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Taking the root of his dick in one hand, he grips my hair in the other and guides my mouth to his cock. Disgust wells in my throat.
He pushes against my lips. “Suck me, white bitch.”
I don’t do anything of the kind. I tune out of the moment and become an empty shell. It’s a routine he knows well. He lets go of his penis to catch my jaw, squeezing painfully on the joints until my mouth opens of its own accord. Then he simply uses me, pumping and shoving until I gag. Tears roll over my cheeks. The saltiness slips into my mouth, mixing with the taste of sweat and filth. Mercifully, like always, Tiny comes fast. Not even a minute later, he ejaculates with a grunt and shoots his load into my mouth. When he pulls out, panting like a pig, I turn my head to the side and spit.
He chuckles. “One of these days, you’re gonna swallow.”
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “When you’re pretty and your parents are rich.”
“Come on, baby.” He pulls me up by the arm, his dick hanging limp between us. “Give Tiny a kiss. Let Tiny taste himself on that useless mouth of yours, because you sure as fuck don’t know how to suck cock.”
“Let go.” I jerk free and snatch my bag up from where it has fallen on the ground.
His laugh follows me down the road as I run to our flat, hating myself as much as I hate him.
Jerry leans on our door as I come up the stairs. He looks away, avoiding my eyes. He must’ve left Napoli’s shortly after us. That means he slipped past me in the street while Tiny got off in my mouth.
“You’re a scumbag.” I try to push him aside, but he doesn’t budge.
“Val…”
“Did you get a kick out of watching?”
He shoves his hands into his pockets. “I’m sorry.”
“For being a peeping Tom or dragging Charlie to Napoli’s?”
“I couldn’t resist the temptation. A Napoli’s VIP pass doesn’t happen every day.”
“Four hundred thousand rand, Jerry.”
“We’ll sort it. Don’t sweat.”
“Right.” The only way to sort it is to disappear, and we have nowhere to go. “How long has this been going on?”
He scratches his head and has the decency to look guilty. “A few months.”
“You dragged Charlie out there at night, without my permission?”
“Come on, Val.” Jerry braces his shoulder on the door. “I said I’m sorry.”
I knock for Charlie to open. I’m physically and mentally too exhausted to fight now. “Whatever.”
I cook and clean for Jerry to keep an eye on Charlie while I work, and although Jerry is a thief, he’s not physically mean, at least not to Charlie.
After a while, when Charlie doesn’t open, Jerry takes Charlie’s key from his pocket and hands it to me. Puff barks as I unlock the door. He waits with a wagging tail.
“Good night, Jerry.”
“Can I come in?”
“It’s late. I need to study.” I use the excuse even if I know there’s no way I’ll focus on a textbook tonight, but it’s the quickest way to get rid of Jerry. Otherwise, he’ll stay until four in the morning.
“Oh, come on. Just an hour.”
I close and lock the door on his plea, waiting until his shoes shuffle down the landing. I brush my teeth three times before I fix Charlie scrambled eggs and toast for dinner, put him to bed, and settle down on the sleeper couch with Puff.
Sleep doesn’t come. I think of Charlie and the handsome fifteen year-old boy he’d been. He was one of those all-rounders who was good at sports and first in his class. He was my big brother. My hero. Two years younger than Charlie, I was in primary school when he went to high school. He fetched me when the bell went at the end of the day, carried my schoolbag, took my hand, and walked me to ballet practice. We didn’t tell my parents he made a deal with Miss Paula to work in her garden so I could carry on dancing. If they knew, my father would’ve demanded he worked for money to buy necessities, those necessities being booze and cigarettes. Charlie helped me fit the ballet shoes Miss Paula lent me and waited the hour the dance practice lasted before walking me home to fix me a sandwich. He could’ve hung out with his friends, but he didn’t. He took care of me.
If the accident hadn’t happened, if I didn’t want a stupid piece of chocolate cake that night, Charlie would’ve been Charles. My brother would’ve grown into the man he was born to be. Like every night, I weep into my pillow, shedding bitter tears that won’t help one damn bit. Brain damage is irreparable.
* * *
Puff cries at the door, letting me know he needs to go. The sun is up, but it’s barely five. I wait downstairs on the cracked concrete while he does his business against a dead tree and throw a stick for him to fetch a couple of times. Beside himself with joy, he trips over his paws to lay the broken branch at my feet. Puff is always a happy dog. One morning, yelping coming from a garden trashcan alerted me. I pulled out a starved, dirty, flea-ridden puppy. To this day, Puff is scared of trashcans.
