A suicidal girl is offered the choice of having her memories wiped and becoming a sex worker. She agrees. Part 4/5 (no sex here)
Chapter 4: Parents
One late morning – about a year after she had started working at “Eleonora’s”, although she hadn’t been keeping track of time – Jessie sat in the café enjoying a leisurely breakfast, a nice break between her night with a client and returning home. Not that she did not want to return, but it was a nice variety. She did not know the place; she wasn’t a regular anywhere, she picked it at random, as usual.
The café was half-full, a mix of soft voices merged into a constant low rumble of the city morning. And then, she saw someone who stared at her. It was nothing new; she was attractive, and she knew it, and sometimes those stares ended with them becoming her new clients, but they stared— differently. She looked back.
A couple, a man and a woman in their early forties. They stared at her with— intent? shock? confusion? —as if they recognized a ghost. And they looked strangely familiar, although she could swear she never met them before.
Jessie instinctively pulled down the hem of her dress to cover the butterfly on her hip. A reflex from another life, a flicker of self-consciousness that felt alien and unwelcome. The woman gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, her eyes wide and glistening.
Jessie felt a jolt, a sudden, sharp tremor in the placid lake of her consciousness. A ripple, a disturbance from somewhere deep below. She didn’t know who they were, but a splash, sharp and clear as a shard of glass, cut through the fog of her present.
Then they stood up and approached her, still looking into her eyes. The woman gulped, licked her lips, and asked unsurely:
“Jessie?..”
Jessie smiled and opened her eyes wide. Maybe they were among the guests at one of those sex parties! She wouldn’t mind if they ordered her again.
“I am! Hello! Do we know each other?” She kept the tone bright and cheerful, the practiced mask of the blank slate, the girl without a past. But behind the mask, the gears of her mind were whirring, trying to place their faces, to connect the name that echoed in her head to the reality in front of her.
“My God! It’s you!” The woman was crying now, tears tracing clean paths through her makeup. The man held her, his own face a canvas of confusion and something else, a dawning, horrified recognition.
“Jessie… You… Don’t you remember us?..” he muttered in a hoarse voice.
“Um… Sorry… I think we met before, but I can’t tell for sure… But I’d be happy to know you better!” Jessie spread her arms invitingly. Her heart raced. She was an actress, but this scene was all wrong.
“We are— we’re your parents,” the man said.
Jessie stared, the word “parents” landing in her brain with the thud of a lead weight. Parents. A concept. She knew the word; she’d seen other people’s parents. She knew that she had parents too, sometimes, somewhere. She’d had her cover story ready for months, a carefully constructed tale of abusive assholes she’d escaped, the alcoholics who had beaten her, and the father who raped her. A neat little fiction for her clients who wanted to feel like saviors. But here, now, faced with the real thing, the word felt hollow, a meaningless shape in the air.
With shaking hands, the woman rummaged in her handbag and brought out a photograph. Not a shot in a phone gallery, a paper photo. Jessie looked at it.
There were they. That couple, and she between them, a bit younger, maybe thirteen, smiling happily. The family resemblance was striking. She was definitely the girl from the picture.
But that girl in the picture was not Jessie. It was someone else. She was some unknown child, a past she had no connection to. The girl who’d left on a bridge with a head full of razor blades and a heart full of static. A ghost. Jessie was the phoenix that had risen from her ashes. Or perhaps just the ashes themselves, rearranged into a new form.
She blinked away sudden tears. Oh God. Her role got out of hand. She raised her eyes.
“That’s me. And you. Really. But—” She sighed. She never told her real story to anyone outside of the salon. But now… “It’s all complicated. Shit, I don’t know where to start…”
“You’d say!” The woman— her mother— chuckled nervously. Jessie recognized her own intonations. “We thought you were dead! We thought you killed yourself!” She covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking with sobs.
Jessie looked away, her gaze catching the reflection of a teenage girl in the café window. A barefoot girl in a light sundress, her hair a little messy, a silver stud glinting in her navel, a silver anklet with a bell on her ankle, colored beads around her wrist. A girl who existed only in the present. She felt a surge of something fiercely protective, a primal need to defend this new self, this Jessie, from the phantom of the past.
“I— I tried,” she confessed, her voice barely a whisper. “I tried to kill myself. Then I— I changed. I got a new life.” She looked back at the man, her father. She saw the same blue eyes, the same line of the jaw. A stranger. “Shit. It’s all complicated. Please, can we sit down? I’ll tell you everything, I promise, but I don’t know…”
They sat at her table, the three of them in a tight, uncomfortable triangle. The man — her father — ordered coffee for all of them. Then, uncertainly, he put his hand over hers. Jessie smiled weakly and turned her hand to respond to his gesture. Her skin prickled. He was warm, with big, calloused fingers. Just like some of her clients, but this time it was different.
They sat in silence for a moment, the clatter of cutlery and the murmur of conversation from the other tables suddenly seeming very loud, very distant.
“What happened?” the father finally asked, breaking the spell. His voice was gentle, cautious. “After… after the bridge. We looked for you. We filed a missing person’s report. We hired a private investigator. Nothing. It was like you’d vanished.”
Jessie pulled her hand back, wrapping it around her coffee cup. The ceramic was warm against her skin. She stared into the dark liquid, searching for the right words. The truth was too strange, too unbelievable. It sounded like science fiction. The whole situation was a cheap soap opera. But these were her parents. They deserved something. A story. A reason for their ghost.
“You won’t believe it, but it’s true, I swear. I really wanted to die. But I didn’t,” she started, her voice low and steady. “Someone stopped me. A strange man. He… he said he could give me a new life. He said he could— wipe me. Wipe my memories. Reboot me.” She looked up, gauging their reactions. They were staring at her, their faces a mixture of disbelief and dawning horror.
“Wipe you?” Her mother shook her head. “How’s that?”
“That’s the most unbelievable part, right?” Jessie chuckled, and her mother gasped at her chuckle. “But it’s true. There’s some— organization, establishment— that catches the girls on the edge of a bridge, or a roof, or with pills in a hotel room, or in a burning car, and they offer them a second life… But only if they’re healthy enough and pretty enough for a special purpose.” She looked them straight in the eyes, testing their reaction. They were listening, mesmerized. She felt a sudden, heady rush, a storyteller’s power. This was a new role. Daughter-of-the-Dead. A performance for an audience of two. She could make it good. And she felt a familiar warmth in her belly. The thrill of the scene.
“You’d already guessed what that purpose is? Yeah! They saved my body, but they erased my personal past. Everything but my name. My address, my school, you. I just have a vague memory that I had parents, and that’s all. I— I don’t remember your names, sorry. They replaced it with a new… baseline. A new identity. They turned me into Jessie the escort.”
And a strange calm descended upon her. The words, once spoken, seemed to solidify into a truth she could hold onto. She wasn’t just a character; she was a character with a backstory, a tragic and sensational one. The runaway girl with abusive parents was a cheap, second-hand story. This… this was epic. She could feel the corners of her mouth turn up in a small, private smile.
Her father clenched his fists.
“Oh God…” he whispered. “So you are—”
She smiled. “An escort. A call girl. A whore. The elite one, I should say! And I love it! The only thing I can say for sure: it’s a huge, huge progress over being the suicidal girl you knew! So please, don’t feel for me, I have a wonderful life!”
She looked into their faces, watching the raw horror dawning in her mother’s eyes, the rigid shock in her father’s. She could feel a thrill, a dark, heady excitement that was dangerously close to arousal. She was playing her role so perfectly. The lost daughter, now found, revealing her shocking new life. And she could feel, deep down, that it was true. Not the whole story, maybe. But the emotions were true. She was Jessie, and she was proud of her life.
“Love it?..” Her mother’s words were a choked sob. “Honey… they’ve made you a… a thing! For men to use! They’ve done something to your mind, twisted you! Can’t you see that?”
“Mom, I’m happier than I have ever been before. For all I know,” she added with a slight, almost teasing shrug. The mother sobbed, and her father looked as though she’d just punched him in the stomach.
“Is this some… kind of joke?…” He leaned forward, his face reddening. “No. It’s not. I’ll find them… I’ll kill them… I have the connections; I’ll burn that filthy trafficking business to the ground…”
“No, please!” She put her palms over his fists, the professional soothing gesture she practiced with violent clients. “Please don’t! Remember, they saved me! I’d be really dead if not for them!”
“Those bastards could just return you home instead of using you like a fuck toy!”
“James…” Her mother put her hand on his arm. Aha, her father’s name is James.
He didn’t pull back, but the tension remained in him, a coiled spring of rage. He looked from her to Jessie, his jaw working.
“They erased my memory,” Jessie said again, her voice losing its theatrical edge, becoming something more direct, more pleading. “I wasn’t just sad that day, Daddy. I was… I was nothing. An empty shell. If you had me back, it’d be the same shell, not a daughter you loved.”
Her mother’s face crumpled. “But you are our daughter.” She sighed. “The investigations we had started… They found the bullies that raped you. You weren’t the only victim of those jerks. They are all safely jailed now. You can return home, Jessie.”
Now Jessie’s turn to feel stunned. She had no memory of a rape, but the word didn’t horrify her. It was a piece of data, a file in a folder labeled ‘Past Life, Access Denied’. Instead of the emotional whiplash a normal person would feel, there was a strange, detached curiosity. So that was the ‘why’. Not a vague teenage angst, but a concrete, brutal event. A line item in the trauma ledger. It fit.
She sighed, pressing her palms to her temples. “So complicated…” The play had become all too real; she couldn’t pretend any more that it was just a play. “I don’t know what to do. Let’s… Let’s go to Ellie. Tell her the story. She’ll decide.”
“Who’s Ellie?”
“My—” the word ‘Mom’ nearly slipped out, and she caught it just in time. “My boss. She owns the salon where I live. She’s wise, she’ll find the way.”
She led them out of the café and onto the street, the sun now directly overhead, the pavement warm against the soles of her feet. The world seemed sharper, more defined. The colors of the shopfronts were brighter, the sounds of the traffic more intrusive. She was no longer a ghost drifting through her own life. She was tethered, an anchor chain trailing back from this very spot, through the streets of this city, to a past she could not remember. The anchor was her mother’s tear-streaked face and her father’s clenched fists.
She pressed the ‘Mom’ button on her phone and waited for the answer. “Ellie? Send a car for me, please. I’m going home. Yes, all is OK. I’m bringing two people with me, a couple. You won’t believe. Yes.”
They remained silent until the “Eleonora’s” doors closed behind them.
***
“Oh God,” Ellie shook her head. She wasn’t startled, or disappointed, or angry. Just focused on the new challenge. “It complicates everything.” She raised her eyes at Jessie’s parents – Jessie already knew their names were James and Lessie. “Well, it wasn’t impossible. Just highly improbable.”
“Complicates?..” James growled. “You kidnapped my daughter, brainwashed her into a whore, and it just— complicates your business?!”
“It does. But—” Ellie smiled. “I’m not the one who wiped Jessie. I’m the one who picks them – the lost girls, runaways, seekers of easy money, them all – and gives them a safe place and decent work. I’m a talent scout for a certain enterprise. And Jessie is one of my biggest talents. I really care for her.”
“Talent? Talent for what? For spreading her legs for money? You’re insane!”
“James, don’t, please…” Lessie’s voice quivered. Ellie gave her an appraising glance, noting the expensive dress, the tasteful jewelry. This woman was used to a certain life, a life that didn’t involve confronting madams in brothels.
Ellie turned her gaze back to him. “Your daughter, before she came to us, had no talent. She was on the verge of being a statistic. A corpse in the morgue. Now she has talent. She has a life, a purpose, and a very high market value. A value she sets herself. She has a skill set that brings immense pleasure to powerful men and women, and she is compensated handsomely for it. She is independent, self-sufficient, and, I can assure you, perfectly content. I’m not a villain in a melodrama, Mr. James. I’m a pragmatist.” She smiled, a mix of sadness and pride. “And Jessie is happy. She had found her purpose, her balance, her life. She wants to live now, and she enjoys the life.”
She let that sink in, then looked at Jessie. Jessie met her gaze, a silent current passing between them. The connection that— was going to break soon? Jessie turned to her parents and looked in their eyes.
“It’s true, Mom, Dad. I’m happy being who I am. I’m grateful to Ellie. And if I go with you…” She sighed, letting the words sink in. “When I go with you, to my old home I don’t remember, but I’ll probably fit in… I’ll still remain who I am.”
“Impossible! You just need therapy, deprogramming, you can be the same again…” James whispered, but less firmly.
“I will be deprogrammed from being happy? I don’t think so,” Jessie laughed. “I can take therapy, it could be interesting, I could also go to school… We’ll think about that together!”
Lessie looked at Ellie. “So there is a way? A way to have her back?”
“Back home. Not back into her old mind,” Ellie specified. “She can’t return to being your ‘Jessica’. She is Jessie. But we can arrange that she’ll be an independent escort girl, for herself, with a decent client list she picks herself, and a personal life, maybe a boyfriend, education if she wishes… And she’ll be your daughter.” Her expression softened a fraction. “She can have some sort of life with you, Mr. and Mrs. Fenton. Not the life the old Jessie could have, but still a happy life. It will be a compromise. For everyone.”
“We… we will go with it,” James said, before Lessie could speak. The defeat in his tone was palpable. He had come to fight, to reclaim his lost daughter, but he was leaving with a stranger, a deal, a truce with the very people who had stolen her. “Tell us your terms, please.”
Ellie smiled. “No terms, Mr. Fenton. Jessie knows my rules. The girls come and go as they wish. They are all free to leave and never come back. It’s a part of the contract.”
Lessie gasped. “Impossible! And they… and they do return? Who would want to keep returning to this life?”
Ellie looked at her. “Life’s more complicated than you used to think, isn’t it, Mrs. Fenton? Think about it. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to talk to Jessie in private. For the last time.” Her look told them everything, and they nodded and went out to the hall, leaving the two women alone in the office.
Ellie closed the door and leaned back into her chair.
“You’re a star,” she said, her voice quiet. “But you’re a new kind of star now. The one with a past, and a future, perhaps. The past doesn’t define you; it never defined Jessie. But it’s there, and it’s a weakness they could exploit. And a future, it’s a complication. You’ll be the center of their attention. They’ll try to protect you. It’s… a different game.”
“I’ll play it.”
“I’m sure you will.” Ellie paused. “Are you okay, honey? About the truth? About your old self, all that. About you leaving to your former place?”
Jessie paused for a moment, trying hard to find the right words. Then, unable to hold back any longer, she sobbed and threw herself onto Ellie’s neck and burst into tears.
“I— Ellie— I love you, I thank you— for everything— Ellie— I don’t want to leave— but— they— too—”
Ellie patted her back.
“It’s okay, dear, it’s okay. You wouldn’t stay here for your whole life anyway, you know. Clients prefer young escorts. A call girl who is in her early twenties is fine. A call girl in her late twenties is still okay. A call girl in her late thirties is already a vintage, a niche market. A twenty-year-old call girl with a family of Fentons and a high school diploma is a nice asset.”
“I’m so— scared…”
“There is nothing to be scared of. You can always call. You can always visit and spend some days here. The door is always open. So… Will it be a farewell, or a goodbye until next?”
“A goodbye.” Jessie wiped her tears. “Let’s get them back.”
“Good. As your final gift, I’m transferring this week’s payments to your private account. Use it wisely. Not for drugs.” Ellie stood up and hugged Jessie one more, very last, warm and caring hug. “Now go.”
Jessie left the office and went up the stairs to the hall. She hugged and kissed all the girls, her family, her sisters, and there were more tears and laughter. She told them that she found rich clients who want to buy her as their permanent private fucktoy, a story plausible enough for a good farewell. But she pulled Eve aside.
“My old self found me. My parents.” She whispered, not caring if someone else could hear. “I’m going back to them. Maybe for good.”
Eve hugged her tightly. “You’ll be alright. You know, you are our hope now. If you can get out there and find a good, fulfilling life for yourself, then maybe it means something. That this isn’t a dead end.” She gave a weak smile. “And you’ll be the pretty one they all look after, and I’ll be the one who’ll still have to work a pole to make ends meet.”
“Eve—”
“It’s alright. I’m glad it’s you. You deserve it.” Eve kissed her on the cheek. “Now go, before you burst out crying again and ruin your makeup.”
“Okay,” Jessie said to her parents when he got back to the lobby. “I’m ready. Let’s go home.”
“What, like that?” Lessie looked her over from head to toe. “In this sundress and barefoot? Where are your belongings?”
“I have nothing more!” Jessie laughed as she fiddled with the beads on her bracelet. Ellie has turned them off, now it were mere jewelry— with lots of memories attached to them. “I needed nothing more here! Entirely fresh kind of life, huh? We’ll do some shopping, I think. And I think I need to wash my hair the first thing I get home!”
***
Her room felt… strange. Her parents said they hadn’t touched anything since she’d left, as if they expected to return one day and find her unchanged. So the posters of some teen boy bands were still on the walls, the books were on the shelves, and the dolls were on her bed. She looked at them, at the smiling plastic faces, and she felt strange. Like a hermit crab crawling back into its abandoned shell. The girl who grew up here, who played with those dolls, who read those books – she was gone.
Well, maybe she’ll connect to her past through all those old things. Maybe someday she’ll patch the chasm left by her wiping.
She washed thoroughly, not only cleaning herself from all the touches of the last year, but assessing her body. All her tattoos, and piercings, and small scars – all of them were still here, now the marks of a woman rather than a blank canvas. She felt the old familiar, self-driven warmth rising in her as she routinely cleaned her pussy and ass for the next round. She wasn’t thinking of Charlie or anyone else. Just of her new life. Life is a river, and she is a boat, right? Let’s follow the flow!
She came out in a large, fluffy towel and started to rummage through her old closet, pulling out clothes that felt like costumes from a forgotten play. Faded jeans, a T-shirt with a cartoon character on it. It all felt so… childish. So drab.
“No way. I don’t want to dress like this,” she stated.
Lessie— her mom looked at her, a deep, painful love and concern in her eyes, but she said nothing. Just nodded. “We’ll go shopping tomorrow, Jessie. Whatever you want.”
“Or—” her dad suggested, a glint in his eyes that Jessie had seen before in men planning something. “Or you can just stay naked at home until you get your new wardrobe.”
Jessie laughed, and, to her own surprise, her mother did too. A short, strained laugh, but a laugh nevertheless. It was a start.
“You know what? I’ll make it my permanent thing! I’m used to being naked, it’s really freeing! You should try it yourselves, you know!” And she burst into another laugh, watching their flush, then added seriously: “And we’ll have to visit a sex shop, too. I need new toys. I grew out of the old ones.”
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