The Beauty of Broken Things

"Is that your size?" he asked, nodding to the jacket.

"I don't know."

"Try it on," he said.

"I can... they'll let me do that?" she asked.

He nodded and took the coat back down.

"Give me yours," he said, holding out his other hand.

Tessa unzipped the old puffer and shrugged it off, handed it over, and took the new jacket. She donned it, and as she turned, Kelso caught a brief glimpse of her back. Through the holes of the threadbare shirt that she wore he saw crisscrossed scars in the skin. Another ran in a thin line about her throat. Then the jacket covered her. She closed it, closed her eyes, and shivered. He saw what he guessed passed for a smile flit across her face and she turned toward a wall mirror. He watched her watch herself, turning this way and that, looking at the jacket. It was a good fit.

"It looks really good," he said, "Is it warm?"

She nodded.

"Do you want to look at another one?"

She shook her head and actually looked afraid that he might take it from her.

"Let's go this way," he said, and nodded toward the Lifestyle section.

Here, they found a few displays of pet gear, ranging from silly costumes to more functional outerwear, sweaters and cute apparel. These Tessa took to eagerly, readily checking them over. She settled on a yellow, quilted fleece jacket with a hood.

"Is this one okay?" she asked, showing him the price tag.

"Of course," Kelso answered.

She looked more excited by the dog jacket than her own.

"Is there anything else you need?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"What about your shoes?" he asked.

Tessa's sneakers were as worn as the rest of her clothes. The sole of the left one was loose, flapping when she walked, and he was pretty sure the right one wasn't far behind. She looked embarrassed by the question.

"Tessa, it's going to get cold. Get some shoes. Some socks for that matter, and maybe a pair of jeans."

Tessa seemed lost.

"Alright," he said, "Follow me."

Kelso led her, first, to the shoes, where he practically had to beg her to try on a pair of sturdy boots. He figured those were the best bet for someone that spent more time than they should outdoors.

"You need something that will last and that won't get your feet soaked when it snows," he said.

He could see by the look on her face, a passing memory of something beyond mere discomfort, that she was in agreement. How many winters on the street had the girl seen?

"These?" she asked, clopping about in a pair of black, water-resistant boots with a good thick sole.

"Those will do," he agreed.

Next, he found her a pack of tees, socks, a pair of thermals, and two pairs of jeans, all of which would fit nicely into the new rugged backpack he encouraged her to get. The backpack had a waterproof lining to keep everything dry. Her recent incident at the fountain still fresh, she didn't fight him on this choice.

Outside the store, Tessa dressed Pickles in the new jacket, the dog happily licking her face as she fumbled his remaining front leg through the jacket. He gave a couple of curious turns in a circle at the unfamiliar garment. He didn't seem to mind though, giving a yip of approval that brought the sort-of-smile to Tessa's lips. The rest of the clothes went into the new backpack, along with the two remaining sandwiches from the previous day's lunch.

Tessa looked forlorn at giving up the old canvas bag, but the moment passed. She was used to seeing things come and go. She left the bag and its contents next to the door.

"Maybe they'll be good for someone else," she said at Kelso's questioning look.

He shook his head, wondering at how someone who had obviously been shown little in the way of compassion could have so much. They broke for lunch, quickly, and Kelso again said nothing when the girl ordered extra and stowed what she could in the pack. They walked on, stopping first in Zuccoti Park.

He posed Tessa in front of a tall flower sculpture, taking one shot of her like a tourist, leaning on the sculpture. He nearly dropped the camera when she gave him a thousand-watt smile that could have melted the heart of the coldest bastard on earth. Framed by the dark curls, the photo was a prize. The second one, she stared up at the top of the sculpture and he captured her in profile with a genuine look of... something. He couldn't say, exactly, but it broke his heart to see it.

At the FDNY Memorial Wall, she looked solemn as she placed her hand on one of the carved faces of the firemen. The words, "those who carry on," seemed to hold a meaning for her that he couldn't decipher, but she wiped a tear from her cheek with the new jacket before moving on. Down Trinity Place they walked, stopping at City Blossoms. Kelso captured the girl bent at the waist, her nose to a bouquet. He bought her a carnation that she tucked into the front pocket of the jacket, and he snapped another photo.

"Sometimes, you just need something else that's living, to tell you that you still are," she commented, fingers caressing the petals.

They made another stop at the Charging Bull, and then again in Battery Park. Further still they went, to Seaglass Carousel, where Kelso captured a moment of real, childlike glee as Tessa rode the carousel, Pickles following along and barking at her. She gave him a wave as she passed by, once, twice. He snapped each moment and preserved it, that look of true wonder on her face something that the world just had to see. Everyone needed a little more of that look, he thought.

They took Greenwich back up to Ground Zero, where he got shots of Tessa and Pickles at each of the pools, before cutting back up to Broadway and stopping for dinner at a sidewalk cafe. As they walked back to the bridge, Kelso stopped and withdrew money from a machine and passed it to Tessa.

"I don't like the idea of you carrying this much cash around," he said, passing her the bills, "are you going to be okay with this?"

Tessa's eyes were wide as she took the money. Twenty photos and she'd made $1,000.

"Yeah. I'm just going to go... home," she said.

He nodded and asked, "Is home somewhere safe?"

She shrugged, saying, "As safe as anywhere."

He frowned.

"Tessa, where is home?" he asked as they walked.

"On the other side of the bridge," she said.

"I was asking... a little more specifically," he said.

"I call it the Underthing," she said, "There's a pipe you go through, and it goes... under things."

Kelso stopped, unsure he'd heard correctly.

"Under things?"

"Yeah. It doesn't smell great, but it's warm," she said, seemingly unconcerned by the fact that she lived, essentially, in a sewer pipe.

It was ludicrous, he thought. The girl should be on a magazine cover.

"Do you need somewhere else to stay?" he asked, hopeful.

"Why? I have a place to stay."

"Look, can I at least walk you back?" he asked, "What if you run into those two pricks again? Or someone worse."

"It wouldn't be the first time," she said, unphased.

The chill had turned to cold as the day started to fade and Kelso found himself truly worrying about her carrying the money around, crossing the bridge, with nothing but a dog named Pickles. The girl was clearly a survivor, but that didn't make him feel good about it. He continued to walk with her, up the steps as she carried the dog, and then onto the pedestrian walkway. They began the long walk across the bridge in silence, Kelso uneasy.

At the other end she turned.

"Kelso, thanks," she said.

"Sure thing. If you want to do it again, we can. I'll be honest, Tessa, I would really like you to keep doing this."

"Do you want to fuck me?" she asked, bluntly.

Taken aback Kelso could only blink in astonishment. Tessa, though, looked serious.

"What? No!"

She shrugged and said, "When guys at Eileen's give me money, they always want to fuck me."

"Well, I'm not one of those guys," Kelso said staunchly, "Jesus, I'm old enough to be your dad."

Her face turned dark, and she snapped, "Stop it! You're not! You're not like him."

"Whoa! I didn't... I'm sorry. I just... look, I'm just worried about you, that's all. Sorry."

Her fury, wherever it had come from, passed and she deflated.

"I don't have a dad," she said with finality, "and you don't need to worry about me. You don't even know me. Don't jerk off to my pictures."

She picked up Pickles and slung the dog over her shoulder.

"Tessa," he called, and she stopped, looking back over her shoulder.

Kelso trotted forward and passed her a card.

"That's my number and my address. I have a home office. If you need something, anything, come see me. Alright?"

She took the card and slid it into the pocket that held the carnation, nodding once. She left him standing on the bridge, descending the steps into the coming darkness.

***

Tessa set Pickles on the ground, the dog's tongue lolling tiredly. It had been a lot of walking and doing it on three legs had clearly done him in.

"I'm glad you're not big," she said as she glanced around, pulling the penlight from her pocket and clicking it on.

She stuck it between her teeth and knelt at the grate, tugged. It didn't budge. She tried again, harder, but it was stuck. She shined the light at the edge, where for nearly two years there had been a gap that she was able to pry up to gain entry. Instead, she found fresh rivets through the mesh. She tried to force it again, disbelieving, with the same result.

"Fuck," she spat.

And then it began to snow.

Chapter Six: The Girl that was not Quite Tessa

The snow had begun to fall in earnest long before Tessa reached the first streetside motel she could find, somewhere down Brooklyn Bridge Boulevard. Though not a large dog, the weight of Pickles on one shoulder and the pack on the other, combined with the whipping of the freezing wind had her trudging along tiredly. The new jacket was dusted with a light covering of snow and the boots had already proven their worth, keeping her feet warm and dry, in bitter contrast to her hands and face.

The motel was a typical drive-in affair, a single-story sprawl of small, cheap rooms that was sorely in need of paint and a patched parking lot. Tessa had no complaint. Anywhere, she knew from past experience, was better than spending the night in a New York snowstorm. She approached the man at the desk, who watched a battered old TV, half-dozing, with his feet on the desk.

"Help you?" he asked, without getting up.

"I'd like a room," Tessa said.

The man eyed her over and then shook his head.

"We don't allow pets," he said.

"Please," Tessa pleaded, "I don't have anywhere. I'll pay extra. Just one night."

He pointed to a sign that stated, "No Pets Allowed," and shook his head again.

Tessa looked around the empty lobby.

"Maybe I can do... I can do something else for you?" she asked.

The man considered her, looking her up and down again.

"Undo that coat," he said gruffly.

Tessa set Pickles on the floor and unzipped the jacket, opening it. The man stared at her breasts under the thin, worn shirt.

"It'll be $300," he said, "and I'll stop by the room after my shift in an hour."

"The sign says $89," Tessa protested.

"The other sign says no pets," he reminded her.

Tessa nodded and rooted in the backpack, coming up with the cash. The man eased himself out of his chair and typed at an old computer.

"I'll need an ID," he said.

"I don't have one," Tessa said, despairingly.

"How old are you?" he asked, his brows furrowing.

"Nineteen," she replied.

He grunted and said, "I have to have an ID."

"Please," she begged again, "I'll do whatever you want. Just... I can't take my dog back out there. Not tonight."

"$400," the man stated.

Tessa reached back into the bag and gave him the money. He handed her a key.

"See you in an hour," he said, grinning.

***

The room was clean, if old, with a large, framed photo of the Brooklyn Bridge over the East River. Two mismatched table lamps sat on either of the side tables, next to the bed, which was covered by a horrendous bedspread in some sort of paisley pattern. Tessa set Pickles down next to the bed and retrieved a small metal bowl from the pack, filling it in the bathroom sink and offering it to the dog. He lapped at it tiredly.

She broke off a quarter of one of the sandwiches, left him with it, and then showered. Wrapped in a towel, she broke open the package of new cotton tees and put one on. Otherwise nude, she laid on the bed to wait for the arrival of the man. She dozed, mentally putting Tessa away in that dark, but safe place where she belonged when it was time to do what she'd been trained for.

In the dim light of the lamps, she touched herself, caressing the smoothness of her pussy mound, waiting, getting hotter as her mind turned toward providing pleasure. She played the words in her head, the words from the dark that were always there, deep, masculine, commanding. Slut. Fuck toy. Whore. The words brought the memories of sensation, a mixture of pain doled out along with pleasure.

The memories had images, faces, but those weren't important. The faces belonged to Tessa, and right now Tessa was safely locked away, where she didn't have to fuck. But Tessa remembered the faces, while the girl that fucked remembered only the sensations, the words, the pleasure and the pain. A whip cracked, searing flesh, drawing blood, then a spike of insane pleasure accompanied it a second later, just a memory, but a vivid one that brought forth the wetness, the arousal.

A light knock on the door brought her to her feet and she opened it to find the man, as expected. She held the door open for him. Wordlessly, he shut it, locked it, and began to remove his clothes. He was fitter than she'd imagined him to be, solid and muscular.

"You clean up pretty good," he said, his eyes appraising her body, wandering from the stray lock of dark hair over one eye, down past her breasts, and settling between her legs.

The girl that was not quite Tessa sank to her knees in front of him, palms flattening against his thighs, caressing them lovingly, the amber of her eyes nearly black in the dim light.

"Is this what you like, Sir?" she asked.

The man blinked, surprised, but he nodded, taking his half-hard cock in his hand and putting the tip to her lips. Tessa opened her mouth and let him push the head of his cock into it, then trembled as his big hand rested firmly on her head, fingers snaking through her curls. Her pussy gushed wetly when the grip tightened, and he eased the length of his prick into her mouth with a deep growl of satisfaction.

Tessa submitted to his thrusts, the heat growing inside of her as the man pumped his rigid stalk between her lips. Her fingers played between her legs, and she moaned, looking up at him, lips stretched about his girth. He looked back down on her, towering dominantly, dark eyes uncaring. He pushed his cock to the base, nestling her lips against his crotch and grunting with approval when she didn't so much as gag. Repeating the motion, he gripped her hair and pulled her head back, only to slide his full length back into her roughly.

This time she glurked, but still didn't choke. Well-trained, she never broke eye contact, letting him watch the haze of arousal at this treatment gloss over her eyes. This was where she belonged, the training told her, this was her place, where she was useful and where she should feel pleasure. She felt it, but also a stab of misery from Tessa in her dark place. It was fleeting, though, and when the man hauled her to her feet and pushed her back onto the bed, the surge of pleasure returned.

His fingers found her pussy, warm and wet, coated in her nectar and ready for him. A slut should always be ready, she remembered. The man pushed two of his fingers into her, pumped them roughly, and then put them to his mouth.

"You're a wet little thing," he said.

"A good slut is always wet," she hissed.

The man chuckled again and spread her legs wider, settled himself on his knees, then pushed the throbbing head of his cock into her. His crown parted her wet lips easily, making her body jerk as she gasped. One of his hands grasped her leg, just behind the knee, while the other lay flat against her belly, pushing her shirt up to her breasts. The length of his jerking shaft burrowed more deeply, inch after inch of it sliding into her warmth. The grip of her pussy walls made his cock jerk and his body shudder as his breathing quickened.

Tessa slowly worked her hips, humping his cock as her mouth opened in a low, throaty moan. His hand on her belly slid the shirt over her breasts, latched onto one of them and squeezed it. Tessa's hand came up and held onto his arm as she continued to moan for him and hump his cock, showing her eagerness to please, to be good for him.

"Fuck me," she breathed.

The man obliged, meeting her thrusts with his own, losing himself in the serpentine motion of her body and the excited gleam in her eyes. She was panting now, breath coming in small huffs as he took her, issuing hard, sharp thrusts and equally sharp grunts. His hand moved from her breast to grip the back of her neck, and she flinched as his fingers brushed the scar there, a memory of a sound, the click of a lock, the feel of cold leather on her skin, coming unbidden at the feeling of his touch.

The memory faded, swallowed up in the dark place where Tessa waited, as the approach of a building orgasm worked up her body. The pace of the man's thrusting increased, became rapid, hammering into her hard now, making her breasts jiggle as the wet slap of flesh against flesh made her eyes roll back. Her body shook, the grip on his arm tightening, her breath drawing in. She felt a bead of sweat drip onto her naked tummy and the man giving a groan, and then she hit her peak.

"Huh!" she cried, once, shivered, then was overtaken with the bright flash of sensation.

The man grunted and pulled his cock free of her, splashing her mound, her belly, with a hot spray of cum that was quickly followed by a second, then a weak third. Her body continued to tremble as he held her a moment longer. Gradually, he released his hold and climbed off of the bed, pulling on his clothes, his face flushed.

"Thanks," he said, and then let himself out.

She rose from the bed and wiped the remains of his ejaculation from her belly, her pussy mound, then showered again. As the spray pelted her body, washing away the cold bit of cum and her own arousal, the girl swapped places and was Tessa once more. Cleaned, now, Tessa returned to the bed. Pickles looked up, wagging his tail. She pulled back the covers, picked up the dog, and put him into the bed, covering both of them with the blanket. Pickles gave a contented sigh and was soon asleep. Tessa's slumber did not come as quickly.

Chapter Seven: The Unexpected Visit

"Who is she?" Aaron asked, looking over the spread photos on his desk.

"Honestly," said Kelso, "I wish I could tell you."

Aaron whistled, picking up a photo of a smiling Tessa on the Seaglass Carousel. The girl's smile choked him up just looking at it. A dark curl dangled cutely over one eye, and the little wave in the camera's direction was utterly adorable. The photo encapsulated the joy of New York on an autumn afternoon, as though the girl had not a worry in her life.

"How much do you want for them?" Aaron asked.

Kelso shook his head, saying, "Not these. I just... I needed someone else to see them, to tell me I'm not crazy for thinking they're special. I do that, you know, get lost in the moments."

Aaron nodded, answering, "No, you aren't crazy. This girl's got a look about her. And this one," he picked up the first photo Kelso had taken, showing Tessa and Pickles by the bridge, "Jesus. The look. I don't know if I've ever seen something that sad."