Las Vegas Monologues

I stare out the car window as the glitzy city of Las Vegas flies by.
Bright lights, towering buildings, laughing faces, drunken staggers.
Las Vegas. Of all places, we’re in Las Vegas. And I have enough common sense to guess why.
My dull gaze shifts down to the dazzling diamond on my finger. They say diamonds are a girl’s best friend. But in this case, it’s a nightmare.
Andrew forced the ring on my finger the second he hauled a struggling, protesting me onto the plane.
Now, we’re in Las Vegas. His intentions obvious.
The hellion’s hand rests on my thigh, and I stiffen, holding my breath, waiting.
“Baby, you don’t need to be afraid of me anymore, alright?” His voice soft, smooth, caressing. Just like it was when we first met. But I know better now. Better than to trust that voice. Better than to trust him.
He shifts across

But he doesn’t hit me. No, he brushes my hair to one side, kisses the side of my neck, along the top of my shoulder. “My mother’s name is Lolita Sanchez. I’m supposed to love her because she gave birth to me. Yet, I hate her because she gave birth to me. She’s a Bathsheba. A Rahab. She spread her legs for a married man. She took what did not belong to her. For money. For pleasures of the world. And I’m the product of that sin. I didn’t die like Bathsheba’s baby died. No, I was shown mercy. I was punished: I lived, I grew, I learned the truth, and was left to live in it as if it was my sin. A father who only came to see me once a month because he had a real son, a son that was born the right way, out of love. Not out of lies and greed. Because of my mother, I was a sin, a guilt, a mistake visited once a month.” He trails his fingers down my arm, down to my wrist, laces our fingers. “You were mine. You knew you were mine. I told you you were mine. Yet you left and spread for someone who isn’t me. Let him hear that little sound you make when you’re about come. A sound that belongs to