Monique

Solo Club

Words fly around Monique's head: "Representation... Colonisation... Euphoria... Meanings..."

Monique doesn't know what is going on. She's bored out of her mind.

She's still trying to understand what is going on.

Her mother locks her in her room at night. Her father sips his beer as he plays with the knives in the kitchen, both their eyes transfixed on the door leading to the basement.

The monsters still torment her at night. Old wounds on her hands, neck and face have reopened from clawing at both the white plastered walls of her bedroom and her skin.

Her once white sheets are now dark crimson.

The pills force their way out of her system onto the blue carpet, surrounded in saliva and half chewed food.

"Monique!"

She snaps out of her daydream when she feels a hand on her shoulder. It's Stella. She's dyed her hair again. This makes it the fiftieth time she's done it this year. No wonder her hair is dead. "Come on. It's lunchtime." Monique looks around. The class is almost empty, just like her soul. She carefully takes her book from the table, making sure Stella doesn't see her arms. It took her over thirty minutes to cover up her bruises with makeup. Monique doesn't want to give people more things to talk about. She hears what they say in the hallway.

"She's crazy."

"She's mental."

"She's anorexic."

"She almost killed her mother."

"She's suicidal."

"She's unstable."

"Stay away from the freak."

"Have you seen her lately? She looks like a corpse!"

"More like a corpse bride."

"Skinny bitch."

Monique places her books back in the metal walls of her locker. She rubs her forehead, cringing at the pain that zaps into her brain. She slammed her head on the wall last night. She flung herself on the bedroom door begging to be let out. She wanted to escape the monsters. She wanted to go to the basement. She wanted John. She needed him.

She takes a ten dollar note from her purse and shuts her locker. She walks with Stella into the canteen.

A hundred pairs of eyes turn to look at her. Monique hides a cringe. Once she was looked upon with adoration, love and even envy. Now, their eyes are cold. She's just another maniac to deal with.

Everyone looks down on the freak.

Everyone stays away from the freak.

She buys a curry and soda from the canteen before sitting at her usual spot.

Some of her group members ignore her. They treat her like a problem that will hopefully vanish into thin air. A few pass her a sideward glance and a tiny smile. Others look down on her.

It's their turn to become the Queen Bee. She has been knocked down.

She begins to drink her soda, welcoming the cool tingle that fills her mouth and throat.

Her life was perfect with John. She had everything. Even better, the monsters weren't out to get her. Her parents had always been peculiar, but John easily made her ignore it.

Now she can't.

"You're my doll," he'd say. "You need me. You're mine to play with. You're mine. Without me, you're nothing. Without me, you're lost and afraid." Monique finishes her drink.

"Without me, you're dead."

Monique sees him standing beside the canteen fridge.

The name comes back to her easily: Jimmy Timms.

He yells at her, "You were supposed to find my mummy! You were supposed to find her for me! You're just like them! You're no better than them!"

Monique abruptly stands up and walks away.

******

She passes Rosalie's shop while driving home but doesn't give it a second glance. Ten Blood Reds are still in her dashboard. They're like a magnet, pulling and enticing her towards them.

They want her.

They want a piece of her mind.

They want her soul.

Monique hurries home and shuts her room door.

Cameras have been installed inside the house. She's a prisoner. She's paranoid.

The cameras see everything. They know everything. Her life is recorded through their clear lenses. Monique waits for the day she smashes their heads in, and watches in satisfaction, as they become nothing but tiny mutilated pieces of technology.

Fucking bullheads.

She takes her laptop from her bed and turns it on. It instantly connects to the house Wi-Fi. Monique disconnects it. Her parents can see what she's doing. She digs into her drawer and pulls it out. It's a small Telstra USB that gives her a secure Wi-Fi for only $30 a month.

She's lucky.

She's smart.

She plugs it in and heads off to Google.

Jimmy Timms.

Over a million results pop up. Monique has her work cut out. She still has exams to study for. They're in three weeks. She has maths first, and she's failing the damn subject.

Jimmy Timms born 1995. Disappeared September 11, 2001, aged 6. Last seen at Park Avenue, Bevelend. Witnesses reported seeing him enter a red four-wheel drive before he disappeared. He has never been found and is presumed dead. His mother, Mary Timms, died in 2011 of heart failure.

Monique sighs and leans back. It's a dead end. She has nothing to work with. Maybe she does. However, she's no detective. She may have read all the Nancy Drew books as a child, but she's no Nancy Drew.

A small breeze blows through an open window. Monique sighs and closes her eye for a moment, savouring the cool air. When her eyes open, she sees it lying on the table.

It's a small business card covered in gold glitter. Written in a fancy font are the words Solo Club.

Opens Friday nights, 5pm-6am. Come along and have some fun.

Monique picks it up and scrutinises it. She doesn't see anything of importance until she looks at the back.

At the back, scrawled messily is an instruction not to be missed.

Go there.