I woke last night at 3am and this girl was walking through my mind. She seemed more dead than alive and I felt a need to tell a story about her. I felt like she wanted me to.

I have never been a prostitute or an addict and I won't pretend that this is an accurate portrayal of either one. This is nothing more than a girl on the edge, ready to jump and the place my mind goes at 3am. 


She paced along the street listlessly. She wasn't showing off her wares and she wasn't trying to attract customers. At 20 she knew that she was past her used by date. She didn't try to hide the tracks on her arms or cover the scabs on her face with make up. Instead she picked at them, the way that junkies do. She knew her value. She knew exactly what a man would pay to shoot a load inside her. They didn't pay to look at her. In fact looking at her was something so few of them ever did.
 
She wore very little, as the job demanded. The night was cool so she walked to keep warm. Men passed her by on foot, single and in groups. They either ignored her or jeered at her, like she was supposed to give a damn about what they thought. She was way past caring. Men in cars cruised the street slowly, but she didn't try to flag them down. They were the ones willing to pay more for something younger and less scarred. She didn't mind and wasn't jealous, she had lived those days too. She wouldn't go back and do them again. She was too close to the end.

A man approached and said hello. She stopped and considered him a moment. He seemed ok, a little nervous, but that was normal. He was ugly and he was greasy. He was the type of guy that spent a lot of time on his own. At least he didn't seem to be a freak. The exchange was quickly made, a price agreed on and she lead him away like she had a thousand times before.

The alleyway was dark and damp and the smell of stale vomit touched the air. She stopped about a third of the way down, the cigarette butts and used condoms marking it as the preferred spot. She leant back against the concrete wall. Men didn't expect a bed for the price that they paid and besides, this way made it quicker for them both. He seemed much more nervous now as a silence stretched between them. He was looking down at the ground.

'Oh, don't worry,' she said. I won't make you wear a rubber.' It had been a long time since she had bothered with such things. It was his problem if he caught something from her.

He stepped towards her fumbling with his pants and suddenly there was a knife at her throat. She jumped a little as it bit into her skin.

'That's right, bitch,' he breathed in what she assumed was his toughest voice. 'If you make a sound I will cut you.'

She almost wanted to laugh. Did he really think he was the first to pull a knife on her? Did he really think she cared? She turned her face away to the side. He slapped her.

'Look at me whore, I am going to teach you a lesson you wont forget.'

She turned back to look at him as she wondered from what movie he had stolen his lines. His eyes were like pinpricks in the night and he closed them when he entered her. His cock felt cold to her, like a shaft of ice. She knew it was her imagination and she stifled an insane urge to laugh. She knew that would really set him off.

He pumped into her with all the finesse of a 12-year-old boy seeing his first pair of tits and she looked at the sky, trying to catch a glimpse of a star. The sky was black. She closed her eyes. She should have known there were no stars left in her life.

'LOOK AT ME BITCH' he spat into her face and she opened her eyes to see his greasy sweaty face before her. He pulled the knife away from her neck and suddenly a pain cut into her arm and she screamed as his cock emptied inside her. As he stepped away from her she crouched down low, her fingers pressing the cut together trying to stop the flow of blood. His semen dripped from her to the concrete between her feet. He laughed at her.

'I would kill you,' he said, 'but you are already so close to death that it just wouldn't be fun.'

He wiped the blade of his knife clean in her hair. She didn't say a word. She watched him walk all the way to the end of the alley and disappear.

'Fuck,' she hissed as her fingers pried into the cut to gauge the depth. She knew it would need stitching. She wondered if she had made enough money for a hit. She couldn't face the looks of the doctors unless she was really high. She sighed wearily and pulled herself onto her feet. A wave of nausea washed over her but she fought it back. She teetered on her high heels for a few steps before she reined them back into her control. Her mind slipped back into counting the money she had already made.

As she stepped back into the street she got her first real look at the mess he had made of her arm.

'Fuck' she thought as she registered the blood.

The prick had not even paid.

She scanned the crowds to see if he was there.