Page 61 of Thirst

“Guilty as charged,” he says, placing a hand to his chest like this is a game he's used to playing. “I know it’s pathetic, but I don’t have women throwing themselves at me every day. The good Lord didn't bless me with the looks of a model … or a stripper. I have to pay when I want it, and I don't like paying. But every now and then, I get an opportunity like this, where someone as beautiful as you needs something from me. Something they can't get from anybody else. And I get to use it to my advantage. Now I don't have to pay. Now, you’ll let me do what I want to you, or I’ll take down and ruin every piece of art you have in here, and I’ll use my very real connections in this industry to blacklist you. You’ll never be an artist if you don't let me have you, right here, right now. Or, you can keep your dignity and go back to being a stripper—which is laughable when you really think about it—but you’ll never see your dream come to fruition. It’s your choice, Aaliyah. At the end of the day, when it comes to getting ahead, the whole world is a Viper Room, and you have to be willing to do what you have to in order to do what you want to do. Then again, you look so good in that dress, I might not let you say no.”

I gasp, taking another step back as a tear slides down my cheek. “What is that supposed to mean?”

He steps forward. “You know what it means. I'm asking you to give it to me. Don't make me have to take it.”

“You sick asshole. Pathetic piece of shit who has to manipulate women into having sex with you. You're the worst kind of human.”

“I don't deny it, and I don't care. You're trying to enter my world, and if you want in, you have to pay the toll just like everybody else.”

“Bullshit,” I bark, fully crying now as my body temperature skyrockets. “I'm not paying anything. If you don't want to help me, I’ll make it on my own.”

“I promise you won't. One phone call is all it takes to make sure you never book a venue in the entire state of PA. I've been doing this a long time. You have no idea how in over your head you are. Don't make it harder than it has to be.”

“Fuck you,” I exclaim, but it comes out as lifeless as I feel. I look behind Stanley and see all of my art on the walls, and I feel miserable about having worked so hard to create and hang them just for this to happen. I'm so heartbroken I can barely stand, but I still have some fight left. “I'm not gonna let you do this to me. I refuse.”

Stanley makes a show of looking around the empty room. “I don't see that you have much of a choice. Come on, Aaliyah. I've always been nice to you. Is it really that much to ask?”

“How about you bend over and let me shove a pipe up your ass, then we’ll see.”

He chuckles, completely unbothered by my emotion. “Fortunately, I'm not the one in the position of needing to bend over. Am I really so hideous that you can't give in to me for just a few minutes? It won't even take that long.”

“Yes, you nasty bitch! You are that hideous. You do disgust me that much. You are that much of a pathetic loser!”

“Look, I'm being as patient as I can be,” he says, his smugness disappearing. “But you're pushing it with the name-calling. You better remember that you're all alone in here.”

“You're a disgusting pervert. Your mother should be ashamed of you.”

“Hey. I'm telling you, you better watch it.”

“Eat shit,” I bark, before trying to walk away. I stomp past Stanley on my way to the door, but he quickly spins around and grabs me by the wrist before I can get too far.

“I tried to warn you,” he snaps, then he uses my arm as leverage and throws me to the ground. I land with a thud and look up to find him towering over me. “I gave you a chance. I tried to be nice. Now we’re gonna do it the hard way.”

“Don’t touch—”

My words are cut off when Stanley reaches down and grabs me by the hair. I scream bloody murder, hoping someone on the street will hear me, but he proceeds to drag me across the tile floor like I'm weightless. The front door gets further and further away as he takes me to the back where there are no windows for people to see inside. I kick my legs and flail, but the searing pain in my head keeps me from moving too much, plus he's astronomically stronger than me. It’s not even a challenge for him to drag me into the back room and slide me across the floor until I'm in the middle.

“Get the fuck off me, Stanley,” I scream, but he ignores it.

The look in his eyes is depraved as he squats over the top of me and starts tugging at my dress as if its presence offends him. I cry out, tears streaming down my face before rage takes over and I start swinging at him, refusing to go down without a fight. I land a couple of clean shots on his face, but they do nothing more than piss him off.

He draws back and slaps me across the face so hard I think my face has exploded. My head bounces off the floor and my entire world starts to spin as pain erupts like a firecracker has gone off inside my skull. I'm barely conscious as his hands force my dress up to my waist and yank my panties down, throwing them across the room.

“I told you to just give it to me,” he says, his voice a growl. “Could've had your dreams come true. Now I'm going to take it and burn your paintings anyway.”

With my head swimming, I can't muster the energy and focus needed to fight back. I lie there, my head swaying back and forth as Stanley pins my arms under his knees and begins fumbling with the latch on his pants. Tears blur my vision, turning his image into a distorted monster straddling me with a face like melted wax. I'm terrified and unable to run, but even in the fog of my mind, I know I will never be the same after this. Just like he said before, I’ll never recover.

But just as Stanley gets his belt undone, a sound in the other room makes him come to a stop. He freezes, looking behind him and listening intently. I listen too, and am just as shocked as he is as the sound of footsteps echoes over the tiles. Someone is here, and they're taking their time walking through the other room, each step like a ticking clock that makes time slow down until a figure finally emerges in the doorway. Stanley scrambles to get up, his fingers failing him as he tries to redo his pants and the blurry figure stands tall before him wearing something black and red.

“Who are you?” Stanley asks, breathing heavily.

The figure leans over, trying to see behind Stanley as he stands in front of me.

“Oh, don't you worry,” Amari says, his voice tight and his words as sharp as razor blades. “I’m gonna show you exactly who I am.”

AMARI

Thirty-Seven