Struggle to Forever: a friends to lovers duet

by Lilliana Anderson

  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.

  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 juice. 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.

  I move onto the dance floor, positioning myself in their line of sight as I move with the pulse of the music. Closing my eyes, I sway my body in a way I imagine would look enticing to anyone interested in me. I feel pretty stupid. I didn’t spend much time dancing in these places.

  It doesn’t take long before some guy inches himself closer to me. He isn’t one of the guys from the group I wanted watching me. This guy is young. Too young. He looks like his mum still takes him shopping for his clothes, so I can’t imagine he has a place of his own. This won’t do. but the one who is watching me seems older. He’s my best bet.

  I glance toward my target group of guys who seem older and are dressed like they came in here after work. One in particular is watching me. His expression dark and hungry as he catches my eye. It causes my insides to skitter about excitedly, and I move away from the gyrating mumma’s boy in front of me and escape towards the bar, shooting a longing look over my shoulder to my admirer as I do.

  He’s good-looking. Possibly too good looking for what I need. He’ll probably fuck me until my eyes roll back in my head then slap my arse and send me on my way by morning. But at least it’d be a fun night in a warm bed, right?

  I smile at the idea of it, my inner hussy coming out as I imagine him doing naughty things to my body. He grins back and says something to the guy beside him, a dark-haired guy with glasses and a straight-backed posture. He fits the description I came up with earlier and looks at me with the longing of a person who always finishes last. Maybe I should go after him?

  Biting my lip, I decide that I’m better off using my head to make this decision. My clit doesn’t have the best judge of character. Taking a deep breath, I’d turn around and catch the hot guy’s eye again, motioning with my finger for him to come over. He grins, self-confidence dripping off him as he stands. But when I shake my head and point to the guy beside him, his grin gets even bigger. The nerdy guy looks like he’s about to pass out. He even shakes his head, disbelieving.

  I laugh as he looks at me and points at his own chest. I nod and gesture with my whole hand. “Get over here,” I say, even though there’s no way he can hear me. His friend laughs and claps him on the back, congratulating him on his luck. Then he makes his way across the room, nervous steps, zero swagger.

  “Ah, hi,” he says, sweating a little as he meets me eyes.

  “Hi.” I smile brightly, kind of liking this nervousness in him.

  “Can I buy, um, buy you a drink?” he asks, running a hand along his jaw, across the dark smattering of stubble that stops him from looking so much like a boy.

  “I’d like that,” I reply, telling him I’ll have a vodka and OJ, not wanting to mix my drinks. I’ve heard it makes you sick and the last thing I want to do tonight is start throwing up.

  “I’m Ed,” he says as we wait.

  “P...Linda,” I say, correcting myself before saying the wrong name.

  “Nice to meet you, Linda.”

  “You too, Ed.”

  We get our drinks and there’s a lot of smiling going on. He asks me a couple of questions about where I’m from and what I do. So, I make things up to fit Linda’s persona. Nothing I’ll have to prove later on. I’ve learnt that he’s twenty-three and lives with a friend in Petersham. He’s perfect.

  “Will you dance with me, Ed?” I want to move this thing along, knowing that the dance floor is where the good stuff happens. I plan to shamelessly throw myself at him.

  Before long, we’re locking lips. I can feel his erection pressing into me and wrap my arms around his body to pull myself closer to him.

  He breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against mine. “God, you’re beautiful,” he comments, a smile on his face like he can’t believe his luck. I almost feel bad about this, but then I realise the guy is about to get laid. He’s not going to give a shit about my motives at all.

  I slide my hands up into his thick hair. “Do you want to get out of here?” I ask boldly. My heart thuds nervously against my chest as I wait for his answer.

  A smile curls the side of his lips as he brings his mouth back down to mine, kissing me briefly. “Yeah. I want to get out of here. Yours or mine?”

  “Yours.”

  Taking my hand, he leads me over to his friends. The guy I’d had a moment with claps Ed on the back and grins at me, shaking his head like he can
’t believe I didn’t go for him. “You two have fun now.”

  Ed nods then leans in to tell a blond guy that we’re leaving. He points over his shoulder at me and the friend leans around him to get a better look. His eyes drag up and down my body slowly, causing a shudder to travel down my spine. He gives Ed a curt nod but keeps his eyes on me. My heart stops for a moment. He’s intense. Even more intense than the first guy was when he was watching me. Although this one seems kind of annoyed. I’m getting a strange vibe from him. Have I sold him drugs before? He snatches his eyes away from me and smiles at Ed, giving him one of those congratulatory man handshakes before we leave.

  “That was my housemate,” Ed explains as we pass the coat check, I’m about to stop and get my jacket and bag, but realise that if he sees me with a backpack full of clothing, it’s likely that he’ll figure out exactly what I’m doing with him.

  “Oh? Do I need to be gone before he gets home?”

  “No. Not at all. We just usually share a cab. I was letting him know I’m leaving early.” He reaches for me and we stop walking while he kisses me with passion. It feels nice, but I can’t help being worried about my things. I hope they’ll still be there when I come back for them.

  Seventeen

  The morning after the plan

  I’m not completely naïve. I know that not every man is good in bed, and I always suspected that Jeff was the exception. But it wasn’t until last night that I actually understood why some women complain about sex.

  Ed was all over me on the cab ride back to his place. The moment he brought me into his apartment, we got hot and heavy. His kissing is amazing. I have to give him that. He moves his tongue around my mouth harmoniously with mine, and he sucks gently on my lips as he comes up for air. It’s all very sensual and had me writhing under his touch.

  But, once we were naked. Everything went downhill. We got in bed together, and kissed and touched some more. But when he moved his hand between my legs, his fingers entered me briefly, testing my level of wetness before he moaned a little, applied a condom and then entered me missionary style. He pumped for less than a minute before blowing with a shudder of his body and a hiss of his mouth. Then he collapsed in a sweaty heap on top of me.