Rain Falls Ch. 01

WARNING: This story takes place in the '80s.

It contains elements of prostitution, recreational drug use, violence, both consensual and non, and a flagrant disregard for safer sex practices. If any of those things are going to offend you, you might consider skipping this one.

500 Miles was posted in three long parts. Rain Falls is posted in seven short chapters. Let me know which format you prefer and I will attempt to accommodate the majority vote in the next story.

In addition, I'm still in the market for a beta reader/editor so kindly ignore any and all editing errors.

*****

I breathed a sigh of relief at the snick of the lock. I was home, such as it was. Four walls and a roof that didn't leak. I was grateful. It was better than the last place. I stuck the bag of fried chicken in the oven to minimize the access of my ever present roommates, the roaches. It wasn't ideal but it would have to do for a few minutes. I scanned the room, making sure that everything was the way I had left it, before I stripped down and stepped into the small bathroom. The polished metal over the bathroom sink that served as a glorified mirror reflected back a slightly warped image of my body from the waist up. I pulled my long hair over my shoulder and turned my back to the mirror. I looked back and tried to see the damage but I couldn't see it well enough. I couldn't reach it either. The bastard had broken skin and I could feel it but there was no way that I could treat it. I would need help. Again.

I turned on the shower and got in. I didn't bother to wait for the water to heat up. There was no point. The water never got hot there. I didn't mind that much. Having running water was a luxury, even if it was barely tepid. I scrubbed my body, inside and out, to the best of my ability, with the harsh anti-bacterial soap. My ribs and hip bones were too prominent but that would get better. It was getting warm and everybody wants to play when it's warm. I'd have more money for food soon. After drying off with the only towel I owned, pilfered from a motel, I slipped into my favorite clothes, the ones that I wear when I'm not working. The most comfortable clothing that I owned was a pair of battered jeans and a sweatshirt. The clothes were second or third hand but serviceable. The shirt was baggy and the jeans were the right length but too big in the waist. They didn't quite fall off me. My sharp hip bones would catch them and hold them in place. I didn't bother with shoes. I only had the one pair and I wasn't going very far.

I gathered up the first aid kit, and the food, and locked the door on my way out. The deadbolt snapping into place always made me grin. I had installed it myself and the manager would be pissed as shit if he knew about it. I wasn't worried. He only showed up to collect the rent. Even then, everyone had to go to his office.

"Vy. It's me," I called softly and tapped on the door next to mine. "Open up."

The door cracked only enough for her to peer out. She opened the door to admit me as soon as she was sure who it was.

"Rain, it's three o'clock," she scolded.

"I know," I told her and held up the bag of food.

Her eyes opened wider at the smell of fried chicken. It wasn't exactly health food but I had no idea when the last time she ate anything was. I handed her the bag and she took it back to her bed. I followed her and sat on the mattress with her.

She eyed the first aid kit, still in my hands, as she took a bite of a drumstick. "Again?"

I nodded. "Please."

She sighed and continued to eat. The food was more important. My back would wait until we were fed. We managed to devour the chicken within minutes. It wasn't enough to satisfy the hunger but it was better than nothing. "Let's see."

I turned my back to her and lifted my shirt.

"Shit, Rain," she groaned. "Do you have any idea how germy the human mouth is?" she asked, running her fingers over the wounds, making me flinch.

"Yes," I admitted.

"Why do you let him do this shit to you?" She was pissed. I could hear it in her voice.

"He pays, Vinyl," I reminded her.

"It's not worth it," she scoffed. "This is going to scar."

"No it's not," I replied as she rubbed the cold ointment into the marks. "I never scar. You know that."

"Are there more?" she asked after securing the bandage, still annoyed.

"Yes," I told her. "But I can reach them."

"Let me see," she demanded.

I stood up and unfastened my jeans, letting them fall to the floor.

"Holy fuck!" she exclaimed at the bites on my ass. "I hope he paid you enough to put you out of commission."

"It's not that bad, is it?" I asked, trying to crane my head back in order to see my own butt.

"It's bad," she told me while applying salve and bandages to my butt cheek.

"Well fuck," I sighed. When she finished I pulled my jeans back up and sat down on the bed. I fished the money out of my pocket and handed it to her.

"This is $300. I can't take this." She pushed the money back at me.

"It's fine," I told her. "Take it. You need it."

"So do you," she snapped. "You can't work like that."

"I can still work," I argued. "Most of them don't want my ass anyway."

"No," she replied, stubborn as always.

"Take half," I offered. "It's two weeks rent. I'll get more tomorrow."

"I have enough for rent this week," she responded.

"Where'd you get money?" I asked, looking her over. I didn't see any damage on her but it wasn't always visible. She was six months pregnant and she didn't need to be turning tricks or worse.

"Raul came by tonight," she explained.

Raul was a local dealer. Vinyl would occasionally sell a little bit of his stuff for him. She was very careful with her customers and it wasn't enough for her to get by on the profits but she couldn't afford to get arrested in her condition.

"You've already sold it?" I asked.

"I have some left. Do you need something?" she asked.

I shook my head. I couldn't afford food. I wasn't going to spend my hard earned money on drugs. "Take the $150," I told her. "I'm going to go to bed. I'll figure out something to get more tomorrow."

I stood up to go and she stopped me. "Take this." She slipped a small plastic bag in my hand. "It's not much but take it."

I nodded and bent down to kiss her cheek. "Thanks, Vy."

I snuggled down into my bedding before I rolled a joint out of what Vy had given me. The pot was nice but I wouldn't have paid for it. There were only two things that I splurged on. One of them was bedding. I had a mattress on the floor but it was mounded with blankets and pillows. My bed was my haven from the world and it was worth it to me. The other thing that I regularly spent money on was toilet paper. I refused to use cheap toilet paper. My ass was ravaged enough. There was no way that I would intentionally subject it to the sheets of sandpaper that I could get for free from the food pantry.

I had a hard time getting out of bed the next day. I just didn't want to. My dream life was so much better than my reality. In my dream world I was loved. I dragged myself out of bed anyway. I had to make some money. I cursed the Gods when I discovered that it was raining. That meant the clubs for me. I didn't mind going to the clubs, it was safer than the street, but there was always a cover charge. If I didn't turn l then I was out the money. I really couldn't afford to lose ten bucks each time I changed bars. I needed to get lucky on the first club I went into. I scrounged around in the clothing on the floor for something to wear. I was blessed in the fact that I could alter my entire appearance just by a change of clothes. My face and body blended seamlessly. I was somewhere between 5'10 and 6'2, depending on which 7-11 I was walking into as the joke goes, with blue/gray eyes that the women swooned over. My face was masculine enough not to be mistaken for a girl but feminine enough to be considered pretty instead of handsome. I had long thick eyelashes and full, almost pouty lips. My face was a little too long at my current weight but, when I filled out some during the warmer months, I was attractive enough to be called beautiful. I wasn't conceited about it but I took care of my looks. It was how I made my living. My one conceit was my hair. It would have been easier to take care of if it was short but I loved it long. I had thick, soft, black hair that came down past my shoulder blades. It was all one length and easily fit into whatever genre I was going for.

I could go for jeans and a t-shirt with some hair product and accessories for punk, all black for Goth, some satin and makeup for new wave, or a tight pair of wranglers and a hat to complete the cowboy look. There were lots of other choices if I was just looking to have fun but I needed to get paid. The metal heads knew how to drink and party but they didn't pick up hookers. The jocks were more likely to roll me than to pay me. They'd still want to fuck but then, after they were done, I was fair game for a beating. I didn't have the kind of clothing required to do the society scene. I was short a pair of boots at the moment and way too skinny so I opted out of the western clubs. The punks had even less money than I did so that left me only two choices. My personal preference was Goth but they tended to want to fuck and they liked to draw blood. Which was exactly how I got in the condition I was in.

That only left me one choice. It was the most dangerous place for me. There wasn't any such thing as a regular customer and the cops paid attention. But, if I didn't get arrested, I was likely to make a fuck ton of money. If I was quick and lucky, maybe I'd make enough to be able take a break long enough for my bites to heal. I winced at the prospect of how bad my knees were going to hurt at the end of the night. I sighed and shrugged. Like most of my life, my options were limited. It was time to suit up and head out.

One of the drawbacks to living in Dallas was that the public transportation sucked. There was a farce of a bus system that nobody in their right minds would have used, unless it was pouring down rain. My destination was less than five miles from where I lived but it took me an hour to get there on the bus. During my long, meandering trip, the homeless guy sitting next to me pissed his pants. He didn't seem to care. He just sat there, with no discernable expression on his face, while urine seeped through and saturated his clothes. When I finally got to the club I had chosen, I was warned off. I had picked it because it was a very popular hotspot for the rich and the out-of-towners. The music was good and the X was plentiful. I knew that I'd be able to turn there. Unfortunately, someone else had the same idea.

"Hey." The bouncer grabbed my arm as I came around the building. "Save your money, Rain. The place is crowded already."

I looked him up and down. I didn't even know his name but he obviously knew mine. He was a typical club bouncer, stout and rough looking. He had a buzz cut and muscles on top of muscles. His nose had gotten personal with one too many fists in his life but his eyes were clear. He wasn't fucked up.

"Who's here?" I asked.

He shrugged. "A few guys. More girls. Popular tonight. Must be the storm." He took a drag off his smoke and looked out over the wet and dreary streets from where we stood, under the relative safety of the overpass.

"Where do you suggest I go then?" I snapped. I wasn't expecting an answer. I was just being pissy. It was pouring cats and dogs and I had gotten drenched in the short walk from the bus stop.

"Try the Reeg," he offered. "There's a convention. Upper level management or some shit. Ought to be good for a trick or two. 'Sides... They ain't gonna let you in here like that."

I looked down at my clothes. I hadn't dressed for a hotel convention. I was dressed for club hopping. Or, apparently, swimming.

"Stop by the concierge. Name's David. He's my brother. They got plenty of threads left behind. Something's bound to fit you. Tell 'em Charlie sent ya. He'll hook you up."

"Thanks, man," I replied. "You want a blow or something?"

"Nah, man." He shook his head and stamped out his cigarette. "I'm straight. Just felt like being a nice guy for a change. Now beat it before the real me shows up."

The hotel wasn't that far, it was on the west side of downtown and the club was on the northwest side, but, by the time I got there, I was doing a wonderful impersonation of a drowned rat. David was just as nice as Charlie had been. He provided me with some clothes that fit as well as my own did and shoes that fit better than mine. He even let me use the room reserved for hotel management to shower and change. It had a blow dryer and all the toiletries that a person could ever need. Actual shampoo and conditioner, instead of soap, made my hair feel fantastic and the blessedly hot water in the shower was heavenly. In my experience, no one did anything for anyone unless they got something in return. David didn't seem to want anything from me either, which just made me suspicious. His only advice to me was that if I got busted, I'd never heard of him.

I stepped back into the lobby looking better than I ever had in my life. The clothes were too big for me but everything that fit in length was always too big at the waist and the shoulders. The charcoal gray suit and red silk shirt looked great on me. There was no tie but I didn't know how to tie one anyway. I just left the first few buttons undone. I had no idea whose clothes I was wearing but I liked his style.

I had never gone cruising in that hotel before, it wasn't wise for a street kid like me, but a bar was a bar was a bar. It didn't take me long to pick up my first John for the night and, considering the proximity of the rooms, I was back in the bar in no time at all. Bathroom breaks have taken longer. I ended up turning six tricks that night. The odd thing to me was that there was never any discussion of money. None. They would just give me $200.00 in cash and I'd suck them off. Which was more than double what I made on the street. It was as if it was scripted. Those out-of-town convention guys had everything down to a science. Normally I charged based on what my customers could pay versus what they wanted. To be honest, $200 is about what I would make a night on the streets. Total. If it was a good night. I was stunned when the first guy gave me that much money. But then the second did too, and the third.

The only variation was my last trick of the night. The whole reason it was my last trick was that he wanted to fuck. I knew that nobody wanted to see my mangled ass and I was about to turn him down when I realized he'd given me $500.00. But, as I started to refuse, he dropped trou and bent over the edge of the bed. I rarely, if never, got to top and I wasn't going to pass the opportunity up. I probably enjoyed it more than he did but I made damn sure that he got his money's worth. Honestly, I would have done it for free, it was that good. I went home with $1500.00 and a huge smile on my face. I even got to keep the clothes. Which was a good thing because I was definitely going to be back. I made more money in that one night than I had ever seen at one time before in my life. Vinyl and I were going to eat well for a change.

The next day Vy couldn't believe how well I had scored. I was still a little in shock from it myself. We went shopping and bought some real food. Vinyl made us dinner. We had steak and potatoes and actual vegetables. It was a huge expense but seeing happiness on her face was a treat for me. Vy was my best friend and she had as rough of a life as I had. She had parents but she hadn't spoken to them in years. Her ex-boyfriend used to beat the shit out of her on a regular basis and I could hear it through the thin wall separating our apartments. He was in jail but I had no idea how long he'd be there. I had been trying to take care of her since he was arrested. We never had sex. We were friends, not lovers. She was cute, 5'2, bleached blonde hair, big blue eyes and a heart shaped face, but I was a whore and she was pregnant. She had been a stripper before she got pregnant but she was tiny and she started showing when she was four months along and they wouldn't let her keep working. She was two years older than me, at twenty-two, but hard living took its toll on appearance. Neither one of us looked like we were in our early twenties.

The apartment building that we lived in was odd for the area in that all the doors opened into a hallway, like a hotel. Because you had to enter the building before you got to the individual apartment door, it was called a security building, which we considered a joke. It was an anomaly in the midst of apartment complexes and houses in the area. It was all bills paid, pay by the week, low rent. That was also somewhat of a joke. At $75 a week, the rent worked out to about $330 a month. We could have had a one bedroom apartment anywhere in town for that much instead of a one room, less than an efficiency, bug infested box. The catch was, with no rental history, no credit, and, for most of us, no proper identification, we were lucky to get it and we knew it. Having once lived in an actual cardboard box, I was grateful for where I was.

While our building did boast a laundry room, the machines never worked. So we gathered up our stuff and we walked the half mile to the laundry-mat. Walking around the neighborhood during the day was safe enough, as long as we were together. It wasn't safe for either of us a night but I couldn't help it. I worked nights. I had been mugged a few times but usually they were content to just take whatever I had on me. Occasionally they made use of my body while they were at it. I never fought back. I had only been roughed up once. Growing up on the streets had taught me how to survive. I knew when to give it up and when to run like hell.

It took two weeks for Vy to pronounce my butt healed enough for exposure. Two glorious weeks where I did nothing but lounge around in my own bed, for a change, and eat my own food. It was wonderful and I probably gained ten pounds but, by the end of two weeks, I was itchy to get out and do something. I went back to the Starck.

"Hey, Rain!" Charlie called from across the lot. He was outside smoking again. I was starting to wonder if that's all he did.

"Hey," I replied when I got close enough.

"You're back," he said, needlessly. "You didn't like it over there?"

"I'm not working tonight," I told him. "I just came to dance."

"You do that?" he smirked.

"Occasionally." I grinned.

"David says that you haven't been back."

"I've been recouping."

His expression turned sour. "Did someone fuck you up? You should have told David. That shit's not kosher."

I shook my head. "Not there. It was before. I loved it over there. Thanks for sending me. I really appreciate it."

"Well if anyone tries to get rough with you, let David know," he responded. "Unless you're into that sort of thing."

"So you guys keeping tabs on me? Cuz I don't work like that. I'm independent."

"No." He shook his head. "It's nothing like that. It's just good business to make sure there are people available for full service. The hotel don't provide or manage them and they don't claim responsibility for them. But it's bad for business if a hooker turns up dead or fucked up, ya know?"

"So what's in it for you?"

"Nothing. Just a warm fuzzy feeling," he smirked. "Most of you guys are strung out or fucked up or just plain assholes. I don't know your story or anything but you just seem like you're just trying to get by, ya know. I just thought you might appreciate a little help."

"You sweet on me or some shit?" I taunted him.

"Yeah. Something like that," he retorted. "Fuck no. You're pretty and all but you got something between your legs that just don't do it for me. Sorry."