Thread: Unholy Conspiracy (Quix and Xana)

Aishas hands shook as she sipped her coffee, despite the ways she tried to calm herself. The minute hand on the clock lurched forward, almost loud as it clicked into place. 1005. He wasnt going to show. Why would he? What did he care what happened to the dregs of society? Literally no one cared what happened to women like her. Druggie whores, who deserved what they got for their weak moral fiber. Aisha was angry at father Thorne, for doing this to her, for turning her into this. Angry at Jeffery for dismissing her, without even meeting her, hearing out what she had to say. Angry at herself, for thinking anyone would listen to her. Five more minutes. She would wait five more minutes, before ducking out the back and shooting up the heroin she had on her. Maybe she would just shoot it all up in her. Just end it, before anyone else could hurt her again. There was some peace to the idea, enough peace that her hands no longer trembled as she brought up her cup for another sip. By the time she finished that drink, a man was sitting across from her. A nicely dressed, respectable white man, meeting a woman like her in public. She almost felt bad for him, and what everyone must think of him. Jeffrey O'Donnell, you wanted to talk? Aisha has imagined this moment a few times, since she read his first article about corrupt cops. How she would tell him about what she went through, since turning 18 and aging out of the foster care system. No family, no education and no money, what choice did she have but to seek out a womans shelter to house her. How the priests took advantage of her vulnerability to take what they wanted from her, and feed her drugs when the trauma of abuse reared its head. It had helped, considerably to drown the pain of what they took from her, but now she couldnt hardly get by without it. Still, as she tried to figure how to word it, she felt herself freeze. He would never believe her. She hardly believed herself. It was absurd. Men in charge of running womens shelters were raping and abusing them? Instead, she reached in her pocket, feeling the baggie between her fingers. Stealing a quick glance around, she palmed the baggie into his hand, ensuring he had a good grip on it, before moving her hand back. As she watched him examine she put in his hand, she found some words, to explain what she was showing him. I got that from a priest, after he finished Aisha started, unable to continue meeting his eyes. He was judging her, she knew. She looked like a junkie, and she put a baggie of drugs in his hand. Way to disprove the stereotype. It aint the first time. Theyuse us and theypay us, in drugs. They buy our bodies and our silence with a dimebags. She laughed bitterly, swallowing down that self hate, swallowing down her craving, her need. Father Thorne, Damien Thorne. He runs a safe house, offa Woodrow street, near the cemetery. They know we aint got no place to go. Thats how they know we aint gon talk. She finished her coffee, and looked up so see if he even half believed anything she told him. Aint no one gon listen to me. But you? A nice respectful white man? People might listen to you. They sure listened when you told everyone Boston PD had a race problem. Jana sat on her bed, lifting her shirt to get a look at her bruises while she had sun light. They were purple and red, yellowing around the outside. Touching them lightly, she couldnt help but wince, still aching, though not as bad as last night. There was a knock and then the door opened before she could even protest. Not that she was doing anything, really, just had her shirt up and her bra exposed. But it came down when he opened the door, and she didnt think he saw anything. She smiled meekly at the Father, her face slight flushed as he spoke. Very well, Father, she insisted, even though it wasnt entirely true. They were letting her stay here, after all, no point in being rude. Umm, I think you think my phone last night. On accident, when you took my things. Yes, my child. I need to make sure you werent able to be tracked here. This location is secret, because many of the women here are fleeing from abusive men in their life. I made sure to turn off your location data, and tracking apps, so your step father couldnt use your phone to find you, and hurt you more, Father Thorne explained, putting the pile of clothes down on her bed. He came up behind her now, resting his hand on her shoulder. Is that what he did to you? His voice was hardly more of a whisper, and she felt his body pressed against hers. Yes, she exhaled, looking down in shame. Let me get a look at it, see if we need to get you medical attention, he instructed, staying close to her. After a moments hesitation, she lifted her shirt for him, so he could see the marks on her ribs. He shook his head, clicking his tongue in disapproval. Terrible, just terrible my child, he exclaimed, bringing his hand down to her waist, just checking to see if any ribs are broken. He put pressure on her bruises, causing her to wince and groan, but she made no further complaint. I think you will be okay. He stepped back now, I will take your clothing now, and I brought some clean stuff to you to change into. Thank you Father, She said, turning towards the clothes he left out for her. She waited for a few moments for him to leave, but he stood fast. Should I change in the bathroom or? She started, feeling his eyes on her now. I need to ensure that you are not bringing drugs or weapons into the home, Jana. Many of the women here have drug abuse problems and some even have history in gangs. This is a Christian safe house, and I cannot have these things here. If this isnt acceptable to you, you can try another shelter. Rosies Place is very well known. Jana cringed at the thought of having to leave, after she was just getting settled. Not to mention his remark about it being well known. Just the kind of place her step father would think to look for her. No, I understand, Father, she assured him, looking down at the wood floors. After a few deep breaths she pulled her shirt up over her head, revealing her upper body to him, clad in only a bra now. She handed the shirt to him and put on the new shirt, a white long sleeve that was tight against her body. After a bit more hesitation she unbuttoned her jeans, slipping them down her hips to puddle on the floor. She was thin, showing the effecting of leaving in poverty for the past decade. Jeans were folded and place in Fathers Thornes hands, before she slipped into the sweat pants provided. Very good, my child. Breakfast will be served shortly, and then I will go over the rules and expectations, for your stay. Father Thorne directed, with an arm around her shoulders, ushering her into the hallway.