Okay, gentle readers — fair warning. This week the editors at Trifecta challenged us with a word that might offend your sensibilities. If that is so, please do not read further. If you choose to read beyond the cut and are then offended . . . well, as they say, you were warned.
I prefer the term pimp, Jessica.
I’m sure you do, Jerry. I know you see yourself as the Man, the one in charge of his bitches, the sugar daddy taking care of his hoes. You and your big, fancy car with its whitewall tires and leather seats.
You can call yourself Pimp Daddy for all I care. But it doesn’t change who you are or what you do. You’re nothing but a cheap hooker, Jerry. Big man whore that is what you are – you lie, you cheat, you beat up men AND women.
Jess fingered her cheek welting up with Jerry’s prints.
Go on, Whore. Take it all. You can beat me, hell, you can even kill me. But it all just proves my point. You are scum and I got out. Goodbye, Jerry. Rot in hell.
Jessica whirled on her 6 inch heels, grabbed her phone and walked through the door. On the outside she was all righteous indignation. On the inside she was a 13 year old girl shaking in her boots that she had defied him.
She never heard the shot that pierced her heart. Jerry had won in the end.
As she looked down on the scene her spirit summed up all its remaining earthly strength. Jerry shook and covered his ears as the sound rang out:
The special unit cops found Jerry three days later, cowering in filth in a dark alley. He smelt of urine – his and feral cat – and his pink suit was covered with only God knew what. His nose ran with snot and his eyes were matted with tears. He ran his hands through his hair and whimpered, “Make her stop. I can’t stand it. Tell her to stop talking to me. For God’s sake, make her stop!”
Yeah, Jerry. We’ll do that. Come on along like a good lad. We’ve got three hots and a cot waiting for ya.