Pain Lived, Love Found 2 (3 page)

“Don’t you ever speak of my sister in that way again! Carly is a good person, she was innocent and sweet and you STOLE that from her! You ruined her life! She wanted to kill you, but I stopped her. I kept her from slicing your throat in your sleep!”

He looked at me in shock and horror at my revelation.

“Yeah, you didn’t know that did you? One night I had to use the bathroom and noticed that Carly wasn’t in her bed. When I came downstairs, guess where she was? Standing over you with a butcher knife ready to kill your ass. You were passed out drunk and didn’t even know that we stood there for ten minutes because I had to talk her out of it, telling her that you weren’t worth spending the rest of her life in jail!  Looking at you now, I wish I had let her kill you. Then at least our family would be rid of your sick, perverted ass!”

As the truth sunk into my sperm donor, I saw fear in his eyes. I removed my knife from his neck and stepped back as I continued to stare at him. I wanted to cut him up so bad I could taste it. He wasn’t my father. He wasn’t a man I looked up to. He was a predator. He was like that fucker who raped me in high school. That’s how deeply I’d come to hate him. I shook my head and smirked. He stood looking at me like I was someone he no longer knew, as if he couldn’t believe that his children would ever wish him harm, let alone be the ones to inflict it upon him.

“What’s wrong? You don’t recognize me anymore? Pft! You never knew who I was to begin with. What your eyes are seeing right now is what you and Mama created. All of your kids are FUCKED UP, and it’s YOUR fault! You two created the monsters your children have become, and you will have to answer to God for it come Judgment Day!”

I knew I had to get out of my parents’ house immediately. Not long after the argument with my father, my mother confronted us. She accused us of having a salacious affair under her nose.

“I heard you talking about it with my own ears, so don’t even try to deny it!” she screamed.

She came home early that day and we didn’t know it. She was in the basement, standing at the foot of the stairs when she overheard our argument. She didn’t hear the whole thing and had it all wrong. Guilt ripped me apart. I wanted to tell her so badly that it wasn’t what she thought, but how could I tell her this without admitting to doing something so reprehensible and vile with my own father even though I wasn’t a willing participant? Ma, it wasn’t like that. We were both high on all kinds of drugs and I wasn’t in my right mind. I would never willingly do something so disgusting. That would never go over well with Betty Jean Paris. If anything, it would have enraged her further. I stood there and took the venom that she spewed at me through her angry and hurt tears. When she was finally finished, I went upstairs and packed my things and left, never to return. That was also the last communication I had with my parents for the next several years.

Once again I was faced with the daunting task of trying to get my life together. At that point I had experienced every kind of low a person could experience. After I left my parents’ house, I slept in my car, up until it was stolen. I honestly believe Carter had something to do with it.  But of course I couldn’t prove it. With nothing but a garbage bag full of my belongings, I slept on anyone’s couch who’d let me. Soon I heard about Sloane’s new boyfriend and subsequent engagement. We hadn’t talked in a very long time and didn’t have the best relationship, especially with the scandal with our father floating in the air, but we are still sisters. I love Sloane and I couldn’t understand why she would share her engagement and wedding news with everyone in our family, except for me. I was beyond hurt and needed answers. Carly and her family were in town for the wedding, and I found out from her where the rehearsal dinner was being held. She had reluctantly shared the information with me and begged me not to cause a scene. I never intended to cause a scene. I didn’t want to embarrass myself or my sister; I simply wanted to talk. I showed up there in the best dress I had, which happened to be my red, mini, skin-tight dress that I usually wore to go to clubs.

I felt I needed some liquid courage to confront Sloane, but one glass of wine turned into four, and that’s where things went completely wrong. I barged inside and caused an ugly scene, something I instantly regretted once I was sober. Sloane and I had it out in the parking lot with Junior and Michael there to keep me under control. The things she said to me put me to shame. All she wanted was my love and acceptance, and all I did was put her down and push her away.  She told me that she knew about me propositioning her boyfriends and sleeping with one of them (I guess she didn’t know about the other two), and I wanted to crawl into the deepest recesses of the earth. I was riddled with guilt. There was nothing I could say to redeem myself, and I certainly couldn’t deny any of it. Sloane stood before me with her anger barely under control, daring me to deny any of the things she confronted me with. I knew the moment I did, she was going to pounce on me verbally, and probably physically as well. Lord knows I deserved it. Hearing my brother’s voice their disapproval only made me feel worse. They never judged me about all the other bad things I did in my life, but sleeping with your sister’s boyfriends definitely ranked on the all-time low list.

What stirred me the most was when Sloane said that somewhere down the line I had changed and became toxic. She was right. I was never the same after my rape. I went into a dark abyss, and I’d been drowning in it ever since. Never had I been slapped in the face with the truth in such a hard, stinging way than the way my baby sister slapped me with it just then. I was surprised to see the same hurt and pain in her eyes that mirrored my own. I’d been so wrapped up in my own sorrows that I never stopped to realize that my baby sister, “Perfect Sloane,” was hurting too. All this time I thought Sloane had the perfect, worry- free life because everyone loved her, everyone doted on her. She was successful, beautiful, and had built a life for herself. What could possibly be wrong in her world when she seemed to have it all? But the eyes didn’t lie and in that moment I could see her pain as clear as day.

Shortly after our heated confrontation, Michael took me back to his place and helped me sober up. We were sitting at his kitchen table drinking coffee. I was still very emotional as silent tears continued to fall down my cheeks. As always, my brother offered to let me stay with him until I got on my feet, but as always, I turned him down.

“I’ve got to do this on my own, Mikey, with no help from my family,” I gently told him. 

It was quiet throughout his apartment with nothing to be heard other than us sipping our hot coffee and my occasional sniffs. I could barely take the hurt and concern in my little brother’s eyes. I knew he worried about me. Besides Carly, he understood me more than anyone in our family. He had battled his own demons so he knew firsthand how hard it was going to be for me to get my life together.

“Sarah, we’re family, we’re supposed to help each other through the good and the bad. I wish you’d let me help you,” Michael pleaded.

“I appreciate your offer to let me stay with you, and I love you for always wanting to take care of me, but I truly have to try to do this on my own. I know I’ve failed many times, but I have to keep trying. I just have to.”

I stood up, put my coffee cup in his dishwasher, and gave my brother a strong hug. I then walked to his spare bedroom to go to bed. My head was pounding, and I knew it was because I was holding in my emotions. I didn’t want Michael to see me break down because I knew he wouldn’t be able to take it and would feel the need to do something about it. He didn’t realize that he couldn’t fix everything, and not every situation required action. I love him for trying though.

I laid in bed and cried bitter, shameful tears. The more I cried, the more I sobered up. I thought about how much I’d hurt the people I loved the most, especially Sloane. I laughed to myself as I thought about how I had the nerve to be angry that she hadn’t include me in any of the excitement with her new fiancé. The drugs really had made me delusional. How could I honestly expect her to be willing to share anything with me, let alone talk to me, after all of the awful things I’d done to her? Things I had yet to apologize for. As I reflected on my behavior over the years towards Sloane, and my family as a whole, I couldn’t help but wonder how anyone could stand to be around me when all I did was hurt them. I couldn’t even stand being in my own skin most times. For years I’d kept these self-loathing thoughts bottled up inside. When you’re hurting and wounded, you lash out at others because you want them to feel your pain with the hopes that they will understand your suffering. Not only do you want them to understand your suffering, but you want them to help you end it too. Because I didn’t know how to change my life or fix myself, I continued to do what I did best - hurt people. I was caught in a vicious cycle of self-abuse and self-sabotage, and I wanted it to stop.

The next morning I went to see my old friend Sandy and begged her to let me get back into escorting. She’s such a beautiful woman inside and out with her smooth, milk- chocolate skin. She’s tall, standing at 5’10” with a medium build that she kept in tip-top shape. Her smile was always so genuine and could light up any room, and her snorty laugh was infectious. Her eyes were always kind and sparkling like diamonds. Some people looked down on Sandy because of the line of work she was in. Even certain family members refused to talk to her, including her father, whom she continues to take care of now that he’s in a nursing home. Sandy tries to hide her pain, but I know not having the relationship she wants and needs from her family hurts her. That’s always been something we’ve had in common, and I tell her all the time that I know exactly how she feels.

Sandy couldn’t hide her shock at my horrible appearance. I knew I looked like a bum off the street, and in many ways that’s exactly what I had become.

“Sarah, honey, you’ve got to get cleaned up first. It’s gonna be a while before I can put you with any of my clients. I need you to be clean from head to toe - no drugs, no alcohol. If you can’t stay clean, then you can’t work for me, and that goes for all of my girls. Do we have a deal?” Sandy asked as she looked me in my eyes.

“I need this so badly, Sandy. Yes, we have a deal. I’m going to get clean, and I’m going to stay clean. I promise.”

Sandy convinced me that I needed professional help. She took me in and covered expenses for a rehab facility that was about an hour outside of Detroit. For years I believed I was strong enough to get clean on my own, but during those times, I always relapsed quickly. I promised to pay Sandy back as soon as I had the money, and I meant it. I knew Sandy loved me, but I would not take advantage of her or our friendship.

The facility was beautiful and in a remote location. There were lots of trees, bushes, beautiful gardens and sitting areas all over the grounds. It was peaceful, and when you think about it, when you’re dealing with a sickness like addiction, you need peace in your life. Being cut off from the outside world was exactly what I needed. For most of my life I’d been surrounded by chaos. Even when alone, I never had peace because my thoughts and memories plagued me like a recurring nightmare. At the rehab facility there would be no more distractions, no more temptations, no more hiding from the truth and having an excuse for everything. It was my time to come clean - mentally and physically, and I felt like I was ready.

The withdrawals were awful, but the staff at the rehab facility were right there helping me through it all. I spent four months in rehab, going through all the steps and not rushing anything like I did before. I invited my family to the facility so I could apologize to them individually. I refused to invite my father, but I did extend an invitation to my mother. It was no surprise when she declined. “If you can’t talk to your daddy then you don’t talk to me,” was what she told me.  My counselors weren’t happy about the stance I took against my father, but I didn’t care. I did speak to my mother on the phone a second time, and I managed to stay on the phone long enough to apologize to her for all the hurt and pain I’d caused her. I didn’t go into detail about each and every offense because I was afraid she’d hang up on me, so I made my apology broad to cover all of my offenses against her. I tried to keep it as heartfelt as possible, but she was cold and short towards me anyway, and I expected as much. To say it was an awkward and uncomfortable conversation would be a huge understatement, but it needed to be done as part of my recovery and for my own closure.

If there was one thing that I hated besides the withdrawals, it was talking to the psychiatrist. His name was Dr. Walters and he was an older gentleman and knew bullshit when he heard it. I participated in our sessions, but I kept some things buried and gave just enough to satisfy him. There were things he wanted me to discuss that I simply wasn’t ready to. He challenged me a few times, calling me out on my bullshit and he would remind me how transparency was key to my recovery. I understood this, but I also felt overwhelmed at times. I was addressing so many things at once.

When I finally left rehab, I felt like I was ready to conquer anything. Now that I’d gone through rehab and had become honest with myself about my mistakes and the choices I’d made, and how they’ve affected those around me, I felt more comfortable sharing these things with Sandy. I was almost at my six month mark of sobriety when Sandy decided to celebrate early by treating me to a day at the spa. She paid for us to have the full-package treatment. It felt so good to be scrubbed, massaged, and pampered from head to toe. I felt like I was shedding my old skin, the old Sarah and her ways, so that the new, fresh skin could breathe and shine. A new me.

“Sooo...” Sandy started, while we were eating fresh fruit at our spa day. “I have the perfect client for you. He’s just a few years older than you, and the best way I could describe him is sophisticated and manly.”

“Oh I’m intrigued. Tell me more.” I requested curiously.  I also wondered if he minded having someone that was just as seasoned in age as he was. Now mind you, I don’t look a day over thirty, and I have the body of a twenty year old. I don’t mean to brag on myself, but I’ve kept myself physically fit over the years, especially considering the line of work I was in.

“He’s a business developer who recently moved to Detroit.  He’s trying to help rebuild the city with affordable housing and businesses that will give people in the inner city jobs,” Sandy continued.

Humph. I wanted to be impressed, but so many have claimed to want to rebuild the city after the economic downfall only to find out that they wanted to do so for the rich and affluent, not for the poor who suffered the most. I hoped this client wasn’t another greedy opportunist.

“Anyway, he has a ball coming up that he’s attending, and he needs a date. I’ll fill you in on the rest of the details when we get back to the house, but I really think you two will hit it off well.”

I wondered how he looked, and I prayed that he would at least be handsome. Then again, handsome can be dangerous. Handsome can make you do and say things that you wouldn’t normally do or say. What am I saying? I’m making a mountain out of a molehill before I’ve even seen the man. It’s a job, an assignment, and I’m getting paid for it. There’s no need to make this more complicated than it needs to be.

Before I got into escorting, I thought those who utilized escort services were people who were unattractive, desperate, and lonely. I quickly learned that I was very wrong. For most high-powered businessmen, escort services were convenient. Some were single and didn’t have a lot of time to date, and rarely made time for a social life unless it was a function to network, like a cocktail party or some fancy ball. When attending such events you had to have a beautiful date on your arm if you didn’t want to become part of the rumor mill that questioned your dating history or sexuality. Hiring an escort took care of that and more.

I knew the game, which is why I didn’t go into the date with any expectations other than to be paid very well for my services for the evening. Once we were back at Sandy’s home, she filled me in on the rest of the details. The event her client was attending was an annual ball thrown by the richest husband and wife in Michigan where all the who’s who of Detroit, Chicago, and New York would be present. I had never been to anything as fancy and I felt myself getting excited. As part of Sandy’s fees, the client had to pay for my designer gown and all the accessories to go with it. He informed Sandy that he preferred that I wear a black gown.