Chapter Text
I'm sitting in another motel room on another night, and everything's the same. Dubious stains on the bedsheets, mould creeping up the bathroom tiles. Cheap art on the walls, grimy carpets, coils poking through mattresses. These places are like a second home to me now.
I bite my nails, a habit created by anxiety and sustained by ritual. Some people would probably say I have an addictive personality. They'd probably be right. I scratch at the itch under my skin, clawing until it hurts.
It feels like I'm dust caught on a breeze. Barely a person at all, more shade and suggestion than skin and bone. A collection of holes for fucking. Not real. Not here. Just not.
It isn't always as bad as this. When I'm not waiting around in sketchy motels, things are manageable. It's like my mind comes back to me. I can think clearly again instead of feeling like I'm drifting somewhere in the corners of existence.
Drawing is my favourite. My clients sometimes give me things, and one of my regulars brings me art supplies whenever I ask for them. I'm not convinced it makes up for what he does to me in rooms such as these, but it's a start. Better than giving me cash as a tip at least. I don't need money since everything I need is bought for me.
We're expected to hand in any cash we receive, but most of us squirrel away a dollar here, a few bucks there. I'm not sure why exactly, just that it feels nice to keep some of the money I earn on my back. I stash mine in the cracks of a loose floorboard under my bed. There's maybe $50 in there, built up over time. If they ever find it, I'll probably earn myself a fractured rib or two. The risk probably doesn't seem worth it, but I can't help myself with these small rebellions. Besides, pain doesn't affect me in the same way anymore.
I shift impatiently on the bed, eager to get the night finished. The sight of myself in the mirror over the dresser gives me pause. I look awful. Worse than that; I look like I could be dying. My skin is pale and waxy, contrasting sharply against my lank red hair. I have that sunken-eyed, hollow-cheeked look that everyone like me succumbs to eventually.
Ten-year-old me would be disgusted. Present me is only mildly surprised at the weight I've lost since I last took a proper look at myself. I tend to avoid mirrors, if at all possible. This one is hard to ignore. It's made of carved wood; big and old and looks entirely out of place in its surroundings. I can't help but wonder- if I threw something and shattered the ugly thing, how many pieces would it become?
I've been waiting for almost a half hour, but the sharp rap on the door still startles me.
"Come in," I call out in my closest impression of enticing. The door opens. One of my regulars stands in the frame- and not one who brings me pencils. I'm not sure what his name is, but the very sight of him makes my stomach sink right through the floor. He's not a big guy, but every last inch of him seems to be filled with rage. I call him Napoleon behind his back.
All I can say is that this guy likes it rough. He isn't the kind of trick who wants you to produce fake moans of pleasure, much preferring to elicit real cries of pain in their place. Nice guy.
Napoleon doesn't like it when I get up before he leaves, so I wait until I hear the door click before making any effort to push myself up and off the bed. There's a little blood. There usually is with him.
My mind headed towards a kind of fog at some point and I'm struggling to shake it off. I stagger into the bathroom, desperate to scrub the stickiness from my skin and splash cold water on my face.
There's a short blast of a horn outside. It's my cue to hurry my ass up, but I take my time washing. Eventually, someone starts tapping on the motel door. It would be stupid to try and delay any longer so I answer it.
"Hey K-Kyle," Bradley stutters, shuffling awkwardly from foot to foot. "Ready to go?" He turns away before I can answer.
"Yeah," I mutter anyway. I take one more glance in the mirror before I leave. "How the fuck did you get here?" I ask myself. It's a stupid question, of course. I know exactly how.
Rumours, lies, and fear. That's what got me here.