HELLLAND; Smoke

( HELLLAND; Smoke's POV )

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"Please. Please– all I need is one more hit," Melanie's voice was a pleading beg. She stood before a man who was nearly twenty-six and happened to be her addiction provider. They had never been in a sturdy buyer and client relationship, yet he kept giving and she kept taking. Ever since she had managed to get away from her traffickers and their customers, Melanie was still held captive by their drugs. "Please Garrett, just one more."

In the small kitchen her hands never stopped moving. Both trembled as she tried to busy them in a distraction. The drugs were going to kill her either way as her body now could not stand to go without for more than fifteen hours. It's been twenty-eight. She watched Garrett lean back against the kitchen counter a cigarette tipped in the corner of his mouth, both eyes started to drift downward to her petite figure. An uncomfortable feeling now crept its way inside as she became the attention of his dark hues. Her hands subconsciously pulled her short white patterned skirt down further on her thighs when she saw a glint pass through his orbs.

"Alright," hope entered her immediately. "One more Mel, but on a condition." Garrett's left hand dug into his black greasy unwashed hair, while the other tapped the cigarettes head into the metal sink shedding the gray ashes.

Melanie naively nodded profusely, "Anything Garrett, anything."

"You heard her boys," Garrett raised his voice for the other four men to hear who lounged on the tattered sofa. All the other men were the same as Garrett; unclean drug lovers.

She was slow to realize what her drug provider meant. Her eyes followed his as she took in the other men who all now had their eyes focused on the only female in the room. Their eyes alone feasted on her. Melanie's mind spun, this is not what she had any means of agreeing to. Her head shook when she took a step back towards the entrance she had came in. Could she do what they asked of her? Course. She had serviced men for three years in another country once sold. Did she want to do what they asked of her? No, but those drugs— oh, that beautiful high.

A sound of a frighten animal left her lips at the sudden hand that fisted in her shoulder length black hair. Lost in her thought she had not realized the greasy haired man had moved. Garrett seized her from behind, roughly pressing her back to him. Melanie could feel his lips come down onto her neck pressing warmth in the dip of the start of her shoulder. She squirmed in his hold uncomfortably breathing out a repeating, no.

Her hands reached up to behind her frantically hitting at whatever she could reach. A grunt sounded loudly as her under clipped nails caught flesh. Warm liquid sunk under the whites of her nail tips as Melanie dug down further.

Garrett's grunt turned into an animalistic growl. Her body was shoved away from him and towards his drug brothers. Two pairs of hands, each belonging to a different man, caught hold of a her failing arms. She screamed uselessly as the men dragged her towards a low raised coffee table in the living rooms center.

The third man hurriedly scraped all the empty liquor bottles and glasses off. Over Melanie's screams some of the bottles could be heard scattering against the wooden floor. Both men that held her arms in their clutches slammed her body down onto the worn away surface.

Air was pushed out of her lungs. Melanie's body went limp for a few moments that proved fatal in her ability to escape. She tried to lift her head, panic swept over as air was heaved back into her lungs melting away the black spots that overcame her vision.

Garrett wiped at the distinct claw-like marks that were dragged down from his cheekbone and fell away at his jaws edge. Disgust pursed his teeth bitten lips. This man had a reputation with working girls in this part and now he had her in his clutches.

"No. No- I, I, I changed my mind. I don't want the hit, I don't want the drugs—" a swift hand clamped down over her mouth at Garrett's order.

Melanie fought to twist her face from under the mans heavy palm. The small tables edge cut into her lower head under his weight. His flesh was pudgy, and it smelt far worse. She tried to trash out her legs in a fleeting attempt to hit Garrett who now stood between the start of her legs.

"You're funny to think that we've changed ours, honey." He mused and rubbed his digits together against the thumb, smearing his own blood over the pale pads.

In her struggle her shirt rode up easily with the help of his rough hands. Melanie could feel the blood on his digits streak across her self-tanned skin, traveling up her past her navel towards her ribs. Arms pressed against her sides she could not shove away his ascending hands. Melanie heard a soft tear at the hem of her shirt. The tear grew, as did the sound. More and more of her torso became exposed. When the cold air touched her skin was when realization hit her: this was happening.

This had to stop– she had to stop this. Melanie pressed her tongue against the flat of the man's palm. He tasted bitter with a dash of salted perspiration, yet that taste was quickly overcome with another taste, metallic blood. The overweight man let out a loud curse and heavily slapped her across the face. A yelp of her own mouth as tsking from Garrett followed, while a lazy small trickle of dark blood oozes out of her nostrils.

Garrett's hands pulled away from her body dropping to his belts front. "Naughty girl...." The metal hit against leather as he pulled the straps apart in a flustered pace. "You give us pleasure, we'll give you yours—"

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Applause broke out, whistles from the men seated in the room followed. Melanie was shaken from her past thoughts forcing a smile to form on her lips as she realized just where she was. Her dance had finished in a brilliant way. She stood from the floor and lifted both arms from her sides accepting the praise from the crowd. The bright lights on the stage dimmed for her to exit.

Blues voice took over the stage from behind her when the lights returned, "Wasn't she lovely? That was Smoke, to all you fine men out there tonight who might want to see a bit more of her later."

Smoke, the stage name she had not chosen for herself, seemed to settle well as she heard in disgust the men clapped and shouted louder. She had given them pleasure in the show, now why couldn't she receive what she truly pleasured? Freedom.