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It’s midday. I should be out finding clients but I’m not in the mood to deal with dense men right now. And Claude, my pimp, won’t notice one day without productivity, right? He won’t do much about it if he does. He doesn’t want to get murdered. I’ve been writing poetry since this morning. I’ve burnt most of it. It isn’t very good. If it was, I'd be a poet, not a prostitute.
There’s a knock on the door. I swear if it’s the damn landlord again–
A key turns in the lock outside. It is the landlord. Wonderful, this is exactly what I needed right now, today obviously hasn’t been shitty enough.
“Rent.” He demands.
It’s months late but if I had enough money to afford it, I wouldn’t be living here. There are nicer places that cost less but the people here have no self control so I’ve paid the rent once. Maybe twice.
“Oh come on Alain, I’m sure we can work–”
“No,” He cuts me off. Rude. “I’m not playing this game again. If I want you, I’ll find you. Pay or get out.”
Well shit.
“It’s the middle of winter.” I point out.
God, I hope that convinces him to let me stay. It’s not much of a lie. It’s late winter but–
“It’s the middle of January, you’ll survive.”
“It’s still winter.”
“You’ll–”
“Fine.”
I might as well leave with my dignity. Or what’s left of it, at least. I grab the few things I have under my name and shove past him out of the room. I grab his hand. I know he’ll try something if I don’t. The door slams behind me. I’ve made the mistake of not being aware of whose eyes are on me before. It ended badly and I won’t be making it again. Right now there are a lot more of them than usual. I don’t know why there would be, I’ve seen people dragged out of here in more undignified ways.
I adjust my dress. It’s really not much of a dress, I got it a few years back. I thought it was a good idea at the time. It helped make money for a while but I’m just sick of it now. It’s the only ‘nice’ dress I own. I walk out of the old building. It’s cold out. Very cold. I take a deep breath. The cold air is a shock to my system.
I walk down the street until people start showing up less and alleyways become more common. I find an abandoned one. I hate this part of town. The clients are always cheap so I don’t come around often. That’s why I’m here. I don’t need anybody recognizing me right now. I’m at an all time low, which is saying something since everyone around here, the women, mostly, thinks nobody could ever be lower than me.
I step into the alley, drop the only bag I have on the ground, and just scream. It doesn’t help. I slide down to the ground against the back wall of the alley and pull my knees to my chest. I blink back tears, they’ll only make things worse. I got hypothermia several years back and the cold from the tears nearly killed me.
I pull out a cigarette and light it. I put the match out on my arm. It hurts but at least it’s warm. The burning is something to focus on. Something to distract me from the disaster that is ‘The Life of Monique Gibeau’. I smoke silently in the back of the alley for a while, focusing on the pain and trying not to think about the steadily darkening world around me.
I wake up the next day. I’m not sure what time it is and I don’t own a watch. I pick up my bag of items and walk back to my normal part of town. I stand on a corner shivering for a while before I decide to light a cigarette. A few small groups of people pass me. Most of them take steps away from me. Some of them look interested. But someone who looks like a client isn’t the same as an actual client.
“See, I told you you’d survive.” An unfortunately familiar voice jeers.
“Back already, Alain?”
I exhale smoke in his face. He smirks.
“Just here for service.”
I fight back an eye roll. His words are slowed and he’s walking very carefully. He’s clearly drunk. It might not be clear to the average person but I have the displeasure of knowing him well.
“Of course you are. I can refuse, you know.”
“You need the money.”
I do. He’s right. I hate that he’s right. He doesn’t leave time for a thought after that, just slams me into the wall I’ve been leaning on and kisses me. It’s a passionless kiss. He grabs my wrist and pulls me to his house. It’s a familiar place so I don’t at all acknowledge my surroundings. It’s warm. Thank god. The sex is as bad as ever. You’d think that after the months we’ve been doing this he’d have learned something but no. He kicks me out as soon as he decides we’re done. He’s left money on the desk by the door where he keeps his house keys and other trinkets. I grab it. My eyes drift to the coats hanging by his door. No. I don’t need to deal with any legal problems right now. I can’t afford lunch, let alone a lawyer. I grab the money and walk out. I find a couple other clients but neither of them are much better. It’s pitch black out when I finally get to go back–
Well fuck. Wrong place.
I turn around and walk to the alleyway I stayed in last night. It’s probably past midnight by the time I get there. I light another cigarette. The 21st today. I put the match out on my arm again. It hurts just as much as it always has. But it’s a feeling and after a day like this, I really just need to feel something. I lean back against the wall and close my eyes.
I wake up after what I assume was a couple hours of sleep. The alleyway is still dim, the sun is mid-rise. I run my hands through my hair and stand up. I regret the decision right away. My head starts spinning and I sit back down. I press the back of my hand to my forehead. It's warm. A fever. Perfect. I consider working anyway but I don’t feel like spreading illness today and the idea of standing up makes me more nauseous than I already am. Claude's going to kill me for this. I'll kill him first.
I light a cigarette. I'm running low on them. I'll buy more tomorrow. This time the pain of putting out the match on my skin doesn't help. I haven't been sick in years, just been lucky I guess. I really don't know where I could've picked this up. That doesn't matter now though. I'm sure I'll be fine in a couple days.
Being left alone with my thoughts is torture. There's not many good things to think about. There's the past, the present, and the future, all of which are dark and unpleasant. There's not much around me to think about. I look around for something to focus on to keep my mind from drifting to the darker parts of my life. The alleyway I'm in is empty except for me and my stuff. Damn. The silence is suffocating. Or maybe that's the illness. Either way, I have nothing to do but think about myself, which isn't a great thing to have to do because I suck.
This is pathetic. Everything about this is pathetic. Hell, everything about me is pathetic. It has been for years. I could have done something. Been someone. But no, I had to take the easy way out and now here I am–
Okay, no more of that. I pull out another cigarette and light it, smoke for a while, and put it out on my skin. And another. And another. And another, and another, and another, and–
Shit. Shit shit shit.
“DAMNIT!”
I'm out of cigarettes. That's a cause worth getting up for. I slowly lift myself to my feet, fighting the urge to throw up. I pull myself along the alley wall but my legs barely carry the weight of my body. Until they don't. Dizziness hits me like a truck and I fall backwards. Everything goes black.
I wake up. My head feels like it's going to implode. I hear footsteps, someone who's lost their way, no doubt. Maybe they'll feel bad and bring food. I haven't eaten in three days. Or had anything to drink, for that matter. Isn't three days the limit for surviving without water? G–
“Gibeau?” A voice asks.
I clear my throat and, with some struggle, pull myself up to a sitting position.
“Claude.”
“You haven't made a cent in three days. What the hell have you been doing?”
“One.” I correct him, “It's been one day.”
“Your trickery might have worked on your old pimp but I am not him. Three days.”
It hasn't been three days. I can't have been. I was working yesterday. There's no way I was unconscious for two entire days.
“It has not been–” I'm cut off by a coughing fit.
“Oh. You're sick.” He mumbles, “Well you could've just told me instead of trying to trick me.”
“Yeah. I'm sick. What does it have to do with you?”
“You aren't making me money.”
“I'm not your only slut.” I remind him. Sometimes it seems like he forgets.
“No but you're my best.”
The sentence hits like a bullet to the chest. I'm not sure why. I know he's right but hearing it out loud makes it so real. This is really what my life has come to. It hasn't just been some fucked up nightmare. There will never be a moment where I wake up and find out that I was never this fucked up girl. I'm not even sure my body has the water left to cry but I have to fight tears anyway.
“Monique!” Claude's voice snaps me back to reality.
“What?”
“You look dead, have you had anything to drink or is it just the sickness?”
I hate having to ask for help. I always have. But having to ask Claude for help is especially painful.
“No.” I mutter, half hoping he can't hear me.
“Were you just planning on dying here? You won't be on my watch, you have no idea how valuable you are to me.”
He walks out of the alley. His footsteps get quieter until they're finally gone. His comments have made me brutally aware of just how badly I need something to drink. I hear more footsteps. Claude rounds the corner again and places a bottle of water at my feet.
“So you don't die. Get better. I need you.”
He turns back out of the alley. I wait until his footsteps recede again before grabbing the bottle and downing the whole thing. Water has never tasted so good. It's gone too soon. Maybe now that I'm not so dehydrated I'll be able to walk properly? I need more cigarettes, there's no way in hell I can do this without them. There's no way in hell I can do anything without them. I–
Another coughing fit interrupts my thoughts. My throat feels like it's bleeding. Eventually I stop coughing. Something feels off. I move my arms to lift myself off the ground.
“FUCK! DAMNIT! OW!”
A stabbing pain in my chest shoots down the attempt I was making to get upat getting out of this alley. Breathing hurts. Everything hurts. I feel like I’m boiling to death. Maybe I am. At least I won’t have to deal with this anymore. I lean back, the dull pain of head hitting the cold brick of the wall only serves to add to my headache. I close my eyes, once again left alone with my thoughts. This time instead of thinking about my surroundings, my mind drifts to the future. I can’t help but wonder how far it goes. I feel like I’m dying now so maybe I don’t have a future at all. Maybe I’ll fall asleep now and never wake up. God, I hope I fall asleep now and never wake up.
The clinking of a glass bottle of water against pavement wakes me up. I groan, just barely aware of the man now leaving the alley.
“Wait.”
Claude stops in his tracks and turns around. I clear my throat. Breathing still hurts.
“What?” Claude asks with a roll of his eyes.
“Cigarettes.” I say groggily.
“What about them?”
“I need more of them.”
“Fine. But I’m charging you forty cents extra. Twenty for the trip there, twenty for the trip back.”
“Forty cents!? I don’t have forty cents extra, you know that!”
“Then you’re not getting your cigarettes.”
Claude turns on his heels and walks away. I hate begging. I avoid it if I can, which was always until now.
“Claude please!”
He’s already gone. For once in my life I can’t hold back tears. Sobbing hurts. A lot. But I can’t stop. I’m trapped here in this terrible alley with nobody. I’ve been trapped everywhere I’ve ever gone with nobody but I’m especially trapped now.
I stay trapped for the next several days. Claude comes back every day with a bottle of water. He seems annoyed that I’m not getting any better. If anything I’m getting worse. I feel like I’m freezing and boiling to death at the same time, everything hurts and I’m so tired. I haven’t slept in days. And I’m out of matches so there’s nothing to distract me from everything. I’m out of tears to cry and I’m sick of being this pathetic. I won’t let this world forget me. But it’s too late to do anything of consequence. I’m going to burn or bleed or just… just fade away.
I grab the knife from my bag and start carving into the brick of the wall. An M. Then an O. An N. An I, a Q, a U, an E. Monique. G, I, B, E, A, U. Gibeau. It takes an hour to carve my full name with the dull knife. It’s worth every second because now they can’t forget. They’ll know I was here. I will be part of history. I haven’t suffered through everything I’ve suffered through just to be forgotten. They have to remember my name now.
A coughing fit hits just as I finish. I drop the knife on my leg but the brick has dulled it down so much it does nothing. When I finally stop coughing a metallic taste hits my tongue. Blood. I’m coughing up blood.
A wave of nausea hits me hard. I haven’t had anything but water in over a week so there isn’t much to vomit up but somehow my system manages it anyway. Red. I’m vomiting blood too. Just my luck. I pull my knees to my chest and realize just how badly I’m shaking. I just sit there curled into a ball, trying not to cry. My mind slowly moves away from my current situation to my past ones.
I’m pretty sure I was around this part of town when my parents decided they didn’t want the responsibility that a kid burdened them with anymore and ditched me on the side of the road. I was ten. What kind of person does that to a ten year old? Kids are the worst but at least have the decency to get rid of them before they get attached, right?
I grew up at an orphanage that really felt more like a prison. I hated it there. It was overcrowded and not a single person ever even tried to talk to me. I got booted out the second I turned eighteen. Most people get congratulated for turning eighteen. I got kicked out of the only “home” I’d ever known. Everything’s been downhill since then. I would give anything to go back there, as much as I still despise it. I drift off thinking about my parents and the people at the orphanage and Claude and everyone who never cared about me.
There are two bottles of water next to me when I finally wake up from a nightmare infested sleep. My abdomen hurts like hell. Not my stomach. My abdomen. Everything is spinning. I’m finally cold again, which is a relief but I’m also shivering really badly. Everything is spinning. Nothing makes sense. Where am I? How long have I just been lying here like this? Why am I so out of breath? Everything feels tingly and unreal. Everything looks unreal as well. I come to my senses eventually. Sort of. I become slightly more aware of my surroundings and my muscles stop being so stiff. I’m still in my alleyway alone. My breathing is still rapid, so is my heartbeat. My head is still spinning and I’m seeing spots now. I hear footsteps, I think. I could be hallucinating. I wouldn’t be surprised. It’s probably Claude.
Someone unfamiliar passes the alley. He doesn’t acknowledge me. He looks like he’s late to church. I look down at my fingers. Are they turning blue? I hear footsteps approaching again.
“Oh, -ear g-, are you okay?” The man, who I think is a priest, but I really can’t be sure that any observation I make right now will be correct, my head is still spinning and, still, nothing quite makes sense.
“No.” I groan.
Even such a small word is difficult to form.
“Yes, I can see that. Can I– d- ny- to help?”
His words aren’t making sense.
“What?” I ask, with some effort.
He sighs and kneels down beside me, taking my hand. There’s not much I can do to stop him.
“Do -y -ve a- final words to The Lo- -’d like t- say?”
I take a moment to figure out what he said and then I think about it for a moment.
“Tell him…” I manage to force out, “that like him, I choose to burn out rather than fade away.”
I think the priest looks offended. He says something but I don’t quite catch it. Everything is going black. Is it finally over? Oh thank god. Maybe they have cigarettes in hell.