Allow me to re-introduce myself. A long time ago, before I was Parra Jones' best friend before I was living a simple life in New York City before I was even Tiffany Moore. My name was Roberta Ramirez Lupita DeJeuse, niece of the notorious Mexican drug lord Ricardo "The Reaper" DeJeuse and his wife Maria "La Muerte" DeJeuse. All my life, I grew up around drugs, sex, and dirty money. I was told that my mother died giving birth to me in a Texas hospital, but I was sent to live with my grandfather in Mexico. After he passed, I moved in with my Uncle. I never knew my father, and in a way, I never knew myself. I was told that since I was born in America, I could be "useful" to my Uncle's business. I grew up believing the drugs and money was normal, that the blood on basement steps was a punishment for breaking the rules, and my uncle and aunt owned a drug store.
Time went by I found myself in a sexual relationship with a man more than double my age. I was ten; he was over twenty and was a partner of my Uncle. They were allies, and all I had to do was stay a few nights with him. I was part of a cover operating as a small daughter that would seek drugs across the broader into the US. The trips were fun when they went well; that is, we always get ice cream and visit an amusement park. But when they would go bad, being locked in a room for an unknown amount of days with hardly anything to eat or drink it does stuff to you. Anyway, I'd make sure that wouldn't happen as much.
I was fourteen when they decided to stop using me as just standby on the sidelines. I knew what a condom was for and was using them to avoid STDs and pregnancy. By this time, I had already slept with multiple men and was curious about women in a sexual nature. I never thought I'd have my role changed from an innocent daughter type to an active drug mule. The first time, they hid it in a backpack and told me not to open the bag protected with my life, but don't open it. I didn't care at this point; I knew what was happening. I just chose to live in ignorance. I didn't think I could change how my life was going because they knew I was already used to it. They got a better product, and I got a bigger allowance when things went smoothly. I owned a small store, five different cars I couldn't even drive, three motorcycles, a boat, and every high-class outfit I could get my hands on.
I was living the high life until a year later. I was dating an uncivilized fuckboi who indulged in BDSM and being clucked. He had a drug and attitude problem, especially since I was making more money than him still, he knew how to satisfy, and that's all I cared about at the time. After a huge fight that got physical, I joined my uncle for a job. This time condoms of coke had to place inside my body before a flight to California. I didn't think anything of it on the plane ride there. But after a swift accidental elbow to the abdomen and the exposed buries on my skin as I stumbled out of the airport terminal had me feeling higher than I have ever experience. The condom broke. I forgot what happened before blacking out.
I woke up in a hospital with no one memory of what happened; closing my eyes once more, I could overhear local police officers, the FBI, and the DEA talk to the doctors about my condition outside the door. They painted the picture of my life for me, and since I was a minor, it was easy to go along with it. The sexual and physical abuse along side the drugs made it seem like I was kidnapped in Mexico and forced to peddle drugs here. The fact that I had US citizenship, unlike the rest of my family, made it look all the more convincing. My mother had no ties to her brother or sister in law, and while the DEA agents seem suspicions about the coincidence. The FBI only saw me as a child of circumstance or a victim of child trafficking forced into this life.
When I eventually "woke up', I spoke fluent Spanish, acted scared, and pretended to have PTSD. They had to bring in a translator, and I was sedated multiple times for freaking out. Eventually, I opened up, saying I never knew who was the big boss, but I told all about the traumatic events in my life and the things I regretted. I was eventually told since I had no family in America that I'd be fostered and under witness protection. I was getting therapy and learning English, along with relearning how to survive in America. After the authorities were done with me, I was told two things pick a new name and hope I get a better family.
Elizbeth and Terrance Moore. The first foster family who actually saw potential in me. I was sixteen going on seventeen in two weeks when they found me on a cold December day. My foster home was okay for the most part, and I had adapted to having less, but the most treasured thing I was given was a pair of ice stakes. They adopted me after watching me stake for a week straight. I was happy. I was genuinely loved by complete strangers who wanted to love a child they could never have. Dying my hair to their matching golden caramel hair color and putting in hazelnut contacts to mask my blackened soulless eye color changed me forever. I was Tiffany Moore from there on, and I was their little girl.
We moved around a bit before staying in New York City. I was living a completely different life before, and as I continued to live it, I was receiving help from the government. But all good things come to an end. While I was in college, my funding slowed down to a crawl, and I couldn't keep up with the payments. I owed over a hundred thousand dollars for room bored books and back payment on bills; without the ability to get a job, I had to do something who knew that would be the beginning of an end.
He pulled up in a limo as I walked around the corner, not wearing much under my coat as the limo stopped, "Excuse me, Miss. My boss would like a word. Do you have time?" The driver asked
"Maybe, that depends," I said
"I assure you he finds you most interesting," He said
I made my way to the back of the limo as the window was carefully let down, releasing a cloud of cigar smoke from the car, "What's a woman like you doing out in the cold?" He asked
"Selling chocolate, interested?" I said
"I stopped for a reason, did I not?" He asked
"So it seems, Mr. Man. This is an untouched choco that has been this way for over five to seven years. It has a sweet caramel center and is extremely addictive," I said
"Does it come in other flavors as well?" He asked
"It does, but I've been told caramel is the best since it last all day," I said
"Mind if we talk about this over drinks, or do you prefer soda?" He asked
"I'll outdrink you any time of the week," I chuckled out, "I should warn you this chocolate comes at a hefty price," I added.
"How much?" He asked
I tossed a one hundred grand mini candy bar in the car to hear him laugh in delight, "That's all? Get in," He said
I got the limo hoping that one night with this one guy was going to be the one and only time I'd allow myself to sink this low but watching him inhale a line of coke before drinking a brown liquid; he clearly had a bigger plan in mind.
"Name's Chang, and you're in for a treat," He smirked before the limo started to drive away