A phone rang, startling me into consciousness. The pin-pricks in the centers of my arms had bruised and ached. Whatever the pimp had given me, had left my brain in a fog. Sounds were disjointed, and the lights played weirdly in my eyes.
“Yo,” Turk answered. He listened. “I see. Thanks,” he hung up the phone, and lit another cigarette.
“Ah. Wakey wakey,” he said to me.
I drooled, “Stay away from me,”
Turk laughed, “Naw-so tough, now, ah’ya!?” he said.
I couldn’t help myself; i started laughing. This set Turk aback.
“Wasso funny!” he took a drag.
“You!” i responded, “You talking trash to a 17 year old girl, that you need to tie up and keep drugged up so she won’t hurt you; that’s what’s so funny, you piece of shit!”
I was thankful for whatever barbiturate he’d pumped into me, for i hardly felt the sting of the back of his hands as he smacked my face.
My drool was now mixed with my blood. I spat it on the floor, and continued to laugh.
“You’re pathetic!” I added.
“You better watch it!”
“Or what, you’ll kill me?”