Reworking -DO NOT READ-
Painkiller
I awoke to the sunlight peeking through the thin shades that I had hardly taken the time to pull thoroughly over the paned glass window. I groaned, and felt as if my body was made of stone. Every single part of me screaming in agony. I could feel myself deteriorating, and the longing for a fix instantly kicked in.
I had become a heroin junky the same year that I had become a prostitute. Only four months after I had begun walking the streets, I had found it unbearable to live with myself and needed a way to mask the pain, because I knew I needed some sort of income to survive. And in the midst of the great depression, jobs and money didn't come easily, and being a prostitute, you made almost more money than someone working a high paying job; even though high paying jobs were pretty much a thing of the past.
I had gone the whole night without a shot, a whole 8 hours, which in my case was unbearable. I could feel all of the terrible waves of withdrawal hitting me at once. As I got up from the bed, I wave of dizziness washed over me, and I could feel the bile in my stomach rise. I dashed to the bathroom and was began to throw up incessantly. After a few, long and horrible minutes, I was able to compose myself long enough to stop the vile upchucking. I stood up, my legs shaking and bracing myself on the cold ceramic sink. I looked at myself in the cracked mirror and stifled a gasp. The Annaliese I had once known could not be found in the face that I saw in the mirror. I was once a pretty girl, or at least that's what I was told, with a full face and bright blue eyes. Now as I looked at myself all I saw was a ghost staring back at me. My face was pale, pasty and black bruises formed beneath my eyes, from the lack of sleep. My cheeks were sunken in and sullen. My once, beautiful and silky blonde hair was now matted and dirty, strewing itself in a mess, resembling a mop on top of my head. I tore the towel from the rack behind me and soaked it in water and started to scrub my face furiously, trying to wipe away the Annaliese that now stood before me, in attempt to regain the girl I used to be. I scrubbed and scrubbed, and I would have kept going, if the pain hadn't become unbearable. I threw the now makeup and crud stained towel in a heap on the floor and looked at myself once again. My face was now red and puffed up. I wanted to cry, but there was no tears left inside of me to cry. All emotions somehow were drained from me, all except anger. I was angry at myself, angry at the world and most of all angry at my parents for having been so stupid. Once again a wave of nausea overcame me, and I turned and was sick, completely missing the toilet this time, sending the bare contents of my stomach splattering against the dirty tiled floor. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and shrugged at myself in the mirror. I stalked out of the bathroom and into the small room that had been my bedroom for the night. I needed to get out there and find a fix and quick, I wasn't going to spend my day feeling like utter shit, when I needed to be out there making money. I peeled off my fishnets and shoved them into my tattered bag along with the rest of my belongings, which consisted of my "kit" - a needle and all the other crap that I needed to shoot up like cotton and a already burnt up spoon. In the bag I also kept an old tattered photograph of my family, before we had all be sold out. My socks, the little bit of makeup I owned, and the money I had made the night before. It wasn't much, but it was all the things that I needed to get by. I put my high heels on and made my way out the door, stopping at the front desk to drop off my key, to the blind old lady who owned the small hotel. With that I was off, towards the only thing in the world that made me feel half-decent.
I had become a heroin junky the same year that I had become a prostitute. Only four months after I had begun walking the streets, I had found it unbearable to live with myself and needed a way to mask the pain, because I knew I needed some sort of income to survive. And in the midst of the great depression, jobs and money didn't come easily, and being a prostitute, you made almost more money than someone working a high paying job; even though high paying jobs were pretty much a thing of the past.
I had gone the whole night without a shot, a whole 8 hours, which in my case was unbearable. I could feel all of the terrible waves of withdrawal hitting me at once. As I got up from the bed, I wave of dizziness washed over me, and I could feel the bile in my stomach rise. I dashed to the bathroom and was began to throw up incessantly. After a few, long and horrible minutes, I was able to compose myself long enough to stop the vile upchucking. I stood up, my legs shaking and bracing myself on the cold ceramic sink. I looked at myself in the cracked mirror and stifled a gasp. The Annaliese I had once known could not be found in the face that I saw in the mirror. I was once a pretty girl, or at least that's what I was told, with a full face and bright blue eyes. Now as I looked at myself all I saw was a ghost staring back at me. My face was pale, pasty and black bruises formed beneath my eyes, from the lack of sleep. My cheeks were sunken in and sullen. My once, beautiful and silky blonde hair was now matted and dirty, strewing itself in a mess, resembling a mop on top of my head. I tore the towel from the rack behind me and soaked it in water and started to scrub my face furiously, trying to wipe away the Annaliese that now stood before me, in attempt to regain the girl I used to be. I scrubbed and scrubbed, and I would have kept going, if the pain hadn't become unbearable. I threw the now makeup and crud stained towel in a heap on the floor and looked at myself once again. My face was now red and puffed up. I wanted to cry, but there was no tears left inside of me to cry. All emotions somehow were drained from me, all except anger. I was angry at myself, angry at the world and most of all angry at my parents for having been so stupid. Once again a wave of nausea overcame me, and I turned and was sick, completely missing the toilet this time, sending the bare contents of my stomach splattering against the dirty tiled floor. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and shrugged at myself in the mirror. I stalked out of the bathroom and into the small room that had been my bedroom for the night. I needed to get out there and find a fix and quick, I wasn't going to spend my day feeling like utter shit, when I needed to be out there making money. I peeled off my fishnets and shoved them into my tattered bag along with the rest of my belongings, which consisted of my "kit" - a needle and all the other crap that I needed to shoot up like cotton and a already burnt up spoon. In the bag I also kept an old tattered photograph of my family, before we had all be sold out. My socks, the little bit of makeup I owned, and the money I had made the night before. It wasn't much, but it was all the things that I needed to get by. I put my high heels on and made my way out the door, stopping at the front desk to drop off my key, to the blind old lady who owned the small hotel. With that I was off, towards the only thing in the world that made me feel half-decent.