This is part four of my rock bottom number three series. In case you missed it, you may want to check out: Rock Bottom, Rape Culture & Recovery, Blurred Lines & Hard Times, Coastlines, Crack, & Rehab Fraud, Coercion, Consent & Control, as well as The Last Few Days of Captivity (in that order) once you finish reading the below.

And for a poetic account of what took place, feel free to read: Chains, Reins, & Brains. Thank you!

Day one. He wanted me to want him. He wanted me to need him.

He knew exactly what I wanted and needed a.k.a. a shit ton of pills. So that’s exactly what he did —besides keeping me off the grid.

In short, he fed me pills as much as he fed me lies and he knew as long as he kept feeding me pills, I’d continue accepting his lies.

That first week though, we went all over SoFlo. We spent a lot of dough. We partied so hard. Like when you swim without a lifeguard. From strip clubs and bottle service to a surplus of drugs, even I was nervous. Everywhere we went, Bruce had VIP status. It was madness.

He said there’s more where that came from —as long as I stayed numb and didn’t spill the beans. I remember thinking, he personally didn’t have the means but I knew that he knew enough queens to maintain this routine. I thought, so far, so good. Except, before I knew it, I was stuck in the wrong neighborhood. I was stuck for a while.

I couldn’t smile.

How can you when everything around you is so GOD damn vile. What I’m describing here is fear. Bruce made me appear and I did adhere. It’s just, I thought he was my version of Rudolf the reindeer. I thought he saw me as a peer. He was supposed to be on my side or at least near. I’d still be there today, if I didn’t have the guts to say, “Get the fuck out of my way.”

But not yet. At this point, I was too slow to go. He kept me high on pills and blow. If you remember from a few posts ago, my mom just kicked me out (read that first to learn all about). I don’t blame her since I was lying again about drugs and Aiden, my pill-popping boyfriend (who I secretly missed).

So when she uncovers all of this, she gets more than pissed.

Which was when Bruce swoops in (sound the violin). But seriously. When she didn’t know what to do with me, he told her, he knew of a rehab I could go to for free. Except, while he was talking to my mommy, he was texting me —saying just let it be. “There’s no therapy.”

Consequently, I go with it. I get on that plane, not using my brain. I end up at a fake treatment center in the rain. I lose my name and leave with even more pain. I think at one point, I was chained to a freaking drain. Like by the time I ran away, the party lights had long since faded —leaving me shaded, hated, and more than jaded. So what was it like being barricaded and sexually degraded? And why was I so GOD damn persuaded? 

Well, here’s the rest of rock-bottom number three in hopes, you’ll understand why I’m still a little crazy.

Day two.

Hungover AF, Bruce and I run a few of his errands. Like I said, it started off almost normal. I wish it would have stayed that informal. Now, I feel like I have to add that his dad had fallen ill, which made Bruce a little sad. His father had leukemia. It really was bad. I say that because he ended up dying. I remember going to the hospital crying.

With all the shit he did to me, he was still a good son or at least, he was trying to be. So in the beginning, about once a day, we’d go over to the hospital in Del Ray, which was literally five minutes away. It’s all so confusing. I’m not trying to be amusing. I just don’t understand what I was choosing. Like why didn’t I run when he was out schmoozing? Or at least, ask for help there. Maybe because Bruce said, “Don’t you dare.”

But still, I could have yelled for anyone anywhere. It’s just not fucking fair.

Like why didn’t I go to another hospital zone and use any fucking phone? I don’t know. I guess back then, I had no backbone. I felt alone (maybe that’s why). Plus, I was high. I think I even had a black eye but he told everyone it was from some other guy. I, for sure, thought, “Yeah. This is where I’m going to die.”

Anyway, after we checked on his pop, we had one more stop. So we go to his guy right off the turnpike to get some work done on his (Indian) bike. Bruce didn’t have a valid driver’s license though (his motorcycle was our only transpo). So, on the low, he’d throw his dude at the repair shop a little extra dough.

We ride over and pull in. I see a bunch of workers —one who looked at me with a pretty cute grin.

I wanted to have some fun while we waited for the bike to get done. I figured what’s the harm in talking? You’d be surprised; Bruce was mad —shocking. I remember seeing this cute boy working on a bunch of bikes, but I was Bruce’s. Yikes.

Side note, guys: That cute boy is actually very important to my story. He’s the reason I got out of purgatory. Spoiler alert, he’s the one (the only one; well besides my dad a little later) who helped me execute my epic escape from Darth Vader. I was like the glue and he was the tape. So yeah, he saved me. It was great. And without him? Well, I’m sure you can guess my fate. One word, rape.

Liam: If you’re reading this, you already know what I’m about to say. Thank you for everything —especially for saving me that day. I remember calling you crying, telling you I was not OK. And so you say, “Alright. Please hang tight. I’ll be there. Don’t be scared.” In short, you were my very own white knight.

But not yet. Per Bruce, I had to keep my hands to myself —you bet.

I tried not to fret, but he’d hold it over my head time and time again. I couldn’t even look at the kid (I secretly did). I couldn’t look at anyone but him. It was all about control. And Liam knew nothing about my drugged-up rock and roll (at least, I wasn’t crying over Aiden because that too had taken its toll on my GOD damn soul). I think Liam saw my pretty face and wanted to take me on a simple date. So he writes down his number, which I thought was great.

Luckily, we didn’t get caught —fate? Maybe, maybe not. So for a few more minutes, we hang out in that spot. I remember looking at him thinking, damn he’s pretty hot. And he told me, he liked me a lot. So I slide his digits into my back pocket; if I could, I would have locked it. We exchange a few more smiles and have a lovely conversation. Then I see Bruce, which was the end of this flirtation.

He walks over to us and you know what he said to me? He whispers, “Do you want another pill, Macey?”

I’m thinking Bruce figured Liam was making a move, so in his head, Bruce had something to prove. He was a notorious one upper. I say that because when Liam asked what I was doing for supper, Bruce immediately said she must decline. I chimed in saying another night; rain or shine. Bruce mumbles, “Your mine.” Then, he hands me a pill and says, “Let’s get out of here.” —one word, disappear.

I wave goodbye to my new friend in hopes I’d get to see him again. If you couldn’t have guessed, Bruce hated being second best. He wanted to be Superman and needed that “S” on his chest. In short, he was childlike. Nevertheless, he had a nice bike. I’m pretty sure even that was illegal but clearly, he didn’t care. Maybe because he was good friends with a bunch of local cops. So if he did get stopped, chances are, he wouldn’t get popped.

Day three.

Bruce had a lot of friends in all the right places. It was hard keeping track of all their faces.

He even had a certain repertoire with law enforcement officials and, of course, there were the actual physicians writing him those fucking prescriptions. Oh, and the next description, goes out to his dealers (who were mostly Egyptian). In short, he played both sides. I even went with him on a few drug bust rides (more on that below).

Yeah, that happened, which is partly why I didn’t come forward or least try. It’s like, you’re telling me that this girl was at a police station and sat next to a bunch of DEA agents? You’re telling me that she didn’t say a word about the awful things she was forced to do by the very guy standing directly in their view?

I mean, it seemed like I wanted to be there. And it must have seemed like Bruce did care. I think they thought I actually wanted Bruce. Except, that was all apart of the abuse. I mean, he made me get documented as a confidential informant, which now is dormant. Oh, and I’m pretty sure, they thought we were together —never. I should have corrected them.

Whatever.

Bruce starts telling me if one of his crack guys wouldn’t do what he asked, he’d broadcast their drug dealing past by calling one of his cop friends. He’d do this time and time again. So tonight, he was setting one of them up. Yup. I remember sitting in the car with him and a bunch of agents. If all went well, we’d get a nice payment. We had just left the Broward County Police Station where we sat in on their debriefing. What do you know though —Bruce led that fucking meeting as I sat in the back silently bleeding.

We were now on our way to watch this beating. Non-verballing screaming, I remember thinking, “Fuck,” as I sat and watched two cocaine dealers run out of luck. I was in the parking lot as Bruce walks into their drug dealing pizza shop. The suppliers were about to sell to Bruce who was with an undercover cop. I literally saw it all go down. One minute their clowning around and the next, they are on the ground.

They were getting tased and Bruce wanted praise?

I mean, they were busted because they trusted the wrong fucking guy who now was in possession of their entire supply. He played both sides real hard. Watch out Bruce, —two words: graveyard. Except, what I find weird, is that a cop with a beard, tells me, “We’re glad you volunteered.” My take, everyone including those agents thought he was ungeared. Plus, I looked more than sane, so I’m sure in Bruce’s brain, I was helping tell whatever story he was trying to sell.

Day four.

Although he was a heavy crack smoker, he told everyone he was decently sober. You didn’t need to be a spy to know that was obviously a lie. Ugh. I could just cry thinking back. This shit is so whack. And as the days went on, Macey was gone. We left the house less and less. Now, who’s second best? He also got meaner and meaner. I felt like a vacuum cleaner. If his stash got low, he’d make me do his fucking dealer regardless of my sad demeanor.

But not before a pill or two. I mean, I didn’t want to get high anymore. I had too. I didn’t want to do those things Bruce made me do but I needed too. And if I was going to do those things I didn’t want to do, I needed my pills —and more than a few. On top of it all, he made me feel small. He literally told me, no one loved me anymore. Per Bruce, I was merely a sad worthless whore.

He’d hold me down if I disobeyed and I couldn’t do anything he didn’t OK. So like an animal, I had to do what I was told. I was more than controlled. There were times when I’d threaten to run away and tell my parents what he told me not to say. But he had a rebuttal for that too. I couldn’t help but think, “All of this for one fucking blue?”

The only thing I knew was that I needed to get out of this fucking joint. I was past my breaking point.

Except, he knew I didn’t have the guts (or at least not yet because I would have already kicked him in the nuts). He was giving me those pills on purpose. There was far more going on than what you saw above the surface. He’d insist, “You have to finish the program your family thinks you’re in. Otherwise, they will disown you as their kin.”

That was always his M.O. I’d say no, but he’d still want a show. It was deliberate and not your typical narcotic exchange. I know this must sound strange. I mean, yeah I needed a change but I was way out of range. Like I said in the beginning, there was a lot of deception and I personally had no reception. Then, he’d call each of them all, resighting a fake update on how their cupcake was doing in treatment —a treatment center that never existed. So yeah, this shit was more than twisted.

I mean, he’d always play the hero. But he was the villain the whole time.

And me? Well, I couldn’t even rhyme. Like before that fateful day, I actually ran away, he wanted me to overhear what my family had to say and not in a good way. Except, he didn’t want them to talk to their dear. That was pretty clear. He wanted me to have a fit as they tragically talked shit. One word, hypocrite. It hurt, all of it did. I couldn’t do anything about it because I was way off the grid.

I couldn’t even believe what they all said. I remember thinking, I wish I was dead. Eventually, it all comes to a head. So yeah, all of this changed me. I’m not the girl I used to be but today, I’m a different type of happy. I found my new normal and now I’m stronger than ever before.

Because one cannot know peace without knowing war.

So if you’re wondering what happens next, I’ll soon be getting that off my chest. My next blog post will surely include the rest. Until then, I hope your weekend is the best.

xoxo,

macey bee

As you may or may not be aware of, I was held against my will for nearly 30 days in Del Ray Beach, Florida —literally five minutes away from my sister and her family.

I was chemically and physically chained to someone I thought was a friend. It took a shit ton of courage and a bunch of dumb luck but somehow, I pulled off a miracle and escaped —literally.

I plan on writing several other articles detailing a little more of the before, during and after. I’ll be sure to tag those pieces once they are ready. So, stay tuned. If you have any questions about my trauma or are confused regarding the timeline of events, please don’t hesitate to reach out. I am an open book. Thank you!

*names have been changed to protect the privacy of the individuals involved. 

This is part four of my rock bottom number three series. In case you missed it, you may want to check out: Rock Bottom, Rape Culture & Recovery, Blurred Lines & Hard Times, Coastlines, Crack, & Rehab Fraud, Coercion, Consent & Control, as well as The Last Few Days of Captivity (in that order) once you finish reading the above.

And for a poetic account of what took place, feel free to read: Chains, Reins, & Brains. Thank you!