The Devil’s Pawn Read Online Free PDF

rage at the unfairness of life hits me like a ton of bricks, I curse loudly and slam my elbow against the door. The pain shoots up my arm instantly, and I cry out from it. But I welcome the pain as it pushes the anger away so effectively.
    I look up to the ceiling and I see the darkened dome of the camera, remembering for the first time since Liz has left me that I’m never truly alone here. I’m sure he’s not watching. Why would he? It’s now late, and I’m just the unwanted new whore he’s been forced to take in. He can’t stand me, and in some absurd way, that is painful to bear. I could accept this pain from a man who cared about me, but this isn’t how it’s supposed to be. I make no move to cover myself as I return to the bedroom and collapse onto the bed. Before I drift off, the last thought that passes through my tired, hazy mind is, perhaps sleeping on the streets was better than this . Then I’m gone into my deeply troubled dreams.

Chapter 4
    I wake to the room phone ringing, and as I reach over to answer it, I realize my elbow is more than bruised; it’s swollen. The administrative office of Trimbles is calling to let me know I’m expected in the lobby at noon to go for a fitting at the tailors, and then to the gynecologist for an exam and birth control. I wonder, not for the first time, if I will ever adjust to hearing people speak to me in such blunt terms about my body and sexual health, and I have to remind myself I’m just a commodity now. Bought, sold, gambled, traded, and God knows what else.
    I’ve slept late, and it is nearly ten. While I wish for nothing more than to hide from the world, the call of caffeine pulls me out of bed. I throw the white sundress back on and head for the common room. Every step is a reminder of just how sore I am between my legs. I feel swollen and tender, and every ache I feel flashes memories, not of the pain as much as the hate-filled expression on Mr. Pennington’s face and the loathsome tone of his voice. I pause briefly outside the door to the common room to psych myself up for what lies ahead. I will myself to walk normally, act cool, and, most of all, show no fear. However, when I enter, I realize I’ve just walked into the beautiful women’s convention, and every ounce of self-determination I had built up melts in a moment.
    All seven of my housemates are sitting around the dining room table, talking animatedly to one another, and as Liz looks up and sees me, she hushes the table with a quick, “Oh, here she comes!”
    As I approach the table, my leeriness no doubt obvious in my expression, I’m greeted with warm smiles and the random comment or two. “Oh my, she’s so small,” spoken by a tall brunette with freckles and a cute upturned nose, followed by, “But she’s so cute, and I would kill for those curls.” This was spoken of course by an Asian woman with dark silken hair that is straight as a board. If she only knew what she was asking for…
    Every woman at the table is watching me and smiling broadly at me. I’m offered a chair and coffee, and I sit, looking around the table at the warm faces of the women who smile gently back at me. Okay, I can handle this. As coffee is poured, my mood lifts instantly. There is nothing better than meeting my good friend coffee in the morning. Even I can afford coffee, and the caffeine staves off hunger when there is no food to be found. As I sit with my good friend in my hand, I try not to let anyone see the discomfort that sitting is causing me as my swollen and painful vagina aches at the hard surface of the chair.
    The women watch me, instantly interested in their new neighbor, and, within moments, the questions start. Everything from “where did you come from” to “have you fucked Mr. Pennington yet?” But Liz rescues me and silences the table quickly. Instead, she introduces the women, and I try my best to remember names, though I’m certain to forget more than half. There is a Teresa, a