XXX Underground Playgrounds: La La's Story Page 4

  If hindsight were 20/20, she would have deciphered what she wrote and heeded her warning. But to her thirteen-year-old mind, she was thinking it was some Religious and diet tips she was trying to give her.

  Coming up for air, eyes burning from the Scotch and her state of mind lost in a fog of revenge. Tara ended her cleansing with Eminem and Lil Wayne's’ No Love, and that is just what was entering her mind. She had no love for her dead parents; she had no love for her friends’ parents or her teachers. Any and everyone who was in that room or associated with it must perish. In her head, that was the only way she will be truly clean is with their blood.

  Ghost

  “Noooooooo, she screamed out of her sleep. Breaking out in a cold sweat, she hurriedly surveyed her surroundings. Her pale skin was paler than usual; her bright blue eyes were now dull and red. The same dream hunted her, or should she say memory.

  The memory of getting beaten and then forced at gunpoint to smoke crack by someone she loved, chained by someone she damn near worshiped, and made into a slave. His slave, it was not enough for him to have her as his girlfriend, it was not sufficient for him to have her heart, it wasn’t enough for him to have her mind, he had to conquer and destroy her soul also. He had to control her and what better way to do it then with a controlled substance. Crack!!!!!

  Desperately running towards the bathroom to cleanse her of the nightmare she once lived. Scolding hot water cascaded over her skin, as she used the cloth to scrub soap into her skin. Think of something good, she willed herself. Think of someone who wants to see you survive. Think of Miss Emma, she conjured up her smiling brown face and a sense of peace came over her.

  In the distance, she heard her cell ring, the sound of the ringtone she rushed out of the tub to answer it, “Hello!”

  “Why are you so out of breath?” the caller laughed.

  “I almost busted my ass running to the phone.” Ghost smiled.

  “What ass?” the female replied.

  “Tis white girl got dunky bootie,” Ghost told her in a fake Jamaican accent while she starts clapping her ass and twerking in her mirror.

  “Your ass is twerking, aren’t you?” She laughed. She knew her friend all too well.

  “And you know thissssssssss mannnn!” Ghost laughed into the phone.

  “Good, so you will not mind going where I need you to go.” No laughter was in her voice now. It was all business as she continued, “The Underground Playgrounds is where you need to be. MG will direct you to where you need to audition. When you meet, Bone and Vega tell them who sent you. Understand?”

  “All good.”

  “Thank you, once again Ghost. “

  “No, thank you. We are killing two birds with one stone.”

  “Enough said. I’m done” she said

  “Two fingers,” Ghost replied and hit the end button.

  Her phone rung was indicating that she had a text. It read, “Stop twerking, no ass and change your look up. Lol”

  Ghost smiled and continued to twerk her ass in the mirror, “Shit, P tripping, my ass is gone with the wind fabulous.” She laughed as she twirled around like Kenya Moore.

  Hours later

  Ghost looked at herself in the mirror as she put her green contacts in her eyes. She had transformed herself into someone she didn’t even recognize, but she looked damn good. Her once bleached blond hair was now a golden blond, her skin was tanned to a natural looking pigment, and her green eyes sat her new look off. Her mind wondered to the timid blue eyed white girl she used to be before she became the only white girl in a predominately black neighborhood.

  The kick in the door came abruptly; she flew under the bed as her mother directed her too. Gunshots rang throughout their mobile home; screams were echoing off the walls, frightening a young Ghost to tears. Covering her mouth so her screams will not alert the intruders, her whole body shook out of fear. She heard bullets fly into the room she was hiding in breaking lamps, piercing the walls above her head, bullets flying through the door of her room. The ten-year-old went into the fetal position, still in fear, still shaking and still covering her mouth full of screams.

  Where once chaos stood, quietness took over; the aftermath of a bloody peaceful mess was left. The bullets ceased, and the voices of the intruders took over. Sensing their distraction, she crept to the bullet holes in the door to look out. Two white men had her father on his knees with a gun in his mouth, pulling his head back by his long ponytail towering over him as if they were more powerful, mightier, more deserving than him. Ghost studied their faces; it was etched, damned near fused in her mind.

  Her eyes scanned the room looking for her mother; she was sprawled out on the kitchen floor lifeless. She almost let out a whimper, a mere sound that could have ended her life.

  They did not spare her father’s life as she had hoped; she looked on as one man let her dad’s hair loose, only for the second man to put a hole in his head. Satisfied that they had accomplished what they had come for, they exited the shattered home.

  Noises outside of the home made her run back under the bed. Hammering was being done outside of her home; she peeked out from under the bed only to watch one of the killers board up her window. This act was done to every window from the outside until the house was airtight, she and the decaying bodies of her parents were preserved in the big rectangle box on six acres of farmland.

  Ghost was imprisoned for days with her parents, the smell, oh my God; the smell in that house was unbearable. The turning of the knob was her life saver; there stood Miss Emma, speechless and waiting for her with open arms.

  She had no clue how Miss Emma knew to come, but she was thankful. Therefore, she did not utter not one question to the sweet lady who sometimes came to visit mommy and daddy. She flew into her arms and never looked back.

  That was until she met Miss Emma’s son, eight years her senior. Miss Emma’s son was doing a little time for selling drugs when Miss Emma rescued her from that bloody box of death. She should have heeded Miss Emma’s warnings and pleads that was against the feelings her son had for Ghost.

  He was damn near a grown ass man taking a liking to a child. He never touched her at first just showered her with everything as if she was his, not his sister, not his play sister and not even his woman but HIS.

  Ghost thought she would have problems being the only white girl in the hood, especially when she developed a natural swag from the hood and she had no idea where she got this curvaceous body from, but she was happy her ass could compete with the other girls. She did not encounter any problems because of the family she was living with, that shit went over her head for a long time. But, soon she found out a lot more than she wanted to about the sweet lady that came to visit her parent’s every week.

  Her sixteenth birthday was the night that twenty-four-year-old Jerome took her virginity. It was her sixteenth birthday when Jerome took over her life. She was nineteen when he put the gun to her head and made her smoke a crack pipe.

  The Crack Pipe night

  Ghost had been hearing about Jerome’s extreme love for women, high priced strippers, call girls and sack chasers. Jerome enjoyed paying for a bitch because he felt he was always in control if he paid the cost to be the boss. Jerome money was starting to accumulate because of Ghost; she gave him the idea of catering to everyone’s addiction. Instead of dealing just crack, he dabbled in everything from prescription drugs to heroin.

  Even though he cheated on her daily, he loved her, he was obsessed with Ghost, her haunting blues eyes, white-blond hair, pouty lips and her innocence bewildered him into feelings he never had for anyone.

  He molded her into what he wanted in a woman, obedient, non-nagging, naïve, quick to please him and gave him anything he desired. She took a blind eye to any nigga looking her way, even when she was in school with boys her age. Jerome had kept close tabs on her; she always knew who owned her and that was the way he liked it.

  “So, fucking what!” Jerome said as he popped whatever pi
ll it was, that he washed down with a bottle of Vodka. Ghost watched him in awe as he walked around her tied up body. Some of his friends were around the table playing cards, drunk or high, or both laughing at Jerome’s belittlement of Ghost. She had left him for a couple of days after she found him getting his dick sucked by some random chick on the side of their house. He hunted her down and dragged her back home, tied her to a chair and was now voicing that he did not give a fuck that she was at his mom’s house.

  She had been tied up to the chair since last night, fear of last night haunting her as she gazed off into its memory.

  Jerome pointed the gun at her head, “Suck it. Suck it. Suck it like your life depends on it.” He yanked her by her hair, “And believes me it does.” He added

  He took his hand and wiped a tear from her face, “Oh don’t cry, baby. You did not think about crying when you stayed away from home for two days. Now, since you feel the need to be disobedient. I feel the need to make you want to be obedient. I feel the need for you to suck your way back into obedience.” He cocked the gun and with a sinister growl he ordered, now suck it!”

  Tears slid down her face as she saw the evilness in his eyes. She flicked the Bic lighter under the glass dick, and she sucked on it because her life did depend on it. He made her do that all night; it alternated between sucking his cock and sucking the glass dick all night. Her mouth was sore.

  She jumped out of her memory back into more misery.

  “You want to jump ship, cause a nigga needed his dick sucked. What was I supposed to wait for your white ass to get home from school? You want to see how a nigga really gets down! I pay for bitches to do what I tell them with no back talk. “He told her as he motioned for his boys to let the hos in the living room.

  He usually waited for this part of the activities, until Ghost were upstairs asleep. He would forbid her to come downstairs while his partners were there. But, now he wanted to show her he could do what the fuck he wanted to do and dare her to say something.

  He might not be paying Ghost directly for sex, but he was taking care of her that was cause enough for her to shut the fuck up and take whatever shit he slung her way. Tied up in the middle of the floor to a chair Ghost was stripped naked by paid hookers in front of an audience of men and the man whom she thought loved her.

  Jerome untied Ghost’s legs; he instructed the hookers to get naked, “You, he pointed to the cute yellow girl with the big titties, straddle her.” She strutted over towards Ghost still wearing her black heels and straddled her, making sure she rubbed her pussy up against Ghost. Ghost felt betrayed by the sensation that caused between her legs.

  “Yeah, just like that! Now, make her suck your titties. Don’t worry she has no choice but to play along or she knows what she will get or won’t get. “He laughed. The room was clueless, but Ghost knew all too well what he was referring to. Ghost pulled the girl’s nipple in her mouth and sucked on them like her life depended on it.

  “Yes, swallow those titties, Jerome encouraged as he massaged his dick through his pants. Jerome loved what he was seeing, made him wish he would have done it sooner. It was something about making a bitch do something she would never do otherwise, that made his dick harder than it has ever been. Jerome untied Ghost’s hands, whispering in her ear, “Behave now or pay for it later.” He told her.

  Ghost knew he was going to make her suck his dick and the glass dick all night if she did not engage in his sick twisted fantasy of his. She was fucked into lesbianism; no man was allowed to touch her they were just there to watch. Secretly, Jerome was taping her, just for extra insurance to ensure her obedience. That night she knew she had to escape or stay his smoked out sex slave for as long as he wanted. But, hell came before she was able too.

  On one of the nights of his little lesbian shows, one of his friends slide his dick into her, while one of Jerome’s nasty ass whores was grinding on top of her. Despite Jerome’s protest, the man wouldn’t stop ramming into Ghost. Ghost could not get up she had the weight of two bodies on top of her. Without another warning, Jerome took his gun and shot the man in his head. His fun was over but her night had just begun.

  He chained her to a stripper pole by her legs, in the basement for days after the incident. Apparently, Jerome felt it was her fault he had to kill his friend. Luckily for her Miss Emma became concerned when she kept asking her son where Ghost was, and he kept giving her different excuses.

  Miss Emma took it upon herself to investigate; she used her spare key to go in her son’s house. When she reached the basement she was in shock to see her adopted daughter chained to a pole, looking like hell, she was skinny, and her once beautiful blue eyes were sunken in and her skin ashy. Miss Emma dropped to her knees in front of Ghost with tears of shame in her eyes.

  Miss Emma rose up and pulled out her .360 and shot the chain off of her. She hated what her son did to her; she tried to stop it from happening, but Ghost was too hard headed to listen to her. She had raised this little girl for damn near ten years and under her care, this is what happened to her.

  This is what she exposed her to, Miss Emma ran through the house like a mad woman, getting things together for Ghost. She dressed her, sat her in the car. Then Miss Emma went back in and threw gasoline everywhere and lit that motherfucker up with her Virginia Slim.

  In the car, Miss Emma confessed to making the call to have her parents killed, yes she could have saved them from Jerome, but she had wanted Ghost all to herself. She loved the little girl, and she thought she deserved better than two crackheads as parents. Ghost’s parents sold crack to the whites in their part of town. Money kept being off and Jerome wanted them dead.

  Miss Emma told him she did not care do what he had to do, but leave the little girl alone and alive. The two goons he sent there that night did not see Ghost, so they followed through with Jerome’s plans. Her young son was running things in their small town, thanks to Miss Emma’s brother. Miss Emma had to check for herself, so she went to the house, and there she found a horrified, lonely and starved little girl.

  She drove Ghost where she could get a car and gave her money for gas, and told her to get as far away from the state of Michigan as quick as she can. She then she broke ties with Miss Emma and went away to join Atterbury Job Corps. But she would never forget, what she told her in the car. Ghost might have been out of it, but she was coherent enough to understand that from the beginning Jerome was the Devil, who started her hell.

  To Jerome’s knowledge Ghost died in that fire. He felt guilty, but not guilty enough to stop doing what the fuck he wanted to do to women.

  Now, she was twenty-five, the nightmare of her parents being killed in front of her was still fresh in her mind and so was the hell Jerome took her through. Her hell and her nightmare were connected, it was all associated, and she would seek her bittersweet revenge. The one thing she knew would probably never change about him is he loved paying for sex, she had her own plan. And who better to help her orchestrate her plans than Black Panther, herself.

  She was staying at a hotel in Indianapolis, where she was contacted to because evidently this Bone nigga (Pantha told her about) had beef with Jerome also and he knew how to get to him.

  Spanish fly

  “Dimly lit, less than up to par motel room. Grotesque ROOM!” She yelled in her thick Spanish accent at the four walls, as she raised her gin bottle up to the ceiling of a dimly lit, less than up to par motel room.

  “¿Cómo pueden ir Contra familia. Mi Familia, mi culo. She spoke into her bottle of gin, MS 13 was tattooed on the inner part of her wrist it was a fatal signature inked into her skin, and this is the tattoo of the Mara Salvatrucha, one of Latin America’s largest street gangs. Death, blood, and Nihilist rebellion are their territory in her home of El Salvador.

  A decision that was made for her, a life she did not choose to live. A night of holy terror, she was unwillingly penetrated and branded at the same time. In result of this night, three things stayed with her, the memory, the
tattoo, and her 3-month-old son. Except for her son, because, “Los pendejos de mierda dejan ese fucker tomar mi bebé.” She muttered as she staggered to the little kitchen in the motel room, she lit her cigar and with a non-sober sway she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror attached to the back of the bathroom door.

  She stared at her reflection; she pulled on the cigar to watch the exhaling of the smoke come from her nostrils. She saw the devil in herself, adorned in all red, her lips red; her bra and panty set red, her heels red and her eyes were even bloodshot red. Swaying from side to side she felt her milk come down like her son was crying for her. Crying for her to feed him as he always did. As the milk soaked her bra and dropped from her bosom, tears drowned her eyes in its wetness. The milk would not stop coming down; it was days of build up from not being able to feed her son. “Mi niño Lo siento. Siento. Siento. “She cried.

  After being held down and raped, her family talked her into not going to the police. But on top of that, on top of that degrading act, her family let the man who raped her come and snatch her son away from her. All so they can get the funds to go to America. It was not enough for her to be brutally raped, they destroyed the only thing that made her cope with her rape, they only good that came out of it, was her beloved son.

  She remembers dropping to her knees, so she dropped while still holding on to the gin bottle, she remembered begging, screaming, crying for someone in her family to not let that Diablo take her child. She held onto Diablo’s leg, even though with each kick she became bloodier, with each stomp she became bruised she still did not dare let go of him. She let him drag her across rocks and broken glass, hoping that this would show him the depths of which she would go through to keep her son. If God’s acts didn’t mean shit to the devil, what made her think her actions meant shit to him.

  Neighbors holding their hearts, the tears of the neighboring mothers sympathized with her as they prayed and did the cross sign while holding their Rosaries. You had people to look on in fear and disgust, cursing Diablo out under their breath; some not even brave enough to do that because the devil hears all. However, no one came to her and her son’s aide. No one intervened, not even the police officer’s that threw her into the back of a truck.