Before she has a firm grip on the handle I head for the women's bathroom once again to change. I make sure to get it done in a timely manner. Even though I'm nervous and I'm shaking with fear. I can only think of how long it has been since this last occurred. There wasn't a single day that I woke up and thought I would have to relive this moment. All the torture. The screaming.

My stomach turns abruptly. Memories flooding my brain. Bile threatens to come up but I manage to keep it down. You're almost at the stage. Keep walking and you'll be in the clear.

I climb onto the platform with ease. Soon as I stand center stage I freeze. All eyes locked on me. My feet are now cinder blocks. Body slightly moistening. My eyes batting like crazy. Scanning the room I see the other dancers in cages doing moves that require a lot of flexibility. A starting point. The crowd silent. Waiting for me to stop looking like a deer in head lights.

“COME ON! We ain't got all day.” yells a smuggler in the crowd with octopus legs.

Looking in the direction of the voice I find myself making the hugest mistake. My eyes. They land on Trixie's. She's looking at me. I don't want to disappoint her. I don't want her to see this. I won't do this in front of her.

That's when Trixie's eyes change. The emotion changing. Changing to an anxiousness. Almost as if she's telling me to hurry up. It's OK if she sees me like this. Oh, Trixie. I'm sorry.

Shying away from the crowd and Trixie, I turn my head. Closing my eyes I take a deep breath. The live band starts to play some seductive jazz music. That's when it all came back. Completely remembering everything I once was forced to do. To please them. Opening my eyes, I let my muscle memory take over.

Slowly I peer over my shoulder and give the smuggler that called out at me earlier a cutesy little wink. That alone seems to have caught his attention. Running my fingers upwards through my smooth silky white hair. They're all frozen in awe. Not long after I find myself move, groove, and grinding to the beat of the music. Of course, I throw a high kick in every now and then.

The crowd loves me. The whistling. The clapping of tentacles. The flapping of wings. Let's not forget the stomping of hooves. Which is good for them. They're enjoying themselves. Which means they're turned on and I won't get any lashings. But I drown in my own self-hatred. Focus on the music. Keep your attention on the music. You're doing great. Positive thinking will keep you from crying, later on, I think to myself. Attempting to change my mindset.

“Oh, the things I would do to her.” I overhear someone tell their friend in the crowd.

Confirmation that all eyes are on me. I'm proud and disappointed. Happy and sad. My body is just a whirlpool of emotions. But it'll be ok in the end. If it ever ends.

Just then the smuggler waves me over. This guy wants a private show. Which means I better get over there fast. When the beat drops I switch over to belly dancing. Slowly approaching him as I dance. Not only to keep him under my spell. But to hide.

Hiding all of my nerves. From the shaking in my feet. Trembling of the toes. Palms twitching. None of that matters because he's focused on my perfect execution of the famous belly roll. Since it is appealing to the eye his focus and everyone else is purely on my stomach. No one notices.

I can't shake away the memories but I was forever trying back then.

                                                                † † †

It's late at night and I'm hiding in my room under my sparkly pink covers. Hoping to fall asleep before they come for me. I just want to go to sleep like a regular nine-year-old girl. One who goes to school, gets good grades, prays to the Alfralon gods at night, and then goes to sleep. Then do it all again the next day like a broken record.

But that never seems to happen for me. Especially if it's poker night at our house. Those are the nights that things are the worst for me. It's when the nightmares begin.

Poker nights usually involve my grandpa Lycrane's friends coming over. Their names are Monk and Sammy. They come and do unspeakable things to me. When grandpa's awake it's regular poker. But when he's asleep after drinking a lot of beers and alcohol. Monk and Sammy make me entertain them for the night. They claim they have nothing to do now that he's sleeping. But they do, they can go home to their wives and kids. But they don't. They stay and pick on me. They force me to play strip poker. I don't like it but I'm too small and too young. It's not like I can beat them up. I've tried yelling but no one comes to my rescue. If grandpa's other friends are here they're passed out drunk as well. That or they choose to ignore my screams and just go home altogether. So I always get stuck with them.

I clench my Barbie covers tighter around me making sure it covers my entire body. Building a cocoon of safety. My shield from the darkness but not necessarily the monsters.

A shadowy figure burst through the door making a loud bang. I can't make out whether it's Monk or Sammy. But what's the difference their both the same kind of monster. No not tonight I begin to think to myself. Didn't I suffer enough yesterday. I bought all the drinks on time. I even did the dance they forced me to learn. I did what they said. But they still want more from me, my fragile body is still sore from last nights events.

The shadowy figure staggers towards me knocking stuff off the dresser in the process. I squeeze my eyes shut. If I close my eyes he'll disappear. I know it's not true but I still don't want to see exactly who it is. I don't need to have my eyes open for any of this. But when I hear a second person coming I reluctantly open my eyes.

Just as this happens I realize it's Monk at the foot of my bed. He managed to stand up straight. If Monk is at the foot of the bed that means it's Sammy standing guard by my door. When I make this connection Monk rips the sheets off of me and throws it in the direction of the door in one fluid motion. Sammy kicks the sheet until it's out of the room, then proceeds to lock the door. It traps me in my room with a loud click. Nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. Just me in my room with my grandpa's friends. This isn't right I tell myself. I shouldn't have to go through this.

“It's late, and your grandpa is finally asleep. So it's time for us to play our favorite game.” Monk states with a smirk on his face.

“Can we not play the game?” I say warily “I'm really tired.”

“Don't pretend you don't like it.” he screams “You know I hate when you say that.”

Monk slaps me heavy-handed across the face and my head hits the headboard. I raise my hand to my mouth. My cheek is swelling and my lip is bleeding. Bruising forming on my forehead. Monk doesn't care. He loves the torture. He loves to see me in pain. He slams his calloused hands on to my ankles and digs his dirty yellow nails into them. Then drags me closer to the foot of the bed towards him. I scream in pain not that it helps my situation.

“Oh please scream. I love it when you scream. The more you scream. The more you'll make it worth my while.”

After I'm out of breath and tears are forming in my eyes. I start clawing at his hands locked into my ankles. Continuously trying to peel them back and pry them off. Ultimately it's useless. He's too strong and my hands are so small and weak. I'm only nine after all. I cry frantically when I realize there is no escaping his grasp. I'm just not strong enough.

Sammy decides to walk towards the head of the bed. He grabs my hands so I can't claw at Monk's hands anymore. There is nothing I can do. I can't fight them. It's all over. I surrender, I give up.

When Sammy has a firm and solid grip on both my wrist he looks at Monk. Monk then gives me a wicked smile. He stands at the foot of the bed making sure I can see him. Forcing me to watch him undress himself. First, he unbuttons his red plaid shirt and lets it float to the floor. Next, he pulls his white undershirt off and over his head letting it plop where ever it pleases. Then he unbuckles his black leather belt and slides it out of the notches of his jeans. He lets his jeans, belt, and boxers drop all with a big thud. He does all this while never breaking eye contact with me.

When he's finished undressing himself. It's my turn. He removes my sneakers one by one. Slides off my fluffy socks with bells on them. Wiggles me out of my tight jeans. Then when I'm down to practically nothing. He tears off my panties and throws them aside like trash.

I'm overwhelmed and nothing can stop me from feeling this way. No matter how many times I go through this. My heart is racing and my legs are trembling as I ball my hands up into a fist. Just make it stop. Make it all end. Grandpa wake up I plead. If you were awake you would make it stop. You would never let this happen again. Not to your favorite little princess. I know you wouldn't. Cause you're a hero. Heroes take out the bad guys. They're your friends. I get that, I do. But bad guys are bad guys. So wake up and save me already. Beat up the bad guys like the hero you are.

Monk climbs on top of the bed acting like the predator he is. As I lay here as his helpless prey. He hovers above me, motionless. Just staring at me with his black orbs he calls eyes. My body is just frozen in fear that all movement has stopped. The world and time itself have stopped. My voice mute. Everything is quite. All I can feel is Monk above me. All I can smell is the beer and vodka that he reeks of. The world starts up again. When everything is back in motion. He positions himself to be more comfortable on top of me. Then starts to pleasure himself by rubbing his sex up and down against mine.

“Stop it,” I cry “You're disgusting. You're a disgusting sinner.”

“I'm fine with that. God will forgive me for my sins,” he says sure of himself.

“I can't wait for him to send you straight to hell. Cause that's the only place you're going” I state.

“I'm fine with that too.” he responds.

I moisten my mouth and spit on him. Yeah, I know better. Grandpa told me to never do that. But Monk deserves to be disrespected. The man is a pig. He's taking advantage of a helpless 9-year-old. How sick and twisted do you have to be? Not to mention he's cocky about it as well.

Crashing his rough un-hydrated lips against mine I make a disgusted sound. He forces his tongue into my mouth. Running his hands through my long white hair. More of his body weight on me now. My punishment for disrespecting him. Being forced to taste the beer, alcohol, and fresh smoked cigars.

Not only that but he takes his left hand and runs it slowly down my face. Touching my cheek, my neck, all the way down my side and stopping at my waist. He slips his large cold hands under my yellow and blue striped shirt and travels up till he reaches my undeveloped breast.

I try to toss and turn. Trying to squirm out of his grasp. This isn't fair. I didn't ask for this. I didn't want this for myself. Do the Alfralon gods have no mercy? It doesn't work. Another attempted fail on my part.

“This isn't right,” I state.

“What isn't right. Is that you haven't made me feel alright yet,” he replies.

“Not to mention I still haven't had my turn to be satisfied for the night,” Sammy says making his presence known.

Monk picks up where he left off. Groping my undeveloped chest. Watching and enjoying my facial expressions of horror. How does he sleep with himself at night? Honestly, I think he'd give the devil a run for his money. I think the Alfralon gods would agree that there's nothing more wicked that walks the lands. Then Monk himself.

Time passes. I don't know how much. Or how little. I just know that it is. There's nothing I can say or do. I'm just here. I'm just a nine-year-old girl being used for someone else's pleasure. To be used at their disposal. I'm just here. They took turns the rest of the night. All I could think is that I learned one thing. In the end...after it all ended. I learned that at the very least. Monsters don't live under the bed.

                                                           † † †