A Life of Exploitation: The Tragic Reality of Sex Trafficking and Exploitation

Chapter Six: The Prey

Angel spent another three nights at the motel. She received no break from clients. Rich came to pick her up after nearly a week of work. He took her back to his house. He let her relax in front of the TV for the day. Two other girls came and kept Angel company. But it wasn’t much company. What little talking there was, was about the current TV show. There was no friendly giggles or secret sharing or even smiles. Angel craved to have friend. She longed for the comforts of companionship. But she would not get it here. Nor in the motel, or club, or on the streets. Angel had no place to go to find companionship either. Her family was not interested in taking her in, and she wouldn’t even know how to find them. The friends she had stayed with during her absence on the streets had since moved on with no forwarding contact. Rich, Frank, these girls, the clients, the streets…it was all Angel knew. This was her home.

Angel had to remind herself that it could be worse. She could have nothing at all. She could be living in a cardboard box in an alley. She could have to steal food and never have a chance to bathe. It could be worse. It could always be worse.

Rich ordered pizza for the house to share. They sat around the TV, eating off of paper plates.

It was funny to Angel. Rich was by no means a poor man. In fact he could throw money away and still be better off than ninety percent of the population. Yet here they were, the four of them, cramped in a small two-bedroom house on the wrong side of town, eating off of paper plates. Angel glanced over at Rich. A shiny Rolex watch on one wrist, a silver and no doubt expensive chain bracelet with the words “fuck off” on his other wrist. His black pants were not faded, and his white t-shirt bore no stains. Angel had no doubt his clothes were only ever dry-cleaned. Rich wore brand new Nike brand tennis shoes, and a gold chain around his neck. She watched as his manicured hands reached for another piece of pizza. Rich was a well-trimmed, clean-cut man, and could hold a steady, well paying job if he truly wanted to apply himself to such. But why bother? Why bother working a nine to five job every day when you have a whole herd of girls willing to do anything for you, including sell themselves as sexual lust items? They fork over the money without question or concern. Why would anyone work when each girl hands you over a thousand dollars a night? What’s the point? Shouldn’t people hold themselves and others in a higher respect? Shouldn’t it be more rewarding to earn your own money? Shouldn’t it be more gratifying? But what was respect in a country where its own leaders paid for cheap sex? In fact, people like Rich were glorified in this country. Every rap artist and their brother had written about how wonderful it was to use and sell women. There was a good handful of TV shows about it and even more movies. All selling a beautifully fake façade of this life. Beautifully fake. America didn’t care how a person got their money or pleasure, just as long as they had it. And if that meant the less fortunate, such as Angel and the other girls, had to suffer for the pleasures of the majority, then that’s

Explore my other stories

THE END