Throwaway Girl

by Kristine Scarrow

  “Excuse me, but I need you to call the police for me, and an ambulance,” I tell the security guard. He looks me up and down, amused by the sight of me in my pajamas and raises an eyebrow in suspicion.

  “My friend … she’s been seriously hurt and she needs an ambulance,” I shout. My voice sounds high and ragged. He scratches his neck and looks into the store as though he hasn’t heard a word I’ve said.

  “You’re not just trying to get into the store now, are you?” he says seriously. He looks back at the line-up of customers standing outside the store. I stare at him in amazement.

  “Look, please, my friend is hurt! Could you please call for help? She’s just around the corner here,” I scream, pointing in the direction of the alley. When he doesn’t lift his radio, I turn to the others, desperate now. “Please! Does anyone have a phone? We need an ambulance and police here right away,” I beg. I feel like I could hit this man who seems so unmoved by what I’m saying. I wave my blood-covered hand in the air so they can see it.

  A woman finally registers the panic in my voice and pulls out a cell phone from her purse.

  “Here, I can call for you,” she says. She starts to dial, but her fingers fumble over the keys. I shuffle impatiently until the call goes through. The customers in the line-up listen, curious. I thank the woman and then run back towards the alley. Already I can hear sirens approaching from somewhere. I run as fast as I can until my breathing is heavy and uneven.

  Trina is in the same position that I left her in, still whimpering with pain.

  “It’s okay,” I tell her. “Help is on the way.” The sirens become louder and louder until finally I see the circling red flash of the ambulance casting eerie glows onto the back fences in the alley. I watch as the paramedics tend to her and get her strapped onto the stretcher. In the light from the inside of the ambulance I gasp when I finally see her face. She is bruised and bloody, her left eyelid so swollen that I can’t even see her eye. She is even missing teeth. She is moaning and drifting in and out of consciousness and I try to soothe her. Two police officers ask me one question after another, but I don’t have the answers to any of them. I don’t know who did this to her, how or why it happened. I only know that my best friend is broken and bleeding and I can’t make sense of it.

  One of the paramedics invites me to ride with them to the hospital. The police agree to meet us at the hospital so that they can question Trina. I climb into the ambulance and sit holding Trina’s hand, but I’m not sure she even knows I am there. She has an oxygen mask on her face, machines monitoring her vital signs. I shiver at the sight of her, wondering how this could have happened. I think of all of the times I walked home at night and how I’d always made it home safely. I’d been fearful at times, but nothing had ever happened. And now Trina is lying here, severely injured. Somehow I can’t help but feel like it should be me lying here instead of her.

  The ride to the hospital seems to take forever, but once we reach the emergency room everything moves quickly. Trina is whisked away and I’m left holding her bloody sweater. A nurse takes me to get her admitted and the police officers from the scene wait for me to finish. I’m terrified not knowing how Trina is doing, hoping she’ll be okay.

  I sit on one of the hard plastic chairs in the waiting room. The people around me have drawn-out looks on their faces, either tolerating their pain while they wait to see a doctor or eager for news about their loved ones. I swallow several times, trying to keep tears from coming. Who could have done this to her?

  An hour later, a nurse calls for me from the hallway.

  “Are you Andy?” she asks when I stand.

  “Yes,” I say breathlessly. My heart is pounding; my hands are slick with sweat.

  “You can go in and see her now,” the nurse says. “She’s asking for you.” I nod numbly and follow her down the corridor.

  “She’ll need a lot of rest, but she’ll be okay,” the nurse says. I pull back the curtain that surrounds the bed and slip in quietly. Trina has her eyes closed, half of her face swollen beyond recognition. She is still hooked up to oxygen. Dried blood mats her hair and dots her skin. Despite the horrific appearance of her face, she looks peaceful as she’s resting. The nurse enters and writes a couple of things on a clipboard.

  “We’ve given her something for the pain, so she’ll be more comfortable,” she tells me. I nod again, unable to say a word, stunned by Trina’s appearance. I pull a chair closer to her bedside and feel for her hand. I stare at her features, tears falling faster than I can brush them away. Trina stirs and I feel a slight squeeze from her hand.

  “I’m here, Trina,” I say softly.

  One of the police officers from the scene enters and asks me again what I know. They’ve been able to discern that it was a group of teens, perhaps gang members, who beat Trina. I bristle at the officer’s questions, which keep leading back to whether or not Trina has been involved in any gang activity or if she has any connections to people who might be involved in the attack. I explain that we’ve been living together and working since leaving Haywood House, that I’m her best friend, and that she isn’t involved in any funny business, but the officer seems skeptical. I guess it’s easy to assume that since we’ve never had a stable home life, girls like us must be trouble. I answer the questions the best that I can, but it’s only Trina who really knows what happened.

  Trina is still dozing when the officer leaves. I caress her hand and lay my head on the bed near her body. I’m suddenly exhausted. I glance at the clock above the bed and see that it is four in the morning. I want to fight sleep so that I can attend to Trina, but in the end my eyelids become so heavy that I give in. She’s going to need me tomorrow.

  Chapter 18

  April 2005

  Marcus has been acting strange for weeks now. He is either crazy about me and showering me with love or he disappears for days on end, sometimes ignoring me when I see him out on the street. I feel confused and hurt until he kisses me and tells me how much he loves me, how beautiful I am, and then I know things are okay.

  The days feel so long without Marcus and I sit daydreaming during class, imagining the two of us together. It has been six days since I’ve seen him last, and I’m uneasy about the whole thing. Maybe I should find him and go and talk to him. Find out what’s really going on, I think to myself. When the bell rings for afternoon recess, I take my jacket from the hook and close the door to my locker, deciding that I am going to track him down.

  Stephanie shoots me a dirty look from across the hall, her eyes following my every move. She watches me head for the doors, and I just know that she’s going to rat me out for leaving school before anyone has a chance to realize I’m not there. It’s not like she hasn’t done it a million times too, but we are barely talking these days; she still thinks I overreacted about her going through my things.

  The truth is I don’t want her near my things because I don’t trust her one bit, but that’s kind of hard to do when you share a room with each other. Hunter has been telling me to end it with Marcus. He’s never been happy about us seeing each other. I don’t get what all the fuss is. I’ve asked him if he is jealous, but he just shrugs me off saying that Marcus isn’t the kind of guy I should be with.

  What does Hunter know? He sure sucks up to Marcus and bows down to him when he sees him. Marcus is used to getting respect from the other kids on the street, and that’s something I admire about him. I feel proud to be his girlfriend, even when he shuts down and ignores me. I know life is tough; Marcus must be going through some things.

  I head to the Puhlers’ so I can grab something to eat and freshen up. I have a long, hot shower and take extra care to do my hair and makeup so that I look my best when I find Marcus. It takes me a couple of hours to get ready. I dab perfume on my wrists, behind my ears, and between my breasts, hoping I’m irresistible to him. I just know we can work things out. I can help him with whatever is bothering him, I think.

  I walk to Marcus’s apartment,
careful to sidestep the spray of shattered glass that litters the entrance to the building. Half of the glass in the security door has been smashed out, which seems odd to me since the lock on the door doesn’t work anyway. I head for the stairs to the basement, my steps crunching over shards of glass. I knock on the apartment door several times, but there’s no answer. Further down the hall, the door to another suite opens and an elderly Asian man sticks his head out.

  “Go away,” he says in broken English. “No safe for you,” he tells me, waving his hand. I step back in alarm. What could have happened here? And where is Marcus?

  I step back over the glass to go outside and decide to head to the tracks. Chances are some of the kids are gathered there and I’ll find out where he is. I shove my hands in my pockets and head for the park. I start planning how I can make him feel better when I see him. Night descends quickly at this time of year and although there isn’t much snow, the temperature drops quickly in the evenings.

  As I enter the park I see most of the regular crowd sitting and drinking. Many of the kids are high and greet me enthusiastically.

  “Just in time,” Hunter says. He holds out an unopened twenty-sixer of whiskey. I smile and take it, grateful for the company.

  “Have you seen Marcus?” I ask, but Hunter shrugs, indifferent. I turn and ask the others, but everyone shrugs. I watch another couple snuggle and kiss on a patch of grass and it makes me ache for Marcus. If I could just find him, I’d be able to cheer him up. Why does he pull away when I love him so much? I scan the park for him but see nothing. I chug the bottle of whiskey and lay on my back on the grass. The sky starts blurring; the sounds around me fade.

  It gets harder to keep my eyes open so I close them for a few moments. I listen to the chatter and laughter of everyone around me until I hear yelling in the distance. I open my eyes and look around. A girl about my age is dressed in a short dress and heels, her hair piled high on her head. Her eyes are cast downward as she hugs herself protectively. The girl starts to cry and the next thing I see is a male figure punch her in the face. She clutches her mouth and doubles over in pain, but the person kicks her and she falls to the ground. He pulls the purse off her shoulder and rummages through it, spilling its contents. All I can see is him pocketing bills while the other items roll carelessly away. He drops the purse on the ground and spits on the girl before walking away. We all watch as she lies on the grass, weeping.

  I look to everyone who is standing around watching, wondering why no one is doing anything to stop him or help this girl. Instead, a bunch of the boys laugh and turn to follow the figure who is heading back towards the street. Stephanie is even smiling and shaking her head in disbelief. I’m confused at what’s going on. What did this girl do? Why did this guy treat her that way?

  “She’s always trying to get out of turning tricks.” Stephanie says it like it’s no big deal, but she sees the confusion on my face. She raises her eyebrows in surprise and says, “She’s Marcus’s newest girl and she doesn’t like hooking.” Hunter nudges Stephanie to be quiet.

  “What?!” she says to him. “How else does she think we get our cash around here?” Hunter coughs and gives Stephanie a small push.

  “That wasn’t Marcus,” I say, defiant.

  “It sure as hell was,” Stephanie says, pointing in his direction. I look past her and see the tall figure in the distance. Although I want to believe that it wasn’t Marcus, I know she’s right.

  “Marcus takes good care of us,” Stephanie says, smiling, clearly satisfied with having told me. Is that what Marcus is really about? He’s a pimp? And Stephanie is hooking too? I don’t want to come across so naive but Stephanie can see right through me.

  “Oh, Marcus likes you, honey,” she says, winking at me. I feel sick all at once, a combination of the alcohol and what I’ve just learned. “You didn’t think he actually loved you and wanted you for himself, did you?” she smirks.

  But the world is spinning around me, her words tumbling in my head. I look at the crying girl trying to scoop up the contents of her purse and shiver.

  “You’re next, Bernice,” Stephanie sings, her laughter echoing through the park like an evil cackle.

  But it can’t be, I tell myself. That may be true for the other girls, but Marcus loves me. I decide to head in the same direction as Marcus. I need to talk to him and reassure myself that what we have is real, that Marcus feels differently about me. I run across the park, calling for Marcus. It looks as though he’s headed home and he doesn’t turn to acknowledge me. I continue to follow him, sure that he’ll turn and wait for me but he doesn’t. I watch as he goes into the building. I break into a run, eager to talk to him. I step back over the broken glass and run down the stairs to his door. I knock, hoping that he’ll answer but he doesn’t come. “Marcus, I know you’re in there,” I say. “Will you please let me in?”

  After a couple of minutes, Marcus opens the door. His jaw is set, his eyes dark. “What?” he says impatiently.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, though I know that clearly he is not. He steps aside so that I can enter and shuts the door behind us.

  “What happened?” I ask. But Marcus is almost shaking with anger and doesn’t want to talk. He sits on the couch, his head bent over his knees. He’s rubbing his face and his hair. I sit next to him and start rubbing his back. He tenses up even more. I stroke his hair, and kiss his back. Marcus turns to me and pulls me towards him. He kisses me hard on the mouth, his lips crushing mine. I let out a small yelp but it seems to please him. He kisses me without stopping until my lips feel sore and bruised. I try to push Marcus away, but he pins himself down on me until I am unable to move.

  Marcus starts pulling down my pants. I squirm to avoid his grasp, but he continues. “Marcus,” I say, but it comes out garbled because he is kissing me so hard. Marcus puts his weight on me, until I can hardly breathe and I realize that he’s fumbling with his belt buckle. My mind is racing, my heart pounding. Why can’t Marcus and I just talk about things? Why won’t he slow down?

  I try to tell myself that this will make Marcus feel better, that he’ll be happy and relaxed and ready to talk when it’s over and that everything will be okay, but Marcus is hurting me. I try pushing him off again, but he has me pinned. My lips hurt from the force of his kisses.

  “No, Marcus, no,” I manage in between Marcus’s kisses, but he ignores me. “Marcus,” I say again, squirming beneath him.

  “Stay still,” he orders me.

  “No!” I tell him again, my eyes pleading. “Please stop, Marcus! I love you but I’m not ready for this,” I say. Marcus sits up over me, allowing me to finally breathe properly. I look up at him, relieved that he has stopped. I look into his eyes, but they are cold. He looks me up and down and starts unzipping his pants. Realizing what he’s doing I shake my head.

  “No, please, Marcus!” But before I know it his fist connects with the side of my face, leaving me almost delirious. The throbbing pain clouds my mind, the room becomes fuzzy. I start whimpering, knowing that Marcus is not going to stop. Marcus rips down my underwear and positions himself. My body trembles with fear.

  The next thing I know I feel a plunge of pain that feels like my insides are being torn up. I cry out in pain, hot tears streaming down the sides of my temples. Marcus thrusts himself back and forth, each movement sending searing pains through my body. The room spins and turns to black at times, and my heart shatters into a million pieces.

  Finally Marcus rolls off me, says nothing, and walks away. He grabs his coat and heads for the door. My pants are around my ankles, one leg of my underwear torn completely. I hear the door slam and I know that Marcus has left. I reach down for my pants, scared to move. I start sobbing, my body shaking uncontrollably. I try to sit up, but the pain is hot and unbearable. Warm blood stains the insides of my thighs and sticky streaks of blood mark the cushion of the leather couch.

  I pull my pants up, my legs wobbly and unsure. My lips and face feel bruised. I take small st
eps to the doorway, my vision blurred from my tears. I shut the door behind me and climb the stairs slowly, clutching my stomach because I feel like I’m going to vomit. I hear the crunch of the shattered glass under my feet again; I replay the words of the Chinese man warning me of my safety just hours before and picture Marcus sitting over me. The combination of these visions swirl in my head and the agony of what has happened to me becomes almost too much to bear. Unable to push open the security door, I step back and sit on the step, pain vibrating up my back when I sit down. I hold my head in my hands, sobbing. How could I be so sure of someone’s love and be so wrong? How could I think that anyone would love me?

  I imagine that I am dead, floating weightlessly in the air of some strange world, feeling nothing. I glance down at the pieces of broken glass and pick out a long, thin shard with a pointy end. I look at it like it’s my saviour. I run the edge of the glass across my forearms until I see a thin stream of blood. I decide I like it. The sight pleases me, gives me new pain to focus on and makes me numb again. I run the shard up and down my arms, making my body as broken as my spirit. I imagine myself dead, lying in a pool of blood in this dark, damp stairwell and cry even harder.

  Chapter 19

  It’s been weeks since Trina’s attack. Although she has no idea who attacked her and why, she hasn’t been the same since. She is home with me, but she hasn’t been back to work since the attack. She will barely get out of bed and when she does, it’s to light a cigarette and sit on the balcony, staring into space.

  I’ve tried talking to her, tried finding out how I can help, but Trina has completely shut down. I wish she’d just open up to me, after all, I am her best friend. I’m also worried about the fact that she hasn’t been working. Even though many of our expenses are paid for and Trina hasn’t exactly been eating much for weeks now, I still can’t help but worry.