[color=gray][h3][sup][sup]The semi-sheer curtains blocked just enough of the view and the late afternoon light to cast the whole room in a comfortable, familiar-feeling warmth. Combined with the decor, it was apt to remind a born-and-bred Minnenoonan of their grandma’s house back before she got moved into one of those miserable homes and they stopped seeing much of her. Of the room that used to belong to mom or dad over there, and had since been kept in stasis for the grandkids. It was intimate, welcoming, yet so well-appointed as to appear unused. And despite the coaxings of the easy listening playing on the radio, despite the light perfuming, despite every effort imaginable, it remained inexorably alien to the present.

Sat on the bed, looking anxiously into the mirror, was a little girl. Her age was difficult to determine. She was small, small enough that she could have been in elementary school. Certain aspects of her attire suggested similarly—these days, ribbons and bows were the territory of the little ones, after all. The school uniform she wore offered no clarity. Saint Rita’s admitted children of all ages. The uniform was new—brand new. The shirt was freshly ironed, and fit in such a way that suggested it had been tailored specifically to fit her. 

The girl’s attention was broken suddenly by the opening of the door. A woman entered, brandishing a small mascara bottle. The woman offered the girl a sympathetic smile, while the girl mustered a tight-lipped attempt at one in return. The look in the young girl’s eyes suggested she may have been older than elementary school. It was the sort of Mommy-I’m-trying-to-be-brave look that some kids in Minnenoona put on for the adults as they got old enough to figure out the shit hand they’d all been dealt. The woman herself was probably too young to be the girl’s mother, and they looked different enough that they may well have not been related at all. But still, with the way the woman navigated the girl, preening her and fussing over every little detail, and adding the little compliments all along the way, there was, if nothing else, a certain familiar affection that underpinned it all. In short order, the woman stepped back for a moment to appraise her handiwork. She then had the girl unbutton her shirt and open it—revealing that the girl was wearing lingerie underneath—then beckoned her to look to face her. She grabbed the bottle she’d brought in, and started applying mascara on the girl. The young girl promptly tilted her head, opened her eyes wide, and looked at the ceiling, as though she’d done this a thousand times before.

“You won’t be wearing this to school,” the woman assured, “But Mr. Radowicz will appreciate this for tonight.” The girl affirmed the statement with a “Yes” carefully uttered to avoid moving her head. 

When the woman withdrew, she was quick to tell the girl to wait. There’d be more coats. The girl questioned the decision, asking wasn’t it a lot more than usual? How many coats would it be? The woman told the girl that they were shooting for just under trashy—enough to really run. She was sorry, but it was what Mr. Radowicz was asking for to “stick his neck out” and get her a spot at his school. The girl’s mouth crunched even as she maintained her position. Today was going to be rough—much worse than usual. Special orders were bad news. Planning for mascara to run was, as she understood, worse news still. Genny had always been a brave face for her age. Ever since she ended up here, she’d taken to wearing a brave face better than most. Miss Sunny had said so herself. She had responsibilities, discipline—she was even in charge of wake-ups for the other kids now. She wasn’t a cryer. Miss Sunny knew that. 

And all Miss Sunny could offer when asked was that she was sorry, that she couldn’t tell her, that Mr. Radowicz had specifically wanted to “surprise her.” Genny’s heart sank. She went pale. Soon after, Miss Sunny guided Genny’s head back up and started on the second layer of mascara.

There wasn’t much to be done to break the atmosphere of dread that hung over her for the remainder of the time she spent getting ready. It was inflamed by every subsequent detail. The extra rounds of mascara, the tinkering with her bobbed black curls, and then it was all cinched with Sunny’s recommendation [i]against[/i] hiking the skirt up a bit. The fact that Mr. Radowicz would want her to look as she would at school was somehow worse. Then, the reasoning made it click. When Genny asked Miss Sunny the question that immediately came to mind, of “why,” it was as bad as she’d imagined. This wasn’t a one-time thing. This wasn’t an entry fee. This was an ongoing service charge. And how often would it be, Genny asked. As Mr. Radowicz’s “charity case,” she’d be in for lunchtime tutoring. The kids never ate full lunches at home anyway, so it was a good time to do it, Miss Sunny insisted. And sometimes, it would actually be help for getting her caught up. She’d even get a little dessert after, as compensation for whatever the hard work of the day would be. Wasn’t that nice, at least? And besides, anything at the school would have to be much more tame—Mr. Radowicz had a job to think of, after all. But without specifics, Genny smelled bullshit. Probably more than Miss Sunny did, if she had to guess. And as another consolation prize, if it could be called that, Miss Sunny offered that she and Mr. Radowicz had at least agreed that Genny had plenty of exercise in her life already. Physical Education was unnecessary, so Genny could have some time to tackle her homework privately. And fortunately, her study hall wasn’t supposed to be in Mr. Radowicz’s office. So there was that.

Soon, the hour approached. One of the first things the kids always learned was breathing exercises. They were essential tools for keeping a veneer of calm. The screaming and struggling, ideally, was meant to be on-demand. And though Genny hadn’t needed to go so far as breathing intentionally and drinking water slowly in some time, today, with the essential [i]promise[/i] that she was in for something that would push her back to that visceral fright and pain she’d spent years trying to lock in that deepest pit of her stomach, she needed every trick in the book. Lest she waste the mascara prematurely.

When Mr. Radowicz knocked on the door, he was promptly invited in. He and Miss Sunny chatted briefly in the mud room as she helped him with his coat, all about nothing in particular. Genny was surprised to observe that he appeared so normal. Attractive and ugly had come to mean increasingly less as the entire affair became disgusting as a matter of principle to her, but, for what it was worth, even as his hair was greying, he had held onto a thick head of it, kept very well-groomed. His face was angular, accentuated by his thin glasses and bushy grey eyebrows. He wasn’t slim by any account, but he wasn’t particularly overweight either, so his excellent posture gave him a better apparent figure in his suit than might otherwise have been the case. What ultimately drew Genny’s attention, however, were his hands. They were stubby, strong, and terribly hairy. He had a wedding band and a few others which by her estimation from other important events. Whatever he was planning on was going to hurt.

And despite what was coming, when he first approached her, he was all but a perfect gentleman. If it weren’t for the occasional looks that she’d developed an eye for—and even those were common enough that it didn’t really discount the sentiment—he’d have come off as nothing more than a perfectly sensible, well-to-do, well-dressed, good-and-decent fellow that all the adults were always saying the world didn’t have so many of anymore. Genny stood up and greeted him politely, they shook hands, he kissed hers as he had Miss Sunny’s, and commented about how much he’d heard, and then Miss Sunny appeared from behind him with some papers. The three of them briefly discussed the contents of the admission papers, then Miss Sunny excused herself for a moment. While Miss Sunny was out, Mr. Radowicz asked Genny a few mundane questions, and things remained so above-board the entire time that Genny began to wonder if perhaps she’d worried more than she’d needed to. 

Miss Sunny soon returned with a yellow folder, and produced several documents from it. She and Mr. Radowicz looked at them together and compared them, and Mr. Radowicz nodded along with a pleased expression as Miss Sunny explained that they should be sufficient as far as identifying documents were concerned, should they be needed. Genny would be Regina Esposito at St. Rita’s, and, if need should arise to explain it, was Sunny’s niece. The name was repeated amongst the three of them a few times to get a feel for it, and from then on, Mr. Radowicz addressed Genny as Gina. Once that was done, Miss Sunny gave Genny a hug and sat down with the paperwork. Genny stood still for a moment, until Mr. Radowicz prompted her along. There was a bit of impatience in his voice as he asked her if she was “worried” for his “assessment” of her, behaving as if they were indeed just having a little private, harmless intake meeting. Summoning as much confidence as she could manage, she assured him that she had tried to be well-prepared. That, at least, wasn’t a lie. She straightened her posture and led him upstairs. She knew well enough that stalling often just put the adults in a bad mood. And when that happened, there wasn’t a chance in hell even the pretences of being a child worthy of protection would hang around behind those doors. Impatient men were rarely more gentle than they had to be.

It didn’t take long for the first sounds to emerge. The carpeted hallways muffled the normal sounds. But these were yelps of pain. Louder yelps and screams. Sometimes muffled into gurgles, sometimes visceral enough that her voice cut out. Sunny flinched every time a new sound echoed down the stairs. She was writing even slower than usual. She hadn’t finished the first page when a couple of the older kids descended the stairs, both half-dressed for the night, asking to know just what the hell was going on. Sunny sighed and tried to talk around it. The larger of the two, a pudgy blonde girl with a tired, severe, and downright dour look about her, finally leaned forward on the table and all but demanded a straight answer. “No, seriously,” Sally insisted, “The fuck’s going on up there?” So maybe Genny did want some of it. She wanted to go to school, and that came with a price. All three of them were on the same page that nothing came free in this world, and rarely did a whore get a good price. But this? This was unusual. It was too early, for one. And more importantly, Genny wasn’t a screamer. Rooms weren’t supposed to have thumps. And the door? The door was locked. Sally had checked it herself. Where was the key? They needed the key, to go up and bail Genny out. It didn’t matter if this was the price of admission. It was too far. That was the rule. Everyone helped each other stay safe. That was Sunny’s fucking rule. The Golden. Fucking. Rule.

Sunny rose from the table. She hadn’t made eye contact with Sally or Fi since the conversation had started. She shook her head as she reiterated her point. Opportunities like this were one in a million. And that meant it was gonna cost a high price. But Genny would ultimately be fine. She’d recover, anyway. Sunny gripped the bridge of her nose as Sally called bullshit. The argument continued, even as the three of them all intermittently flinched and were momentarily distracted by the worst of the sounds from upstairs. Finally, Sunny grabbed them both by the shoulder and broke into a serious whisper. She knew what was happening in there. They’d only gotten a shot in the first place because Mr. Radowicz used to be [i]her[/i] guy. He still was, every now and then. She was just getting to be too much of a real adult for him to scratch all his itches. See? She’d done the whole nine yards already. In the uniform. In the ass, too. It was nothing some ice and criminal-grade painkillers couldn’t keep under control. Genny couldn’t know enough to really brace herself, otherwise her reactions wouldn’t have been genuine—which was what Mr. Radowicz was really truly after, cross her heart and hope to die—but she’d get as much of the good stuff as she needed after this. It was all Sunny could do to make it up to her. 

That part may have at least answered part of their question, but the girls certainly weren’t satisfied. They returned to their other focus: what the [i]specific[/i] fuck was going on in there. Sunny resisted and tried to divert at every turn, but the older kids only agreed to continue getting ready in a timely manner if they got the whole picture of what was on the table that Genny was getting her face slammed through. They continued getting dressed in Sunny’s room, grimaced as they saw scars she usually kept hidden, and exchanged worried looks as Sunny enumerated all sorts of techniques to inflict pain while minimizing impact. And then, when she clarified that Mr. Radowicz only held back like that when he was concerned about leaving evidence, their blood ran cold. No amount of assurance felt like enough. How could it be? Sure, it’d all heal. Physically. But inside? There was only dampening the bleeding. It was one of those moments that really reminded the girls how little they felt like they actually understood Sunny. Maybe it was preventable. Maybe it wasn’t. But it was more than unfortunate. What was happening in there was undoubtedly monstrous. It was vile. It was deserving of every effort in the goddamn universe to try at the very least to soothe those bleeding, pussing, ever inflamed-and-infected emotional gashes at every opportunity. And there wouldn’t even be an opportunity to catch a real breather. This was, after all, a personal visit. Not a night’s work.

The moment they were ready and had gotten all they could out of Sunny, the girls stood up and left without another word. They took their chairs, and, as Sunny prepared to return downstairs, she observed them positioning themselves on either side of the door, waiting for the very second things were done in there. Sunny returned to her seat and her paperwork. It was a struggle. A real struggle. Especially with all those awful sounds. But she was pretty close to finishing by the time she heard a knock from the door upstairs. And her two accosters hollering down the stairs about it. She produced the key, and went to unlock the door. Before she could enter or Mr. Radowicz could exit, Sally shoulder-checked both adults, forcing her way in. From Sunny’s view, all she could see was the two older girls piled around Genny, who was seemingly in a fetal position sobbing on the floor. Mr. Radowicz was already dressed and promptly tried to lead Sunny away from the room. He had an easy smile on, as though he and Genny had simply enjoyed a productive conversation about her new school. He apologized for the state of Genny’s uniform, and promised he’d replace it with a brand new one. He asked about the paperwork. Sunny stood her ground as best as she could and peeked past him. She asked that he wait downstairs, that she’d have it finished soon, that she just needed to handle things. He shrugged and said he could pick it up another day—she wasn’t one of his own kids, after all. She nodded swiftly and apologized, but said she had some urgent things to attend to, and asked if he could please show himself out.

Sunny hurried to her room, and procured some pills and some water. She returned to the room with the three girls as fast as she could manage. Finally, she could see the aftermath. There were little splatters of blood on the carpet. The remnants of Genny’s skirt were on the floor nearby. Looking at Genny herself, who had only just sat up with the support of the two older girls, her shirt was open, with several of its buttons ripped clean off. There were dark red marks around her waist, where the skirt was, and around her neck, where her tie had been. There were other marks as well, both in those same spots and all over the rest of her, some with indentations of rings, others looking more like the marks of heavy hands. A few looked like the products of hard falls. Her wrists were red, her hands were shaking as she took the pills and water. Genny’s face was covered in dark black streaks, like a hot dark rain over cheeks red-hot from monstrous impacts. She’d bitten her lip several times. Sunny asked her softly to open her mouth. Genny hesitantly did so. She’d bitten the inside of her cheek too—and hard at that. She was still bleeding a bit from a few spots. Her throat was red and irritated. Genny’s weak whimpers and sputterings were so scratchy that she often flinched after making the sounds, trying desperately to keep calm enough not to hurt herself further. “Ice pops. Please go get the ice pops,” Sunny whispered. Sally sprung up and hurried downstairs.

Fi still clung Genny tightly. Sunny went in to comfort her as well, but Genny pulled closer to Fi. She looked pleadingly at Sunny. Sunny held back. Genny’s eyes were red and dry. Fi was stoic, staring off towards the door with a protective glare, as if she would vaporize the man with her eyes should he dare to return. Sunny’s lip quivered, but no tears came. She knelt in front of the girls and looked deep into Genny’s eyes. All she could offer was, “I—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I know it’s hard, sweetie, and you’ve been so brave. I’m so proud of you. You’ve dealt with enough tonight. You don’t have to do anything tonight or tomorrow. I’ll take care of everything. I’ll make it better. I promise.”[/sup][/sup][/h3][/color]