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It was surprisingly difficult to recount the story of Talya's call. The whole time I was writing part 1, I was shaking a little. This obviously isn't a story that I tell many people. I don't want to go advertise that Talya is a prostitute to my friends or the fact that my friend and I put someone into the hospital (we assume). The fucker deserved what he got and if I was put in the same situation, I would have been the one of use my keys as a stabbing brass knuckles. The whole event shook me up because I'm just not used to any of my friends actually been hurt. Broken bones from snowboarding is one thing, but a friend getting the shit beat out of her and her having to fight for her life is another thing. This'll make me sound like a baby, especially since Talya's situation was so much more serious than my experience, but even me kicking the shit out of the guy freaked me out. I'm really not one to get into fights - people generally like me so I've never had someone want to take me on. I'm also 6'4 - I'm definitely no body builder but my height clearly intimidates people who would be looking for trouble.
After that night, we did think about the possibility of the police on the lookout for 2 young adults who beat the shit out of a middle-aged man. We doubted that the fucker would have notified police. He had solicited a prostitute, beat her up, and potentially wanted to kill her. If he wanted the police to know about 2 guys assaulting him, he had to risk us sharing our stories. There's nothing for him to gain. If anything, he might have called for an ambulance to pick him up, but he probably wouldn't have recounted what actually happened. We did check the newspapers and listened to newscasts for a few days, but nothing came up.
There needs to be a bit of clarification on Tayla's job as an escort/prostitute. She not a hooker on a street corners of Sainte-Catherine, at 2am. As she has explained to me, she uses a service where people get in touch with her contact, and she takes jobs from that contact when she wants to. She typically meets the clients at pre-specified places, knowing what they want in advance. She has encountered fucked up people before and bailed on them, but nothing ever close to what happened that night. If you were to run into her during the day, she looks like a normal, cute young adult. No hideous face scares, skanky/(hilarious!) clothes or creepiness. In her words: I'm higher-class fare.
Now, let's get to the part where she called the police - oh wait, she didn't actually call the police for help! In her call to me, she told me police were already on the way. I was bolting across streets and between people in hopes that I might get there faster than the cops, so that I could save her life. I believed that the guys in blue, who actually know how to handle something like this, would be coming so hearing her tell me she lied made me almost want to beat the shit out of her myself. I held it all in that first night, because I knew that she needed support right then. But later that week, I let her have it.
HOW THE FUCK COULD SHE JUSTIFY NOT CALLING THE POLICE. What if I couldn't get there before the fucker bashed the door in!? What if he had a gun, and my friend and I just barged in to have our heads fucking blown off!? I spent an hour screaming at her, 1 week after the incident, putting that into her head. Sure, risking her own life is one fucking stupid thing, but putting my friend's life and my own in the same fucking basket was brilliance surpassed only by a kindergarten retard class, shoving crayons up their noses. Her justification was that she didn't want the police arresting her as well as a prostitute, but of course that doesn't fly. What's better: a charge for prostitution or no charges at all, because your body's been dumped into the St-Lawrence river? Exactly.
After my scream-a-thon over her idiocy, I walked out on her. We didn't speak for a month but I eventually answered one of her calls. I know that you all probably think I'm dumb, but I did start talking to her again and eventually we started hanging out again. For a few months she was still really shook up from that night and I was the only one she really felt understood her, let alone one of the very few people with whom she could talk about it.
Do I value myself, if I could open my friendship again with someone who thought nothing for my safety? I hope so. I genuinely believe she understands her mistake. I told her that I never want to get a call from her like that again, but if it has to happen then I'll be there. Maybe I'm an emotional sap, who crumbles before teary eyes, but at least I'm loyal and want to help those in need.
She still does escorting. I still believe that it's her life to have and use as she sees fit. The reality of a sex worker's life is much too clear for her and myself now. Someone could be tempted to say she deserves what she got. A small, angry part of myself would be inclined to agree, but it's not that easy. Just because a woman might wear a short skirt, doesn't mean she wants some club-douchebag putting their hands up her thigh and playing with the beaver. Same justification for a hooker. A prostitute doesn't deserve a black eye, or worse.
And to the fucker, left naked on the floor covered in a bit of his own blood: yes, I feel bad for him. Well, pity is a better word for it. What could have happened to him during his life that led him down that road. The few who know about this story think I'm fucked for thinking like that - giving that guy some sort of "forgiveness". That's not it at all. Nothing he did was Ok, but, as with all things, I just wish I could understand how a person could get to that point. Why would someone think that beating the shit out of a hooker is Ok? Probably some sort of way that they feel powerful or that they can feel better than another person, I can't be sure. But how did he get to feel that need?
Like I said, nothing is black or white.
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