As he rolled off of her bare body, she felt something she never had before: filth. Stacy, the name everyone in Chicago knew her as, had been selling her skills on the streets for quite some time now. Never once had she felt any shame or filth in the things she did to get by. She sadly enjoyed herself, as pleasing these desperate men guaranteed money in her bra and cocaine up her nose.
“How much did you say?” the man grumbled with satisfaction and a hint of guilt in his voice while she pulled her skirt back down.
“A dime and 200,” she replied dryly. He glanced with a look of confusion. When he met her, she had spoken sweetly and pulled him in with the seduction in her voice. His needs had been met though, and the aftermath was not of concern to him; she could speak as dryly as she pleased. He pulled the dime of coke from his pocket and the two hundreds from his wallet. After he pulled his coat over his broad shoulders and put his hat back over his dark brown, curly hair, he walked his short and chubby figure out the door to, in the eyes of Stacy, hopefully never be seen again.
She stayed in the hotel room for several moments after he left. She drenched herself with cheap perfume to rid the stench he had left on her skin, though to her it felt as though it had sunk in much deeper. It was a stench she could not eliminate and it reeked in her bones. She looked around the place as if this room was a reflection of her life realizing it was; the sheets messy with disgrace, the static of a TV show playing in the background, the coke in her palm, the odor of her perfume mixed with the scent of an unclean man. She quickly formed a line on the bedside table to escape. She laid back into the bed to let the high sink in.
An hour later, close to midnight, Stacy walked home passing by her corner at Pop’s Italian Beef Restaurant. She unlocked the door to her studio apartment where her mattress lay on the floor and her fridge was once again empty. She pulled her heeled boots off slowly and turned the T.V. on. After snorting a couple of lines the stench of that chubby man filled her nose. She felt queasy and quickly leaned over the side of her bed to throw up on the floor, but nothing came up. She hadn’t eaten in days. She pulled herself into the bathroom, propping herself up over the sink. She lifted her raccoon eyes to meet herself in the mirror. She looked weaker than she had felt. Her face was dull and her cheeks sunken in as close to her teeth as possible. Her natural, dark-colored hair presented itself along the roots, though the rest was dead with blonde coloring. Her nose dribbled blood slowly over her dry, colorless lips.
Grabbing toilette paper to clean up her nose, she headed back to her bed. As she lay down, her mind began to race. Flashbacks of her childhood mixed with scenes of her current life. Images of her mother’s bleeding face after yet another one of her drunken father’s beatings, or moments of dirty men grabbing at her privates after having paid a fee to own her clogged her consciousness. Half-mindedly, she decided she wanted better. Before she could think a clear thought, she found herself passed out still partially clothed.
When Stacy woke the next morning, she awoke with a pounding headache and severe cramps. Looks like I’m out of business for a few days, she thought to herself. She opened the refrigerator looking for something to chug her Tylenol down with, but only found a cold beer. She grabbed it and sighed while she twisted the top off. Returning to her bed, she sat in silence, going back to the thoughts she never finished the night before. She searched around the room as if her answer could be found in the cracks on the walls or the spots where dirt hid between the floorboards. Her eyes found only her bag of cocaine. She concentrated on it for a long moment, for the first time thinking about what to do with it. There were roughly two lines left, and she had no money to purchase more. Her rent was due a week ago and even with the two-hundred she made the night before, she still didn’t have the funds to keep the run-down place she occupied. She felt that stench seep into her nostrils once again, and she knew she couldn’t continue this way. It was now a choice of life or death. With the next few days now being open she took the opportunity she had been refusing for years; to help get herself cleaned up.
Looking through her closet, she realized she owned nothing professional in any area of work besides prostitution. She did the best she could to make herself presentable and began the search for job openings. Since she didn’t have a car she rode the bus all over the city, stopping at each diner and pub she could find. She figured serving people would be easiest for her, since she had been doing it in a sense for so long. When she walked into the fifth diner of the day, Lou’s Diner, she felt she had finally succeeded. They were hiring and set her up with an interview for a couple days later. Thrilled with a possibility of change, she went to the nearest clothing store to buy some waitress attire. She figured since she couldn’t pay the rent either way, she might as well invest in her new job. Returning home, she snorted up the last of her dime, knowing this was the last of it for good.
The next morning she awoke to the sun in her eyes. It was nearly twelve when she rolled herself out of bed. Today was going to be a big day for the newfound Samantha. No longer would she be calling herself Stacy, no longer would she sell herself, and no longer would she do cocaine.
She walked slowly up to the house just outside of Chicago. It was a half-way house, but everyone knew it as Marg’s Place. Marg was the lady who ran the house and helped those fighting addiction. When Samantha knocked on the door she was greeted by a warm face partially covered by red, curly locks.
“Hi, I’m Samantha Burt. I called you earlier this afternoon,” Samantha said shyly.
“Yes, yes! Come in, Samantha. It’s so nice to meet you!” Marg replied with glee. They walked in to the small living room with green walls and a brown sofa. “Would you like some tea?” Marg politely asked.
“Oh, thank you, but I think I’m all set. Maybe just a glass of water would do,” she nervously answered. After Marg returned to the room with Samantha’s glass of water and tea for herself, they spoke for a long while about Samantha’s big step of moving in. Samantha and Marg agreed that it would be best to do it as soon as possible, and with her being free after her interview in the morning the next day, she would move in then. It was nearly 7pm when Samantha left the house. She was filled with joy. Luckily, a bus was running close to her apartment at 7:20pm. She hopped the bus and journeyed home, ready to begin her packing for the next day’s move.
She stepped off the bus into the chilling wind and began her five block walk to her apartment. It was just after 8pm, but the sky had already darkened. The streets seemed slightly quieter tonight than they usually were, but this could have been due to it being a Thursday evening. Pop’s Italian Beef was on her walk home and she dreaded walking by her corner. She continued briskly by the window hoping to not be seen. As soon as she got to the alley just beside it, a man stopped her. He was short and chubby with brown, curly hair. She recognized him from a few nights ago. He was the man whose stench she could not rid; the man who changed her life.
“Can I get another round?” he said, obviously remembering who she was. He grabbed her arm tightly and pulled her closer. She could smell the alcohol on his breath.
“No, I’m not doing that no more. Sorry buddy,” Samantha said firmly trying to pull her arm out of his grip. He held on tighter and had an intense look in his eyes. She felt a bit of fear rise in her.
“Well, I don’t care. I had you once, Imma have you again,” he slurred as began forcing his mouth onto hers. She fought back but she was weak and he was drunkenly strong. With force, he pulled her into the alley beside Pop’s.
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