Forever: Beautiful Series, book two

by Anderson, Lilliana

  Fifteen

  “You can stay tonight," Tahlia says after I’ve cried on her shoulder. “But you can’t move back in.”

  My already broken heart quits beating. "What do you mean? Why?" I wipe at my eyes with the back of my hand.

  “The cops know who you are, Paige” She at least looks pained while she says this. "We can’t risk the business. They'll be looking for you now."

  Shit. Now I’m right back where I started. Homeless with nowhere to go.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers, running a hand over my hair. "I wish I could help."

  “OK,” I sniff. Because what else am I going to do? Beg? Plead? My own family didn’t respond to that. Why would anyone else? “I’ll leave in the morning.”

  “Do you have money?”

  I nod. “OK.” She hugs me. “I’m really gonna miss you.”

  “Yeah,” I say, voice flat as I fake a smile. “Me too.”

  She leaves me to my old couch, and I lie there staring at the ceiling, struggling to sleep. I have nowhere to go, no one to count on. And if I stay here too long, I not only risk bringing the cops to their door, I also risk incurring the wrath of Jeff because I have his drugs and his money. Fuck. God only knows what he’ll do to me when he realises I took them. I’ll have to get out of town.

  Abandoning the uncomfortable couch and any chance of a bed tonight, I make my way to the train station and head for the city.

  At close to one in the morning, the rocking of the train is attempting to lull me off to sleep. I would be stupid to sleep on the train on my own, so I force my eyes to stay open. Actually, it’s stupid to even be on the train on my own at this time of night. But I don’t have much of a choice.

  I think my face must be bruising, because I get a few funny looks from some of the other passengers. I touch it gently and wince as my tender flesh cries out in pain. He obviously hit me harder than I thought.

  I bow my head and let my hair fall over that side of my face in an attempt to hide it. That will have to do for now.

  Watching the dark scenery as it travels by outside the train, I see a lit-up sign advertising motel rooms from $55 a night. I figure that’s as good a place as any and rise from my seat to disembark as the train slows down to pull into the station.

  The motel is a short walk from the station, and I move fast and confidently, praying silently that no one stops me.

  Thankfully, the worst I get is a few cat calls from party goers loitering outside a nearby club before I make it to the reception area and ask the exhausted and very disinterested looking clerk if I can have a room.

  “You got ID?” he asks, sitting forward and eyeing me up and down, sucking his teeth as he takes in my appearance.

  I hand him my ID and get ready to count out the money to pay for my room.”

  “Can’t rent to minors,” he says immediately, and pushes my card across the counter back towards me.

  “But… I need somewhere to sleep. I have cash. I can pay. Don’t send me back out there,” I plead, moving my hair a little so the side of my face is more visible to him, hoping it might sway his decision in my favour.

  His eyes skim over my face, and he sits back in his chair, the back of it creaking under the strain of his cumbersome weight.

  “It’ll cost you double.”

  I blink my eyes rapidly as I realise that at double the price, I can’t stay here long. I need more money.

  “Fine,” I say, pulling the money from my pocket and putting it on the counter in front of him.

  He hands me a form to fill out as he takes the money and places a passkey on the counter next to the clipboard.

  “You’ll be in room 25. It’s just down the end of the row to your left.”

  “Thanks,” I say, handing over the form and taking the plastic card.

  “Check out is at 10:30.”

  I nod and walk back into the dark. The room isn’t far from reception, but anywhere, alone in the early hours of the morning is scary as fuck. I thought I’d moved past this. I hate being out on my own at night. I’ve hated it ever since I was forced to sleep out in the park. Every noise and every shadow puts me on high alert, even the sound of a door opening sends my heart racing so fast I feel as if I might scream. I’m not equipped for this life.

  Without looking around me, I quicken my pace and locate my room, my shaking hand betraying me as it causes me to slip and miss the slot for the card.

  Once I make it inside, I lean against the door and breathe heavily. Glad to be somewhere safe. After a few moments, I head straight for the bathroom so I can see what’s been causing the stares.

  “Oh wow.” I breathe out as my reflection greets me. My cheek is all red and swollen, and my right eye is slightly smaller than my left. A purple tinge is already developing, and I realise I’m likely to get a good-sized bruise. A bruised face will limit my options even further.

  “Fuck!” I cry and kick at the cupboard door. Tears burst from my eyes like the breaking of a dam, my sobs echoing off the tiles.

  Why does this shit happen to me?

  Is it really that hard to have me around?

  Am I that hard to live with?

  To love?

  I thought I was in love with Jeff. I thought that maybe, he was in love with me too. You are far more stupid than I gave you credit for. It was all a lie, and I was so fucking stupid to get sucked in; to think that someone could actually care about someone like me.

  You’re just a little girl, and not a very bright one at that. Actually, I’m stunned you didn’t get found out sooner than this. And it’s been good. It’s been fun. You’ve got a sweet cunt and a tight little arse. I’ve enjoyed you. But if you can’t sell. You’re a liability, and I don’t do charity.

  I’ve probably had people laughing at me behind my back this entire time.

  Nobody.

  Wants.

  Me.

  Nobody cares.

  I’m a liability.

  With my bottom lip shaking, I pull the bag of molly out of my pocket and count the pills, sliding them around in the plastic as I wonder if I should just take them all. Surely that would do it. No one would even notice I was gone. I doubt anyone would even claim my body.

  I empty the pills into my hand and study them. As I do, I imagine what it will be like to swallow them all and let them carry me away from this earth, never to return.

  Blissful, I hope.

  Staring at the pills in my palm, I’m frozen. “Just do it, Paige. End it.”

  I take three quick breaths and then cup my hand to my mouth, tossing the pills inside.

  Instantly, my throat closes, and I reflexively spit them into the sink. “I can’t,” I cry, spitting and heaving, trying to catch my breath. “Shit.” I kick again at the vanity in front of me.

  Now the pills are ruined, and I can’t sell them. I’m even worse off than I was a few moments ago.

  I turn on the tap and splash cool water over my face as I breathe in some sort of calm. If I can’t end it, I need to find a way to look after myself.

  But what kind of skill set do I have? I’ve don’t nothing besides deal drugs. I can’t really put that on a resume. And how would I even create a resume? I have no computer. I can’t go to Centrelink and get government assistance; I have no home address. How the hell do I get ahead in this world?

  I stare at myself in the mirror. You might not want to hear this. But, a girl who’s good in bed will never be wanting for a place to sleep.

  Would I be able to make someone want to take me home with them? Could I make them want to keep me? I try to see in my reflection something men would find attractive. I’ve been called beautiful before, but I don’t see what it is that’s beautiful about me. My eyes are fairly light in colour and my hair is so wildly curly, I look slightly crazed.

  I think I look a bit like a witch. But my lips are full, and my breasts are on the large side. If I wear makeup and clothes to show my body off, then I might be in with a chance.

&nbs
p; Leaning close to the mirror, I huff out my breath and leave behind a circle of fog. Through it, my features are blurred. I can only see my body.

  Slowly, I move, swinging my hips and focusing on my curves. I’m trying to look at myself as if I’m not me.

  As the fog clears, my face becomes clear once more. The bruise and the swelling make me look horrible, but as soon as it’s healed. I’ll put my skills to the test. We’ll see if Jeff really did teach me anything.

  Sixteen

  One week in the overpriced motel

  I rest long enough to let the swelling and bruising on my face clear up so it can be covered sufficiently by makeup.

  Between the cost of the room, food, make up and an outfit to go clubbing in, I’m almost broke. I seriously contemplated stealing the clothes and food, but that’s something I hate doing unless I’m desperate. No one wants to be caught shoplifting. It seems like the lamest thing to be busted for after everything I’ve done so far.

  I have a plan to get into a nightclub tonight and find a guy. One who has his own place and wants to take me home. I want to be careful about the guy I choose too. Someone unsuspecting who’ll think he’s lucky to land a girl—any girl. I don’t care if I’m attracted to him, I just care if he’s desperate. I need a nerd.

  I’m trying not to think about the kind of person that decision makes me. I might not go through with it if I do.

  The outfit I bought is a sleeveless, skin-tight black dress that barely hits the top of my thighs. It’s one of those dresses people make comments about. They say things like ‘That girl is asking for it', and I am. That’s exactly what I want.

  My makeup is dark and smoky around my eyes, and my lips are painted a deep red. It’s the same red as my shoes. I look so much older than I am.

  I put my denim jacket on and leave the motel room with my backpack hung over one shoulder. I haven’t settled my bill for today, but I’m not expecting to come back.

  I walk to the train station and catch the train all the way to the city this time. There are pubs and clubs on every street in there. Surely, I’ll find one that will let me in as well as someone to let me share their bed.

  Walking along, I notice a club with a long line up and move closer to get a look at the bouncer. He’s checking every person’s ID before he lets them in. God, I wish I had a fake ID. But they’re not easy to come by, not unless you have an older friend who looks enough like you.

  After an hour of trying to find a club, I give up and go into a regular pub. It’s full of people, but no one is checking IDs at the door.

  Moving slowly through the crowd, I suddenly feel really silly with all my makeup and shorter than short dress. The people inside look as though they’ve come straight from work. They look classy. Compared to them, I look like a hooker.

  Embarrassed, I immediately head for the bathrooms to at least remove some of my eye makeup. I have to push through the long line of women waiting for the stalls to get in front of the mirror.

  Staring at my reflection now, I roll my eyes. I look ridiculous. Pulling at the paper towel, I run it under some water and start blotting at the colour I had been so proud of applying earlier.

  Beside me, a couple of women are chatting about the men they’re having drinks with as they fix their makeup and check their hair. They appear to be in their early twenties and the one closest to me has her dark brown hair braided tightly down her back. A few loose curls escape and frame her Mediterranean features perfectly.

  I look from her face to mine and try to watch her without being caught.

  There is no ledge to put our bags, so they are all sitting on the floor by our feet. I kneel down to look inside mine and glance over at hers. I can see her purse, but I don’t for the life of me know how I can get my hands on it without her noticing.

  Someone stumbles in behind us and knocks us all forward. I fall on my hands and the girl I was watching turns around to yell at the person for being so careless. “I just smeared my lipstick. Fuck.”

  Seeing my opportunity, I grab for her handbag and stand up quickly, hiding it behind my backpack as I make my way through the crowd and out the front door of the pub.

  I don’t think my heart has ever beat so loudly. I walk to the end of the street and around the corner, never looking behind and never adjusting the bags. I need to keep it hidden until I can get somewhere safe.

  The familiar golden arches glow up ahead, and I make a beeline to McDonalds and once again head straight for the bathroom.

  This time I lock myself in the stall and put the seat of the toilet down, hang my backpack on the the door and sit down to search through the bag I just stole.

  The bag I just stole.

  Fuck.

  My hands are shaking so bad I can barely undo the clasp, but when I do, I reach inside and take the phone out first, turning it off and removing the battery before dropping it into the sanitary bin next to me.

  Next, I pull out her wallet and study the photo on her license. Linda Alessi is a twenty-two-year-old woman who lives in Castle Hill. In her photo, she’s wearing glasses and her hair is pulled back. I don’t know if we look enough alike. I pull out my own ID and hold them next to each other. My hazel eyes are quite light and almost piercing in my photo, and hers are brown. I’m not sure this will work.

  My brother and sister’s taunts about my unusual looks float through my head. Compared to me, Linda Alessi looks normal. I hope that with my hair out and makeup on, I’ll get away with it. I guess I can claim to be wearing contacts…

  I go through the rest of her wallet and find $227.75 as well as a gift card for David Jones. The original amount on it is $500, but upon further investigation, I find a receipt that tells me that after a purchase, the card still has just over a hundred left on it.

  Resting my head against the side of the stall, the reality of what I’ve done isn’t lost on me. I feel guilty. I’ve just taken someone’s identity. I’ve taken things that are personal to them.

  But I don’t know what else to do.

  I take the wallet and put it in my bag then remove the lid of the sanitary disposal unit and put the handbag and the remainder of its contents inside. The smell of the bin wafts up to my nostrils and turns my stomach sour, so I replace the lid quickly and exit the stall.

  In the mirror a wide-eyed girl, trying to look grown-up stares back at me. I’m sixteen, and I look like a frightened child. I have no idea if I’m going to be able to pull this off, but I can’t go back to sleeping in children’s parks, and I don’t have enough for another night at the motel. I’ll do anything to stay off the street.

  After downing a value meal and memorising the details of Linda’s ID, I tuck it and some money inside my strapless bra. After one more check of my appearance, I head off in search of another nightclub.

  It isn’t long before I find one with a short line and join in, standing up straight and trying to look confident.

  “ID,” the bouncer at the door says when I reach the front of the line.

  I reach into my bra and pull it out to hand to him, taking note of his eyes as they linger on my chest a little longer than they should. I don’t even really think he’s paying much attention to the ID. He hands it back and nods his head towards the door.

  The moment I step inside, the smell of artificial smoke and stale liquor invades my nostrils. To my left is a desk manned by two blonde girls who smile at me and offer to check my jacket and bag after I pay my entry fee.

  I’m handed a small plastic disc attached to a safety pin which I secure to the inside of my dress before heading towards the next set of doors. Beyond them, the muffled beat of loud music. When they open, the music bursts through as though trapped and desperate to break free.

  Longingly, I wish I still had an E or two to help me through this, or better still, I wish I had some coke. I wouldn’t feel so nervous if I had a little help.

  Wiping my sweaty hands against my dress, I make a beeline for the bar and order a vodka and orange juic
e. I’ve never really drank before and have no idea what to order. But I’m nervous and drink it so quickly that I don’t even taste it.

  “Another one?” the woman behind the bar offers kindly.

  Nodding, I turn my attention back towards the bar and watch her pour the drink.

  “How do you even hear orders?” I ask out of curiosity. It’s something I’ve always wondered but never been able to ask. Jeff would have killed me if I’d approached the bar at any of the clubs we used to work.

  “You get good at reading lips and following eyes,” she yells over the music, handing me the drink. I go to pay, but she shakes her head. “It’s on me. You look like you need it.” She gives me a reassuring smile.

  “Thank you” I smile and sip my drink more slowly this time as I watch her moving around the bar, serving other people. Her nature surprises me. It’s unusual to come across someone who does something kind without reason.

  Her tag tells me that her name is Kim. It’s hard to make out her features properly in the coloured flashing lights, but I can tell that her wavy shoulder-length hair is most likely red, and her eyes appear light, so I think they're blue. She’s older than me. Maybe she’s someone’s mother. She has a kind and friendly face, and I find myself wishing I was surrounded by people like her who did things to be nice instead of expecting something from me.

  I watch her for a little longer, imagining what life would be like as a normal teen, with a mother who actually cared. When my drink runs dry, I snap out of my reverie. Hovering around the bar, isn’t going to get me what I want out of this night, so I turn away and push thoughts of a different life out of my mind. Then I scan the room.

  Feeling slightly bolstered by two drinks, I move towards the dance floor, searching the crowd for a guy who could give me what I want.

  My eyes land on a group who look in their early twenties. They’re standing around a pylon that features a small ledge for their drinks. They don’t seem like they’re here to dance so much as they’re here to watch girls dancing. I’ve seen this in play before. Guys standing on the outskirts, waiting for the girls to get drunk enough, loose with their decision making. Then they swoop in and try to get her to leave with them. Trawling, I think it’s called.