Vodka and Lemonade

“Hey, Joe, look what we got here?” a voice from above me said, causing me to awaken and become more aware of my surroundings. I didn’t open my eyes. “Looks like someone decided to throw out their trash last night. I wonder I she’s still warm.”

I stiffened.

“No clue man. Still, I think she’d feel good against my cock-”

“Me first. I found her!”

“Shut up, the both of you!” a third voice said. “That’s one of Lou’s whores. He’ll kill us if he knew.”

“Then, it’s a good thing he’ll never know. Besides, she’s dead. What does it matter?” the first voice asked, his voice getting louder- closer.

“Man, you’re not right. Just do it quickly, ‘kay? We need to get outta here.” The sound of soft footsteps leaving filled my ears.

“Yea, yea,” the first voice grumbled, his breathing hot on my neck. I let my body go completely limp and treated him like Mr. Johnson. He was really into S&M and would repeatedly use his new, cruel toys on me. It doesn’t take long for someone like me to become completely used to customers using them like a rag doll. Blacking out is an easy way to place yourself away from the client. It’s easy not to get attached or emotionally charged when you’re completely unaware of your surroundings. Going internal and completely shutting down is your own option…unfortunately, you become emotionally blank in the rest of your life. Hazard of the trade, I guess. Like I said, it’s not easy. You do what you do, I guess. No sense in trying to change it. I will be a whore until I die, and I’m okay with that…because, well, if I don’t within the next few minutes, then it’s only a matter of time.

When I finally realized that the weight on top of me had lifted and the man- whoever he was- had disappeared- I curled up in a small ball and went back to sleep, occasionally shivering due to the state of my clothes, little more than rags, that left me very exposed in the chilly winter air. I couldn’t tell what was worth: the withdrawal symptoms, or the damn cold. Fuck, I need a hit, a blow…something!

As I drifted in and out of unconsciousness, I wondered what tomorrow would bring- if there was a tomorrow. Sometimes, I had fantasies that someone would come and get me out of this hell-life. I think that’s from some movie. I can’t be too sure. The memory of a druggie is far from accurate.

Vaguely, though, I remember someone wrapping me up and carrying me. My eyes couldn’t focus, so I just stayed limp as they laid me into a car and urged someone to speed off. I guess tonight wasn’t my night. The person in the back with me kept shaking me. Kept yelling for me to wake up. Clearly, they were the delusional ones. I was awake. I just couldn’t open my eyes or respond. Besides, I was fucking tired. Why couldn’t they have just taken what they wanted and then leave me to die? At least the first guy was sensible enough to grant me that much. Eventually, everything went black. Finally, it was peaceful and still.