She Died

SHE DIED

By Donna Y. Triplett

 This story contains substance abuse, sex, violence.

Gasping into wakefulness, this nightmare that had become her reality began again. The never-ending cycle repeating itself over and over, spinning out of control. She had tried countless times to escape her corner of hell, only to find herself being sucked back into it. In her lucid moments, she’d often ask herself, “Why?” The answer was always the same, “Because I really don’t want to leave.”

Pushing herself to her feet, in an unsteady gait she shuffled into the urine-stained bathroom. She wretched into the filthy toilet bowl, neither knowing nor caring that it was already filled with human waste. Hard to flush the toilet when you’re squatting in a condemned building. Was it the stench or the hopelessness she felt that caused her stomach to heave into her rib cage? It didn’t matter. At this moment she knew what she desperately needed. She turned her eyes away from the broken mirror hanging precariously over the cracked sink, knowing she would not recognize the image it revealed.

Grocery store dumpsters were the place to look for breakfast. Outdated baked goods that could no longer be labeled fresh or marked down for quick sale were trash on day three. Venturing out into the early morning twilight, she made her way to the alley behind Handy Mart, the local Mom and Pop grocer. As she dropped down into the dumpster, she felt her fellow scavenger scurry across her feet and watched as Rat leapt out and ran down the alley. Mesmerized by the creature’s furtive movements, she knew Rat understood that at the same time she hated Rat she loved Rat. They had a kindred bond, where Rat was found, food was found. Watching him dash from corner to corner, she almost forgot why she was there. Rat stopped briefly to sniff a discarded apple core reminding her that they were both there for the same reason—scraps. While Rat was hungry, hunger wasn’t anything she felt anymore, merely an acknowledgment she had to eat to live, to what point she didn’t know. Picking up the bag of a half dozen donuts Rat had found she remembered something she read, “Man shall not live by bread alone.” But what came after that she couldn’t remember. She only knew she needed more than bread.

She discarded the donut Rat had been gnawing when she so rudely interrupted him, throwing it under the dumpster so he could finish it on his next foray. Only fair to share since Rat had found them. Climbing out of the dumpster she ate one on the way back to her squat. The ulcer that was slowly eating away at her stomach wall hurt as the donut began to digest. Entering the squat she put the half-eaten donut back in the bag and hid the bag in the pile of newspapers and old rags that served as her bed. Couldn’t do much about sharing them with the ever-present vermin that inhabit condemned buildings but needed to secret them from fellow squatters who felt no compunction about forcibly taking them.

By now the sun was up. Daylight was not her friend. She knew she would be seen as she sought the dealer who’d supply her the one thing that replaced everything with oblivion. The one thing worth dying for. She had no money or anything of value. Just something else he had controlled. Today she’d barter her body again.

She became numb to the indignities she endured in these transactions. Sometimes the dealer required her to service him, other times someone else. Knowing her desperation for his product, often more than one “client” was involved. Somehow, she managed to mentally separate herself from her body, as if she was watching some unknown person perform these repulsive acts. She needed the crack more than she needed her dignity.

           When had he taken possession of her? A lifetime ago. He showed her a whole new perspective on living. At first life was fun and exciting. He made her feel special, loved, and comforted, something she believed she’d never experience. Angry shouting and banging doors were all she knew as a child. No soft words, no loving arms, no comforting her hurts. She wanted for nothing—except a caring family. Her parents poured themselves into their careers, having no time to spare for her. She determined an education would free her. When she graduated from university she was confident, sure of herself ready to take on life—and then she wasn’t. Her need to be loved left a gaping wound in her heart that made her vulnerable.

           An easy mark, he slipped into her life under the guise of the “perfect man.” When she finally realized he had consumed her life, she was utterly dependent on him, the euphoria vanished like the escaping vapors from her crack pipe, and reality struck her.

She had left him before, but he always found her. Because they shared the same habit, he knew where to find her. Each time promising he’d change. Avowing his love for her was all it took to woo her back. She always went back. They’d shared so much together. She loved him.  Surely this time he means it, she’d think. But nothing ever changed. He owned her. There weren’t too many places to hide. She knew he would come for her. He did.

She saw him turn the corner into the alley behind the Handy Mart. His eyes, dark and foreboding, told her she’d never get the chance to leave again. Rat, caught unawares as he nibbled on a discarded half-eaten sandwich, was dispatched with a well-placed kick. Tears welled up in her eyes as she witnessed the cruel death of her only friend and anticipated her own. Trying to make herself invisible, she pulled as much debris as she could find over her skeletal frame. Breathing was not an option. He might hear. She knew she’d have to eventually, but not until her body rebelled. Then, he’d hear her gasp. Tears and cold sweat mingled on her face and dripped from her cheeks soaking the oversize shirt that hung from her narrow shoulders. Her spirit had died a long time ago. Clasping her hands over her mouth and nose, she prayed her body would this time.