The Sun is Gone

On Her Own

Run away, run away if you can't speak
Turn a page on a world that you don't need
Wide awake and you're scared that you won't come down now

Didn't I tell you you were gonna break down?
Didn't I warn you, didn't I warn you?
Better take it easy, try to find a way out
Better start believing in yourself

We build it up, we tear it down
We leave our pieces on the ground
We see no end, we don't know how
We are lost and we're falling

["Pieces" Rob Thomas]

I pushed open the heavy wooden door at the top of the stairs and stumbled into the dimly lit room I shared with five other girls.  I was assaulted by the pungent smell of cigarettes, urine, vomit, and God knows what else.  I'd been here for three and a half weeks and I still could barely stomach that smell.  The room was, thankfully, empty. I crashed onto my makeshift bed, kicking away the random garbage that surrounded it.  Aside from sleeping on the floor being uncomfortable, it also meant that I was eye level with all the fucking shit that littered the floor—trash, empty cigarette packets, needles, dirty clothes covered in vomit—you name it.  No one here gave a damn about cleaning.  They were all too strung out all the time.

            I quickly tucked away the wad of cash I had from my night's earnings—mostly singles—in a zippered pouch I kept with me all the time when I wasn't working.  I must've had at least close to $1,000 saved from the last few weeks, but it still wasn't enough to get me out of here. 

            I could still hear the thumping of the bass from the music downstairs, telling me that the other girls were still dancing in their skimpy outfits, while drunk men leered at them and emptied their wallets for attention.  I cringed as I changed out of my "uniform" and into the same t-shirt and shorts I had slept in for the past three weeks.  Laundry hadn't been at the top of my to-do list, but it was going to have to be, considering that nearly all the clothes tucked in my large duffel were dirty.  That was a problem for another day, though.  Right now I just wanted to sleep.  I was so exhausted. 

            I closed my eyes and tried desperately to fall into unconsciousness.  But I couldn't stop the thoughts from racing through my mind.  I worried about my job, and therefore my place to stay.  I'd told by my boss, Miss Lydia that I felt really sick, which was how I'd left the club early tonight.  She'd gotten super pissed at me and threatened to make me leave if I ever left early again.  But I just couldn't take it tonight. 

            I wasn't even a good dancer, but it truly didn't matter.  Men don't care as long as you're willing to take off your clothes, and that was our job.  There were only two rules—don't get naked in the club, and don't bring any men back to where we live.  Basically, that meant most of the girls left with at least one man throughout the night to go back to his place or a cheap hotel and make some extra money.  I refused to be a prostitute though.  It certainly wasn't earning me any points around here.  I'd already been told off about it a few times by Lydia, who was clearly in this for the money and didn't give a fuck about any of us.  A couple of the girls kept telling me too.  It wasn't that bad, they said.  I apparently had a "better body" than most of them and could bring in a lot more money for myself.  I still couldn't bear to do it.  Just the thought of all the guys staring at me in the club nauseated me to the point that I had to force myself through anxiety attacks every day to do it.  I felt cheap and sleazy, and I guess when it came down to it, I was.

It was only for a little while, I told myself.  I just needed to save up enough money to get an apartment of my own and then I could move and get hired at a real job.  It would only be for a few more weeks.  I wasn't like the other girls here, I kept telling myself.  Though they were pretty, they all had a rough, haggard look about them.  They did drugs all the time to cope with the life they led, and their perpetual addictions kept them needing to stay here because they could never afford to go.  At 18, I was the youngest here.  Most of the others were in their early twenties and had been doing this a while.  I refused to let myself become one of them.  The fact that I knew the risk was there gnawed at my stomach and made it churn.  I shifted in my bed.