|
EDGES MAGAZINE Issue |
October 1998 |
| A PROSTITUTE |
| I Never thought I would end up like this | |
Look at me - how have I got into such a corner? Is he stopping? ... no.,. he's picking Alison up ... oh well ... next one...?  I
stand on this same corner every night; afraid, miserable; the cold
wind freezing my legs; trying to outdo the girls on the other
corners, yet caring about them at the same time - every time a car
slows down I feel the same old thing: sick, anxious; I need the
money, there's no other way - this degrading humiliation is the only
way.... there goes a car full of snooty cows; Look at that
disdainful look ... what do they know, those who have it all served
on a plate ... what can they know. They think I'm a slut, they
ignore me yet their turning away is so hurtful ... But I have a baby
to fight for and a drug habit to feed, but I HATE remembering that -
if I don't make money, I'll never get a place to live and I'll never
get her back. But yet I need my heroin. I pray with each car that
slows down that she'll never know I did this, I pray she'll never
have to stand here herself; yet my mum stood here before me (but for
us, not for drugs) - I'm only 22 but I feel I've lived 100 years!
There was never anything worthwhile until I met Pete, and then we
had the baby - Pete's not with me now, he's inside. My father left
my mum and me and my brother to fend for ourselves - we ended up in
a tiny flat over a chip shop - we grew up always smelling of greasy
chips but it was all she could afford - she looked so worn and
tired, like those two over there propping each other up walking into
town - too tired for life - Mum used to say of an evening "I'm
off to work to keep us all". I never asked where she went - you
don't when you're young do you? Like you never ask why your dad hits
you; or why he falls over, breaking things, or why your mum is
bruised and miserable sometimes - Please God, don't ever let my baby
ask where I got the money - she's all I want, she's my life, my
reason for living. But I only see her once a week now - I hate
seeing her in that foster mother's arms ... I'll get her back one
day.... She's mine.... mine - is he stopping? .... I've seen him in
the precinct, walking with his wife and little girl; all hand in
hand - they love each other, you can see that, it's the way they
look at each other. I wonder if she knows? .... no .... NEVER! She'd
die of hurt wouldn't she? That betrayal of trust, would that be the worst thing? Worse than knowing some prostitute has had her hands on that part of him she thought was all their own? Why do any of us do those things? .... That nice guy last night ... his wife is dying; he sobbed all the time we were at it; like a little boy at the "lost and found". I hate the rough ones,.... please God help me find another way ..... Alison is my friend, her boyfriend loves her really, but his heroin habit is huge .... she wouldn't want him stealing from her old gran - betrayal of trust .... My dad betrayed me by betraying my mother ... dirty rotten bastard... he touched me in places he never should have... that's when I started taking speed ... just now and again in those days. I think of that when I'm with a nasty client; the burning anger somehow helps me through it all ... my mother betrayed me because she let it happen ... but it's hard to hate your mum - my boyfriend betrayed my baby and me when he got violent and then left us - if he hadn't, we'd be home all together like one of those families you see in the precinct and the cinema .... or was that my fault? We all end up betraying each other. They said I could get A levels, I was quite pretty then too, I had dreams ... oh no! not him! The girls warned me about him, he's horrible; brutal; makes you feel you want to die ... I'm so afraid; confused; let down. Oh mum ... oh Dad ... oh Pete ... Oh God my baby .... I'll slash my wrists ... I need the money ... oh that revolting body ... that awful grin .... those teeth .... I need the money .... It's so dark now; no one can see my scars; my pain; my degradation - who's that swaying along the pavement? Oh no, it's that Bobby fellow - I'm not having any tonight; otherwise I'll never save up for my baby - heroin makes me so horrible too ... please God, give me the strength to say no - she'll be walking soon; cutting back teeth - she has Pete's eyes ... oh Bobby, go away ... please please go away ... you destroy people ... don't you care? What happened to your dreams; haven't you ever had any at all? oh hell ... it's so cold in this world .... no warmth for a prostitute addicted to heroin ... I feel sick - I want a hug ... not sex ... a real human hug - the sort that tells me I'm a person with a brain and heart. I want to know I am loveable - my baby will forget who I really am - Bobby, you are like my mum, dad and boyfriend rolled into one; using me, destroying me. I've not had a chance yet. I just want my baby back. I want her to love me - I can't see for tears smudging my mascara ... everything has gone black - oh hell - what the hell ... ok Bobby, we are all in hell. |
