Jen

Note: This story contains sensitive content including sexual assault and substance abuse.

The soles of my boots pound hard against the gravelly concrete. I can hear footsteps and the soft murmur of voices behind me. I plaster myself against the wall of a nearby alley, pressing a tired hand to my forehead, my breath coming to me in a series of shallow pants. Sweat is starting to bead on my forehead, and I sigh as I remember forgetting to put on deodorant this morning. I shut my eyes and bring my hand to my lips as I hear the sound of footsteps grow louder. 

“She stole my wallet, that bitch!” I crack open my left eye and spot the last goon running past me. 

I step out of the alley and reach into the back pocket of my jeans, pulling out the joint I rolled earlier, and my lighter. I stand on the corner of the street for a few minutes, blowing plumes of smoke into the crisp night air. Eyes red and low, I begin strolling leisurely back in the direction I came. 

After about twenty minutes, the familiar glow of the red light district hits my face. Men are huddled on the sidewalk in droves, staring me down hungrily. I return their stares with my middle fingers, a big grin on my face. I make my way through the crowd and reach a small door. The bouncer in front of the door crosses his arms and glares at me. I turn my head and scoff. I take a deep breath and look up at him.

“Is there some kinda problem, sir?” I say innocently, softening my eyes.

He scratches his head, and rakes his eyes over my body, biting his lip. It’s a nauseating sight, but I manage to keep up my ruse.

“No, Miss. Go right on ahead,” he says apologetically. I smile sweetly at him, knocking purposely into him and walking triumphantly into the building.

My nostrils are immediately met with the smell of sweat and alcohol, a combination not unfamiliar to me. Girls with tired eyes wiggle sadly up and down the poles that decorate the room, but their lack of stage presence doesn’t stop desperate men from throwing dollar bills at them. I push past the crowd, walking towards an area blocked off by rope and a mean-looking security guard. I wink at him, and his beady brown eyes melt like butter. Men. Such simple creatures.

I stop for a moment in the hallway, taking a moment to reapply my lip gloss. I give my lips one final pop when I’m knocked violently to the ground. My head bangs against the wall, and I groan in pain, clutching it. I see a blonde woman hovering over me. She has big soft green eyes and small lips with a rosy tint to them. 

“Sorry hun,” she chirps, pushing off of me and running down the hall. Pissed, intrigued, and in pain, I force myself onto my feet and chase after her.

I get short glimpses of her face under the blue fluorescent lights of the club as she runs wildly down the hall. She’s beautiful, there is no denying it, but what’s most captivating about her is the expression on her face. Her wild eyes, the wide smile creeping its way up her cheeks. I’d be remiss if I didn’t take a second to objectify her. After all, we are in a strip club.

“Ma’am, please stop chasing that woman. We have the situation under control,” I hear from behind me. A few security guards are behind me, running after her too.

Scowling at them, I yell, “The bitch pushed me. She’s gotta pay up!”

I hear her laugh in front of me, and it’s so vibrant but so empty. My feet are heavy in these boots, and the spot where I banged my head pulsates spastically. I feel a hand grab my waist, and I’m pinned forcefully against the wall, arms held out in either direction. The security guard gazes at me, his eyes wandering up and down my body. 

I feign a cough and he looks up at me. “Well, she’s gone now. Can I get out of here?”

He gestures to the other guards behind him, and they run in the direction of the blonde woman, leaving us alone. My heart rate begins to rise, fast. I know what’s coming.

“I don’t think I will,” he says, looking at me darkly and placing a large hand on my thigh.

“Please,” I whisper shakily, looking around for anything I can use as a weapon. I have a knife in my back pocket, but with my arms pinned like this, it’s useless. I’m fucked.

He starts to kiss my neck, and I thrash violently, but to no avail. He has me pinned, there’s no way out. Just as I begin to accept defeat, I see movement in my peripheral vision. The blonde woman is staring straight at me. Her eyes go wide when she realizes what’s happening, and she creeps toward us. I motion her to stop, fearful the guard will turn around.

She makes a kissing motion at me, gesturing at the guard. I mouth no, back at her, and she rolls her eyes. Just do it. I manage to wiggle my middle finger out of the guard’s large palm just for her to see as he continues his assault on my neck. I turn my neck into his kisses, and he loosens his grip on my arms in response. I make eye contact with the woman and she nods. I touch his hand sensually, and he pulls away, looking at me. I bat my eyes up at him and pout my lips slightly. He grabs my face with one hand and kisses me. It feels awful. Maybe it wouldn’t if I were into guys. Looking back at the woman, I motion with my free hand towards my back pocket. He runs his hands up my body, and I shiver in disgust. The woman giggles quietly, but just loud enough that the guard pulls away and turns around to see her.

“You,” he growls.

She walks over to him, swinging her hips. She has on a pair of low-waist jeans so frayed they look as if someone had cut them up with scissors, and a trashy white tank top with faded gray stars on it. 

“How about we put on a show for you,” she says sweetly, glancing at me, “and then you let her go.”

He ogles her and the animosity present in his eyes disappears, replaced with desire. He nods. “Fine. Make it quick,” he grumbles.

She motions for him to step away from me, and amazingly, he does. She walks towards me, pressing me back against the wall. We’re about the same height, she’s just a bit taller. She bites her lip at me, and I can feel heat beginning to rise in my cheeks. 

She leans in towards me, and her short blonde bangs touch my brown ones as our lips connect. Yeah, it’s hot, but that’s not it. I feel like I just did three lines of coke and went cliff jumping with no harness just from a few seconds of kissing. Like a teenager. I pull away from her.

“Do you wanna get out of here or not?” I whisper breathily.

“Not,” she replies, and our lips meet again. I feel like my lungs are caving in as I grab a fistful of her hair and slide my other hand down her waist. 

“Wow,” the security guard drools, sauntering back over to us. The woman looks at me, smirks, and reaches into my back pocket. The guard comes up behind her, kissing her neck just as he did mine, and she draws the knife out of my pocket, slicing his neck. Blood sprays both of us. The knife clatters to the ground.

She stands there, staring blankly at his body. I grab her hand and pull her as we sprint towards the nearest exit. On our way out, I spot the other two security guards lying unconscious on the ground.

“How did you-”

“I have my ways.”

When we reach my apartment, I begin pacing back and forth anxiously, raking my hands through my short hair. The woman is on my couch, wearing my robe and looking frantically through her purse. I finally stop pacing and stand in front of her.

“What’s your name?” 

She ignores me, continuing to root through her bag.

“Hello?” I say, waving my hand in her face. She swats my hand away, and I grab her purse in retaliation.

“It’s Jennifer!” she shouts, snatching it back from me and clutching it to her body.

She looks at me for another second. “Jen to you.” I give her a small smile.

“Cool. I’m Lin.”

“Cool.”

She finally pulls out two small plastic bags, one full of pills and the other with a white powdered substance.

“How much of that do you plan on doing?” I ask, gesturing at the mini cartel on my coffee table.

“All of it,” she hums, cutting up the powder on the table.

I strip, tossing my bloodied clothes into the sink with hers. “That shit’ll kill you, you know,” I nag.

She giggles. “Not me. I’ve been doing this since I was a little fetus in my mommy’s tummy.”  Yeesh.

When I return from my shower, I put on an oversized tee and a pair of comfy shorts. Sleep calls  out longingly to me. Addressing the murder and strange woman in my apartment would have to wait until morning.

I peek into the living room, and Jen is lying motionless on the couch staring unblinkingly at the ceiling. I run to her side and press two fingers to her jugular, and breathe a sigh of relief when I feel a strong pulse against my fingers.

“I’m going to bed now,” I say.

“No, no,” she slurs, bringing a hand gently to my face, “You should look up with me.”

“No, that’s stupid,” I retort. She huffs and turns away from me. “C’mon, Lin,” she whines.

I give in and lay on my back next to her, looking up at the ceiling. I wish I could see what she’s seeing, but if I ever did that much crack, I wouldn’t last an hour. We stay huddled together the rest of the night, faces pressed together, staring deeply into the nothing.

When I wake up, the first thing I notice is the absence of warmth. She’s gone. I feel a pang in my chest, but I ignore it. She was just a crazy homeless druggie.

I walk down the street to get coffee. The news plays on TV, and the headline warns the public of an unidentified man who attacked security guards at a club last night. I chuckle to myself and take a sip of coffee. Getting away with murder is a lot easier than it should be, even a justified one.

I unlock the door to my apartment and squeal when I see someone standing in my kitchen.

“Sorry, Lin. Didn’t mean to scare ya, babe. I went to play the lotto because they’re reading the numbers tonight, but then you weren’t here when I got back, so I let myself in,” she says, nonchalantly, relocating to plop down on my couch.

I blow a stray strand of hair out of my face. “Let yourself in?” 

She sighs and rolls her eyes. “I picked the lock, okay? Jeez.”

I ruffle my hair out of frustration and suck my teeth at her. “Who even are you?” 

She giggles and tilts her head. “I’m Jen.”

She rummages around her purse and I shake my head. She looks up at me. “If you’re staying with me, there won’t be any more of that shit.”

Her eyebrows raise in surprise and disappear behind her light blonde fringe. “What?”

I repeat myself. “None of that. If you wanna get high, you can smoke with me. That’s it,” I say firmly.

She smirks, leans in, and twirls a short strand of my hair in her finger. Her lips grazing my ear, she whispers, “No.”

I pull away from her and watch as she pulls out a needle filled with a dark substance, most likely some form of heroin. She blows me a kiss before injecting it into her arm, groaning softly. “That shit really will kill you,” I remind her.

She rolls her eyes and leans back, a smile creeping up the sides of her face. “Don’t care,” she replies.

“Okay, whatever, I’m going to my room-”

She grabs my hand and yanks, hard. I fall onto the couch next to her. “What!?” I spit, frustrated. Still smiling, she tilts my chin up so my eyes meet hers. “Do you like ice cream?”

We cruise through the city in my old Nissan Sentra, taking in our bleak but familiar surroundings. Call girls, each one thin as a rail, stand on the corner of the street in their fishnets and tight shorts. One is standing to the side, speaking to a John, laughing and twirling her thin hair around her bony finger. Her laugh is empty. Reminds me of Jen’s.

I quickly glimpse at her, and she’s humming happily, messing with the knobs on my radio. “This car is pretty shit. Nothing to get excited about,” I murmur under my breath.

She frowns and looks out of the window. “Never had one before.” I clam up sheepishly and turn into the Carvel parking lot.

When we get to the counter, she turns to me. “I want a small mint chocolate chip with rainbow sprinkles,” she says, clutching her purse and walking toward the bathroom.

“You need to stop,” I mutter. She turns around. “Make sure the sprinkles are rainbow, okay?” She winks at me and shuts the door.

After nine minutes of waiting outside watching her ice cream melt, I go back inside to get her. I open the bathroom door and see her beat-up Converse planted on the floor.

“Jen,” I say softly, knocking on the stall door. No answer. Panic and fear start to set in and my hand shakes as I knock again.

“Jennifer, stop playing around!” I call out, loudly. Nothing. 

Fuck it. I kick open the door and my blood runs cold. She’s on the toilet, body slumped over, mouth covered in vomit. Her legs are spread either way and her arms rested limply between them. Her needle and purse are both on the floor.

I holler loudly and rush to her side. I press my fingers to her neck but feel nothing. I shake her, my eyes wide, and yell, “Jen, can you hear me? Jennifer!?”

I lean over her and kiss her neck over and over again. She doesn’t stir. I fall to the floor, wailing desperately. I can't make sense of this. Somebody opens the door, but I barely even notice them until I feel hands pulling me away from Jen. 

“No!” I howl, grabbing onto one of the legs of her jeans. The paramedics rip Jen’s stiff body away from me and place her onto a gurney. I crouch on the bathroom floor for another ten minutes, shoulders shaking as I sob and huddle against the toilet as if it would bring me back to her. I dig blindly through her purse and pull out a slip of paper, tucking it into my back pocket.

I met her yesterday. Fucking yesterday. But that doesn’t seem to matter to the tears spilling out of my eyes. I stumble to my feet and trudge out of Carvel back to my car. The ambulance is gone now, and the police don’t even bother stopping me to ask questions. She was just another useless junkie. 

I open my glove compartment and grab up a bottle of vodka, twisting the cap off. I stare through the open mouth of the bottle at the clear liquid. I bring it gingerly to my lips and chug. One of the cashiers watches me from the window, and I brandish my middle finger at her. She looks away.

I manage to drive home, swerving dangerously only a few times. I fumble around with my key, finally turning it. When the door swings open, I find myself wishing she was there, standing uninvited in my kitchen. I thought things were finally changing. But why would they?

I stumble to my couch, remembering how beautiful she looked staring up at the ceiling last night. The graceful slope of her nose pointed up, the smile on her lips, and of course, those big olive-colored eyes. I grab the remote and switch on the television. A newsman with gelled hair and a plastic smile talks to me. “And now, the lotto results.” My entire body hardens. I reach into my back pocket.

“28. 34. 53. 05. 74.”

28. 34. 53. 05. 74.

I stare blankly at the ticket and let out a dry laugh, loud and empty. She won.