A semblance of normalcy, maybe. Hollow eyes stared back at me, devoid of innocence and soul. I thought about the past and the future. If my past had been different, my future would have been too. The future’s past wouldn’t be of this—a silhouette of me gripping the sinkcounter, covered in memories, the darkest shade of black, wondering who the hell I am.
The Crew in the mirror was scaring my best friend and worried my blissfully unaware mother until her death. If I thought about it hard enough, this Crew was terrifying me as well. It was a hazard of the job to lose oneself, but I couldn’t honestly say I knew who I was to begin with.
I was a combination of pain and pleasure, though the pleasure was seemingly nowhere to be found. I wasn’t stupid. I knew what this was doing to myself and my loved ones. I just couldn’t find the energy to care anymore. Looking for something better was more exhausting than existing the way I was.
My hair was a mess; dark brown roots clashing against the shitty bleach job I’d done myself. The client had done a number on me, covering my face in darkening bruises and a split lip. Underneath it all, I looked gaunt, almost. Soulless. Listless.
Every wince and jolt of pain while showering only reminded me of why I did what I did. The pain grounded me, in a sense. It reminded me I was capable of feeling something other than dread and paralyzing fear. Blood-stained water swirled around the drain, signifying the cleansing of my sins, each bruise and cut signifying another tally added to the list of infractions I wore on my body.
In the kitchen, I found a glass of water and two over-the-counter pain medications. Willow would be off to work soon, leaving me to my own devices and her to process seeing me come home broken again.
Once upon a time, we were stupid, lost kids who found companionship in our shared loneliness. I didn’t have a dad, and my mom worked a lot. Willow lost her mom, and her dad was mostly aloof. It worked. We bonded during unsupervised late nights, finding something entirely too dangerous and fucked up for a couple of kids to do.
Willow was my first true friend. The first person I came out to. She was the only reason, aside from Mom, that I graduated from high school. She knewalmostall my dirty secrets, yet she chose to stay.
The tremble of her voice haunted me as I swallowed the pills. The broken look on her face was why I never told her the real reason why I started doing sex work. I’d never told her the reason behind the scars that littered my body, self-inflicted or otherwise. Willow knew moreabout me than anyone else, but I had to keep some secrets. It was an unspoken rule I followed as if my life depended on it.
Cool granite kissed the scratched, raw skin on the underneath of my elbows. I let my head drop into my hands, groaning in time with another wave of pain through my head. Rays of orange and yellow peeked through the blinds behind the kitchen sink, shining a spotlight on me. The first touch of warmth I’d felt all night, aside from the lingering feeling of the stranger’s eyes.
Arms gingerly wrapped around my shoulders as Willow leaned down to give her version of a hug. I hated real hugs. “I love you, C. You know I do.”
“I know.”
“I just hate seeing you like this. It hurts me.”
“I know.”
“You deserve so much more. So much better.”
I stayed silent.
“They hurt you so bad, C.” Willow’s voice wobbled, tears flooding the back of her throat. “You deserve to find someone nicer. Gentler.”
I caressed her arm, giving the only affection I had the energy for. “I love you.”
She kissed the top of my head. “I love you, too.”
Willow walked away, leaving to go to her fancy work office in her fancy clothes to do something smart and valuable within society.
I was valuable too. At least, my body was. Not in the same way as Willow, who used her smarts for something good. I was a whiz at math, which only helped when clients tried to short-change me. She was accepted into the world around us and was treated with respect. Her coworkers thought of her as important to their company. Businesses around the city loved her charm and competency when it came to proposals and investments.
Everything she swore I deserved, Willow deserved, and then some. Someone nicer. Gentle. Kind.
I didn’t do soft. I didn’t do gentle. I didn’t do kind. That was my whole thing. The prostitute on the block who loved being slapped around.
With Willow gone, I didn’t have a reason to exist around the houseshe bought with her hard-earned money. She let me live here, sure, but all the money I gave her was tainted and scorned.
I became a ghost. Retreating to my room, I shut the door, closed the blackout curtains, and flopped onto my bed. Lullabies of a fiery escape from the only world I knew sang to me in the dark. It was ridiculous—the idea that I could be anything different. That I could have anything different. No matter what Willow said, I was a slave to my programming.
My mother didn’t notice. The world wasn’t kind. I was a blip on God’s radar in the grand scheme of things. No amount of prayers from the conservative churchgoers in my town could’ve saved me, just as I couldn’t have saved myself.
Sharp claws dug into my skin. They started at my feet, raking their way up my legs until they squeezed around my hips. I was helpless against them. I closed my eyes, letting the voice from ten years ago guide me back to the dark, murky waters I was accustomed to.
Beneath the surface, a light started blinking. It was faint, but it was there. Amber in color, the light illuminated a path for me to follow. It was treacherous, sure to end in nothing but pain.
It didn’t matter, though. I couldn’t swim anyway.
In my dreams, I drowned beneath the icy chill of the Arctic Ocean, begging for warmth with my hand outstretched to the ominous fire in the stranger’s eyes. He was just out of reach, our fingertips barely grazing before I dropped down.
