Page 59 of Dark, Forbidden, & Taboo

No competition is the best kind, and it seems that I’ll be the first and only person to reach out. I don’t mind dealing with some brats for five days a week as long as the pay is good.

And considering that I’m strapped for cash, I won’t put up too much of a fuss over what they’re willing to pay.

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I shrug my jacket off when I get back to the shelter.

I’ve been homeless for about four years now and this place has always been good to me. I don’t have much of anything, so no one ever tries to steal from me when I’m gone or asleep. And if they do, well, I just sit them down and have a chat about it. Sometimes, people need more than what they’re willing to say, and I don’t mind helping where I can.

I walk over to my cot and drop my jacket onto it before I head toward the office. Miss Jean is one of my favorite people to talk to because even though she’s always busy, she has time for each and every one of us.

A gentle rap on the half-open door gets her attention. She looks up at me with her warm, chocolate-brown eyes, and smiles. I grin in return and step in when she waves at me.

“Well, good morning Meryska! What can I do for you?” she asks me brightly.

The thing about Miss Jean is that she’s always genuine with her emotions. She never forces a fake smile or warm sentiment for the sake of our feelings, so I know she’s having a good day.

“I think I found a job,” I tell her excitedly as I sit down and cross my legs underneath myself. I roll the sleeves up on my t-shirt and Miss Jean’s eyes fall on my tattoos.

I got most of them done when I ended up on the street; traded some of the best tattoo artists blow jobs and some finger fucking action for them. They let me stay in their shops at night sometimes if I did a good job sucking their cocks, and I thought it was nice to have a place to stay. I got really good at it, I even learned how to grind down on their fingers when they decided that was how they wanted to be paid instead because having a roof over my head was more important to me than having my virginity.

Of course, I never said who they were. Being thirteen years old with a dick in my mouth for the first time or a fist in my pussy wasn’t exactly something you tell people about. They’d end up in jail for kiddie diddling and I’d end up with nowhere to sleep for the night.

“Tell me about it,” Miss Jean says, resting her hands on the table and leaning forward.

“Well, I’d love to, but I need to use your phone first,” I admit sheepishly. She arches an eyebrow with a curious shine in her eyes, so I reach into my pocket and pull out the number. “It’s a babysitting job. I know it won’t pay me enough to get my own place, but I can start saving whatever they give me.”

“Oh, honey. You know that’s not why I was asking,” she replies softly.

“I know. I just think it’s time for me to move on and try to make something of myself and I’m hoping this job will help me,” I say with a shrug.

Miss Jean reaches across her desk and gives my hand a squeeze before she turns her phone toward me, then excuses herself from the room. She gives me a reassuring pat on the shoulder on her way out and I take a deep breath.

Hopefully, whoever is on the other end of this phone call won’t let me down, I think as I glance down at the tearaway then begin to dial the number.

Chapter

Two

I’m standing in the bathroom running a brush through my hair. I’ve never been so nervous in my goddamn life before, but my interview is in an hour and I want to make sure that I look somewhat presentable.

I decided not to hide my tattoos because that would be hiding a part of myself that I’m kinda proud of. Not necessarily what Idid, but the fact that I was able to survive at such a young age by doing it.

After I finish dabbing some gloss on my lips, I pucker them, then give myself a critical once over before I decide that it’s the best I can do considering the circumstances I live in.

As good as it gets,I think as cheerfully as I can. I head back out into the main room then grab my jacket from my bed. On the way toward the door, I stop by Miss Jean’s office and peek in.

“You look very nice, Meryska,” she says with an approving nod. “Good luck, honey. Remember, if you need references, you give them my phone number.”

“Thanks, Miss Jean,” I reply gratefully.

She’s taken down the phone number of the family I’ll be interviewing with, and if they call, she won’t say the shelter name. She’s really smart like that sometimes. I fish around in my pocket quickly then pull out the loose change I have, counting it to make sure that I have enough for the bus ride over and back again.

With a nervous smile, I give her a little wave as I make my way out of the shelter and head toward the bus stop down the street.

Half an hour and ten stops later, I find myself standing on the front stoop of one of the fancier houses in town. It does absolutely nothing to ease my nerves, but I’ve come this far, and I have to at least try.

Here goes nothing.

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