neighbors think. They have to have an idea about what’s going on—big, black guy in a white, upscale neighborhood with a bunch of young girls who leave the house only at night and return in the morning? No one ever questions if Marcus is pimping us out, but I’m surprised we don’t get the cops called on us more.
One of the only times we do have the cops called on us is on my twentieth birthday. Marcus is out of town, and I decide to treat myself to a new gym membership with some of the birthday money he gave me. My phone rings, and it’s him.
“Hey, I need you to go to the house. I’m expecting a package, and I need someone to answer the door when it gets there.”
“I’m at the gym getting a membership. I’m not going back to the house right now.”
“Bitch, you’d better do what I say. Go back to the house. You do not want to see me later if you don’t get back there now.”
“No. It’s my birthday, and I’m gunna do what I wanna do.”
I hang up. I’ve never talked to him like that, let alone hung up on him. There will be hell to pay later. But for now, I’m going to have a day to myself, and I’ll worry about him when I have to.
I get out of my car in front of the house, and I see Marcus. I run for the house, but he’s too quick for me. He’s furious. He yanks my hair hard from behind. My head jerks backward, and I fall onto our perfectly mowed lawn. Marcus hits me like I’m a punching bag, yelling, “Stupid bitch! You’ll do what I say, when I say!”
There’s no way our neighbors can ignore this. I don’t know how long we’re out there, but Marcus doesn’t let up screaming at me. Finally, he lets go long enough for me to make a run for the house. He’s right behind me, but a police car pulls up.
“Get upstairs!” Marcus yells at me. “Hide yourself! You’d better not make a sound!”
I run upstairs to our bedroom and hide under the covers. I hear the cops downstairs; Marcus yells that they have no right to come in and no proof that he’s done anything wrong. But they go through all the rooms and finally make it to my room. I guess hiding under blankets on a bed isn’t the most brilliant hiding place because they immediately find me, bruised and bleeding.
“Did this man beat you, ma’am?”
I lie. “No, I fell down the stairs. I’m just resting.”
They question me some more, but I don’t give up Marcus. He’s still my man, and I’ll protect him. Ultimately, they take him away, but it’s not on an assault charge. They take him away for having a bunch of outstanding tickets or something. He’s in jail only a few days.
While he’s in jail, and any other time Marcus is gone, I become an accountant of sorts. The girls bring me what they make each night, and I keep a notebook that shows every cent that goes out and every cent that comes in. It all has to add up when Marcus gets home, but sometimes I don’t mind doing a little creative accounting. I’ll take a little extra spending cash for us girls and just change the income amount to match what we’ve spent. We can have a little fun while Marcus is gone.
But there’s always that one girl who thinks it’s her job to tell Marcus everything that’s going on. This one girl, Natasha, comes along who especially wants Marcus’s approval. She’s the kind of ho who will do whatever it takes to get in good with Marcus and steal my place.
One day, after Marcus returns from a trip, Natasha says, “Thanks so much for the extra money, Marcus. You’re so generous.”
“What are you talking about? What extra money?”
“Oh, you know, the extra money Ti gave all of us while you were gone. I just assumed you knew, since it’s your money.”
He turns to me, and I know a beating is coming.
I see his fist clench. He raises his arm, and I start to take a step back. He moves fast, and I feel him make contact with my left eye, then my stomach. I crouch over in pain, but he’s not done. He punches me again, then grabs my neck and slams me against the wall. He’s yelling at me, but I’m starting to pass out and can’t hear him. My vision is getting blurry. I see his fist coming toward me again, and everything goes black.
Marcus beats me in front of the other girls to make an example of me. It’s part of his way of keeping everyone in line. I’m not even upset when one of the girls squeals on me. I used to think the same way they do and tell Marcus every time I saw a girl do something outside of his rules. Now I know how he works and don’t mind bending the rules a little, even if it sometimes means getting punched around.
It’s not that I enjoy getting beaten up, but to me, that’s not as bad as when Marcus purposely tells me about the other girls he’s sleeping with. I know he does it just to hurt me. Sometimes, he’ll bring them into our room and sleep with them right in front of me because he knows I hate it. I go crazy and start yelling at him, and then he beats me worse than when I lie about money. I can’t help it, though—how am I supposed to keep my mouth shut when he’s doing things like that? My stomach churns, and my heart burns, and I have to scream at him—he’s all I have.
As awful as he can be to me, it’s the times he takes care of me that keep me with him. I know that out of all his girls, I’m the one who’s most special to him. I’m the one girl who can go out whenever I want. If I ask him for money to go shopping, he gives me $200 when another girl would only get $50. I’m the one who has been with him the longest. Still, I know my loyalty to him will never be enough to keep him to myself.
One road trip we take makes me realize this more than ever. We’re in Tucson with a few girls, and as usual, Marcus and I have a room together. One morning, I slip out of our room to run to the corner store. When I get back, I find him in bed with Natasha. I charge at her.
“Get out of my room, you stupid bitch!” I grasp for her neck.
Wham! Marcus backhands me so hard that I slam against the wall.
“I hate you!” I scream at him. Natasha is yelling at me, but I’m not listening. Marcus screams back at me.
“Tiana, you’d better calm down! You touch her, and I’ll make you wish you never walked in here!”
I know he means it, and I’m so furious, I just have to get out. I have to leave him, this place, everything.
“I’m done!” I storm out and hear him yelling behind me, but I know he can’t follow me out because he’s not dressed. I make it to the sidewalk outside when I hear him behind me. I start running. The next thing I know, I’m on the ground and in more pain than I’ve ever been in my life. I’m screaming, I’m blacking out, I don’t know what’s happening. I catch a glimpse of Marcus’s face, and he looks scared.
When I wake up, I’m in a hospital room. Marcus is standing near my bed, and we’re alone. He doesn’t look scared anymore.
“I told you to calm down. But you had to go and freak out and run away. This is what you deserve.”
“What happened?”
“I kicked you in the back, and you fell on the curb and broke your femur. Doctors say you were lucky because one of your arteries was close to being punctured. You could have bled to death if I hadn’t brought you here right away. You owe me your life.”
Once I’m out of the hospital, Marcus leaves me in a hotel room by myself to recover. I have a cast on for weeks and can’t go anywhere. All I can do is order room service and watch soap operas. As if I’m not already going crazy enough, holed up for weeks, Marcus occasionally comes by with girls and has sex with them in front of me. It’s his way of getting back at me for standing up to him. He thinks he can make me jealous enough to stay with him after all of this. He’s right.
When we’re finally back in Atlanta and he knows I’m not leaving like I said I would, he buys me a puppy. I think he actually feels guilty for beating me up and then leaving me alone in the hotel. He’s too proud to say he’s sorry, so he buys me things instead.
Then Natasha starts being more trouble to me than ever. She wants Marcus’s attention more than any other girl I’ve dealt with. She constantly challenges my authority and tries to make me look bad to Marcus. He starts pulling away from me, and I can’t stand it. After a while, he’s sleeping with her more than anyone—more than me. And one day he comes to me and says, “Natasha’s pregnant.”
Something breaks inside me. All these years, all these girls, and she’s the one who ends up pregnant with his baby? I feel like all the circumstances surrounding my relationship with Marcus—all the fights, the beatings, him sleeping with other girls—it has all led to this moment. I decide to leave. I’ve wanted to leave before, but my ties to him have been too strong. This has finally severed them.
I figure Natasha can take over. She can be the battered and abused girl who thinks she’s special, but really isn’t. I pack up my bags and head to my friend Alana’s. She used to be with Marcus, and she’s still ho’ing, but now she has a place with her boyfriend. They let me sleep on their couch for the next six months.
I start dancing in strip clubs, and I still see my regulars. I try to save up enough money to get a car and my own place. So many times, I think about going back to Marcus. It would be so much easier. He always took care of me. And I miss him.
I’m finally able to get a car and a little utility apartment. It’s lonely, though. This guy, Darrell, starts coming around a lot and seems to really like me. We hang out almost every day, but I know he’s just a rebound. I don’t even consider him a legitimate boyfriend because I’m still turning tricks to make money. But his presence helps me cope with the loneliness and boredom. I still think about going back to Marcus and the life. The crazy hours and adrenaline rush of a constantly dangerous lifestyle have gotten in my blood. It’s hard to explain, but normal life is hard to adjust to. I hold out, keep working, and don’t let myself think about it too much.
I guess I’m not as careful with Darrell as I am with my clients, because one month, I miss my period. This is the first time I’ve been pregnant. It’s so hard to believe that after all these years, all those times a condom broke or I was raped, now I’m pregnant! I had always wondered, in the back of my mind, if something was wrong with me and I couldn’t have babies.
But here I am, pregnant, and I want to keep this baby. I’m a little nervous, but I couldn’t have imagined how thrilled I would be to bring a new, innocent life into this world. Thinking about this unexpected future with my child fills me with hope for a new life. Darrell isn’t interested in being a dad, but I don’t care. I’m going to look after myself and my baby.
She’s a beautiful baby girl, with the prettiest black curls. I name her Hope. Darrell leaves not long after Hope arrives, and I know it’s time to get out of Atlanta. There are too many bad memories here, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to make a new life for myself and Hope unless I leave my past behind.
Alabama still feels like home, and it seems like the best place for us to go. We move just a few towns away from where I grew up, and I get a job working in a dance club there. I’m not prostituting or turning tricks—just dancing. Other than prostituting, that’s all I know to do.
Then, one morning, I’m leaving the dance club, and I have a voicemail from a friend. He says Marcus is dead. He got in a fight with another pimp, and the guy shot him in the head.
I’m shocked—devastated, even. For all the horrible things he did to me, I did love Marcus, and I probably always will. In the end, the lifestyle for which he had lived all those years became the enemy that killed him.
There’s no going back for me now. Life isn’t easy—I’ve got horrible credit from Marcus putting things in my name and not paying them off, I can’t get a respectable job because I have prostitution charges on my record, and working nights has me worn out most of the time.
But I’ve got my Hope, and she’s my reason to keep pushing through the daily struggle of living. I’m making plans for her, and even for myself to go back to school. Now, I have to learn how to live instead of just survive. And that’s a lot harder than I ever thought it would be. Even though doing what’s wrong is so much easier, I’m realizing that living means choosing to do what’s right for me and my little girl.
The period after my grandma died was really the pivotal moment in my life when, if things had gone differently, I probably never would have been trafficked.
Anyone who has lost a friend, their home, or their family knows how vulnerable you are after a loss like that. I lost all of those things when I lost my grandma, and I was still just a teenager in high school. There was nowhere for me to go, and the help I did get from friends met temporary physical needs—not long-term emotional, mental, and physical needs that come after such a major life change.
At the time, I wasn’t the kind of girl who even dated. But being in such a desperate and helpless position pushed me into situations and decisions I normally would have stayed away from. If someone from my family, my school, or one of my friends’ parents had reached out to help me, my story might have been different.
My record holds me back in a lot of ways. I have charges for public nudity and solicitation; financially, my credit is terrible because of all the things Marcus put in my name. It makes it hard to get a job and made it really difficult to go back to school.
I did get my GED and tried to go back to school to become a registered nurse. Education was always important to me, and although I’ve had to leave nursing school for now because of difficulties with work and raising a child, I’m proud to have achieved my GED. It’s as good to me as the high school diploma I tried so hard to stay in school to get.
It has been extremely difficult staying positive. Depression and flashbacks hit me hard sometimes, and I don’t always know how to deal with them. I’ve had to take care of myself for so long that it has been hard to trust or rely on other people for help. I’m considering going to counseling and have tried a couple of support groups, which I liked. It’s difficult to stay committed, though, because I already work so much that I don’t get much time with my daughter.
Something I would say to any kid or teenager who is in a situation similar to what I was in is to stay in school. I know that’s not easy to do, but do everything you can to graduate. Go to your school counselor, nurse, teacher, or other safe adult and be open about your home situation. There are programs and people who can help.
Also, don’t get caught up in anything that claims to earn you “fast money.” Any job opportunity that promises a quick buck is probably a scam. I didn’t know of any other way to make money, so I took a job dancing. It wasn’t glamorous, fun, or sexy—it was hard and lonely, and it led me into a life of being prostituted. Don’t be fooled like I was. I thought I was in control. I thought I was making my own choice, but really, I was being used. I was young, vulnerable, and easy to manipulate—just what Marcus was looking for. Don’t be fooled and don’t be silent. Tell as many adults as you need to until someone helps.