Typing

((OK, so I felt like writing some big, random long scene of intensity, I'm not going to edit this, just write as things come to mind, so pardon any errors or lack of intensity that may follow.))

Love was a precious thing in Leah's household. It was something rarely handed out and even then it wasn't completely genuine. You had to find your love elsewhere. You had to make it yourself. Sometimes it went the wrong way when you were trying to make your own love, but it was a delicate trial-and-error process that had to be perfected over years. And with Leah's constant make-your-own-love kind of living, there were only a select few career opportunities available. Only one seemed to be hiring when she was 17 and looking for work. Prostitution.
It sounded like the perfect job at first; she could be whoever she wanted that night: loved and cared about. She finally didn't have to make her own love. It bought her at $50 a night.
Of course there were repeat customers, but there was one that seemed to really stand out to Leah. He told her his name was Martin, and he seemed to really like her. Leah couldn't help but wonder if maybe his love was a little different from the others: if maybe his love wasn't make-believe... He would pay her well, he wouldn't ever leave her in some dingy hotel with nothing but a name and fifty dollars... He was decent, kind, and seemed to really care.
Leah's mind reeled back home, where you had to hold on to whatever love you could take... And decided to hold on to Martin. Martin held back.
That night, Martin got there early, smiled kindly, and took her arm. Leah smiled back, a moment of an innocent affection on her face. Martin laughed, asked her to hold still for a second and took her picture. She blushed, happy with the flattery. Then continued with him on his way. He skipped all the filling in the middle this time, progressing straight on into kissing her passionately. Leah knew the way from here: playing with his hair, biting his ear lightly, and slowly playing around with removing her clothes. However, one they were done, instead of paying her and going on his way, he grabbed her arm roughly and pulled her up, handing her her clothes. "Put these on." He commanded.
"Martin? Is everything OK?" she asked.
"Yes, everything is fine. Just do what I tell you."
Leah was nervous. Something said that this was wrong, but she listened anyways. Once she was dressed, she followed him out onto the street. He took her arm and pulled him along after him, speaking only loud enough for her to hear him.
"You are going to follow me now. Do whatever I say, no matter what it is, and don't ask any questions."
"Martin, I'm scared. What's go-" Leah began, but he cut her off.
"No questions, remember?" he said. "I have a gun on me right now and if you don't listen, I'll use it on you. Don't stop, don't cry, just follow me."
Leah held her breath, thinking Oh God, what's going on? What's happening?
She had to only breath when necessary to keep from crying until they got to a house, most likely the one Martin lived in. Once they got inside, Leah broke down, crying, scared half out of her wits.
"Stop it!" Martin commanded, "You're going to live here now. You aren't going to leave. Ever. From now on, you aren't going to see anyone else. Just me."
"Martin, please stop!" she begged, but her pleas were met with a swift smack across her cheek.
"Leah! I told you how things are going to be. Don't ask any questions and you'll be a lot happier."
Leah collapsed onto her knees, weeping softly. She had just turned 18, and was supposed to go for another job interview that week. This is what trying to make her own love got her: being held prisoner by a scary man who refused to let her ever see the light of day again.
Martin frowned, displeased by her unhappiness. "Get up. I don't want to see you crying, Leah. Can't you see that I care about you?" he said tenderly, tilting her face up to meet his, "I'm keeping you from all the really dangerous people out there."
Leah continued to cry, still scared. Something about this made Martin angry. He grabbed her arm and dragged her down his stairs into his basement, not seeming to care that she was hitting almost everything on the way there. Her knees were scraped and bloody by the time he had pulled her down all the way, throwing her against the concrete wall in anger, "Stay here!" he commanded, leaving and locking the door behind him with a click.
Leah sobbed, holding her hand over the back of her head as she felt blood drip down her hair and through her fingers. She pressed on it lightly, hoping to stop the bleeding, but it seemed t never stop and holding it only seemed to make it hurt worse. She cried into her hands until she had no tears left, wondering how Martin had gone from the loving, kind, caring person who had made her feel like a queen, to holding her prisoner in his basement.
Martin returned about an hour later, dragging a mattress along with him and some sheets draped over one shoulder. He laid the mattress down and spread the sheets on it. He moved toward Leah, who instinctively flinched back. Martin winced slightly, then moved a little slower, "I'm not going to hurt you, Leah."
Leah looked up at him carefully, then let him help her onto the mattress. He turned on the lights and almost seemed pained when he saw her hands and head covered in blood. "Wait here." he said, softly this time, then returned after only a few minutes. He held a first-aid kit in his hand, and sat behind her, carefully taking care of the wound on her head, "Look me in the eyes for a second, Leah." he said softly as Leah turned to look in him in the eyes. Making sure she didn't have a concussion, he laid her down, "Shh... Sleep now, Leah... Just sleep..."

((I'll finish the rest of it next post.))