Struggle to Forever: a friends to lovers duet

by Lilliana Anderson

  “At least take this,” he said, pulling some money out of his bedside table and holding it out to me.

  “So, now I’m a hooker?” Tears burned but I took it anyway, necessity being bigger than my pride.

  “No. You’re amazing. And I hate myself right now.”

  “Easy to say when you’re the one with a roof over your head,” I said, shoving the money in my pocket as I left. Matthew didn’t even try to stop me or do anything to save me. He simply sat on the end of his bed with his head in his hands, knowing our moment was a brief burst of fire, intense and destructive.

  Now I’m on the bus, heading to yet another budget motel to spend some of my limited funds on a room for the night. At least I have an ID now. I won’t be charged double this time.

  As I hug my bag to my chest, I curse myself for fucking up the first normal relationship I’ve ever had. Sex with Matthew was amazing. But it wasn’t worth the hurt I saw in Ed’s face when he caught us.

  Ed was a good guy. He wanted to take care of me, and he didn’t ask for much in return. To repay him, I just fucked his best mate. Maybe I do have the hang of this bad guy thing after all.

  Twenty-Two

  Relationships aren’t for me. I failed with Jeff, and failed miserably again with Ed. I’m not made to be someone’s girl. Maybe Matthew was closer to the mark by offering me money. I’m made to be everyone’s whore.

  Less emotions that way.

  You know, that’s actually being disrespectful to whores. Really, I’m worse. I give it away for free, and I steal my money.

  I go out to clubs and go home with guys, then I refuse to make plans to see them again. I hop from club to club, bed to bed, and I don’t care who it is, as long as I have somewhere to go, preferably somewhere with drugs.

  Inhaling deeply, I snort a line of coke off the top of a toilet roll dispenser in the bathroom of a nightclub in Darling Harbour. When I exit the stall, I walk towards the mirror to fix my appearance. While I look at myself, the effects of the drug take hold. But not before I notice that the girl in my reflection is changed. She used to struggle to pass for twenty-two. But she looks even older now.

  Her name keeps changing. I've taken to stealing handbags to get by. I’m good at it too. The initial remorse I felt is a distant memory now. I do whatever I have to do to survive.

  Tonight, my name is Peyton. I like that name. It makes me feel like I’m a character of some sort. Although, I have to admit I’m having trouble keeping track of who I am on any given day. That moment with Matt, when I was finally me, was so fleeting. I haven’t been me for a long time. Somewhere inside, I guess I’m still there, but I’m having trouble finding myself.

  I push my way out of the bathroom and stumble a little as my heel catches the floor. I’m flying now as I head towards some guy, my supplier and hopeful bedfellow for the night.

  “Whoa there.” He laughs as he reaches out to catch me from my misstep. We cling to each other, laughing as we go to the dance floor and move to the beat. I slide my arms over his shoulders and swing my body against his, engaging in the usual, pulsing foreplay that comes with hooking up at clubs.

  It’s all the same. Every day is the same. Only the drugs are slightly different.

  Depending on how I feel each night is how I choose my men. I pick them based on what they’re using because I want to use as well. It makes this life I’m now leading more bearable.

  Ecstasy users dance all night in fluid movements and want nothing more than to feel you pressed up against them, to touch and share their experience. As long as I’m right there, high with them, then sex is great that way. It doesn’t even matter what they’re doing to me. It all feels fantastic.

  Tweakers dance in jerky movements and drink heavily while speaking a mile a minute. I try to avoid them at all costs because they fuck all night long and have trouble coming. The next morning leaves me with an overused feeling between my legs, and I end up springing for a hotel room to recover.

  My drug of choice is coke. So when I find a man on a coke high, I aim straight for him. They generally have more on them to keep the high going. I long for the euphoria that coke gives me, it makes life seem worth living. Even though it really isn’t anymore.

  Still riding my high, I continue to dance with this guy whose name I forgot the moment he told me. I’m feeling like the sexiest woman in the world as I sway my hips and shoulders along with him.

  Eventually, he leads me outside. I cling to his hand, trotting along beside him in my ridiculously high heels until we make it to a parking garage.

  “Where’s your car?” I ask, leaning against his chest and tilting my head up to look into his face. He brings his mouth down to mine, taking hold of my face on either side as he explores my mouth with his tongue.

  It feels OK. But it’s all starting to feel the same now. Each kiss takes another piece of my self-respect with it. Without the drugs, I don’t think I could keep doing this.

  “This one will do,” he says, taking me by the shoulders and spinning me around, so I’m pressed up against the back of the nearest car.

  With quick hands, he lifts my dress and pushes me forward, working my panties to the side as he inserts himself inside me. Pumping and panting as he drives back and forth. I only hope he’s wearing a condom, because I didn’t notice him putting one on.

  Unfeeling, I study the paint work of the car I’m lying on top of. It’s red, like a fire engine. Small lights reflect off it, and I wonder what the owner would think if they knew what was happening to their car right now. The only thing I can really care about, is the fact that it’s now unlikely I’ll get that free bed tonight.

  Oh well, at least he gave me coke.

  He grunts as he finishes and pulls out of me. Standing, I turn around, readjusting my clothing so I’m decent, feeling relieved as I watch him remove a condom and flick it on the concrete ground with a splat.

  It’s then I notice the wedding ring. Inwardly, I roll my eyes, annoyed at my own stupidity. He was never going to take me home.

  “Thanks for that. It was just what I needed,” he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a few notes. “I’ll see you around.” He leans in and kisses me on the cheek, pressing the money in my hand before he wanders off whistling. At least I have money for a motel room now too.

  Twenty-Three

  Three months into the ho life

  The city is a big place. And I’ve travelled around, trying not to pick up at the same club too close together. But I’m running out of decent places to go. Eventually, I head right back where I started. I’m at Planetary, the club where I met Ed.

  I think about him a lot. I think about Matthew even more. When I'm sober, the guilt over what I did to Ed consumes me. When I’m high—and especially when I’m fucking—the memory of my connection with Matthew is at the forefront of my mind. My God. The sex with him was amazing.

  Still, I have zero interest in running into either of them again, and hope to the heavens they aren’t here as I line up to check my bag.

  “I remember you,” the guy says as he takes my bag. "You were here a few months back.” He taps his name tag. “Braden”

  He was the guy here when I picked my bag up the next morning. "Oh yeah. How've you been?"

  "'Great." He grins, the lone earring he wears shines in the pink and blue lighting. "I've seen you around. You like to party.”

  That piques my interest. “Do you know who could help me with that?”

  He leans closer. "That all depends on how you like to pay. With your body or your wallet?”

  I laugh. He has been watching me. "What ever gets the job done.”

  “I dig it, sweetheart. No judgment here. What’s your poison?”

  I touch my finger to my nose and sniff. "But I'm not picky when it’s free.”

  He laughs. “A girl after my own heart.” He gestures for me to come closer, so I do. “Keep an eye out for a guy with spiky hair and a floral shirt. His packing, and he's generous.”r />
  “What’s he got?”

  “Molly, I think.”

  “Want some?”

  “If you can get a spare.”

  We grin at each other and bump fists before he hands over my coat check token, waiving the charge.

  Heading inside, I find the guy I’m looking for. He’s dancing holding a drink of water. A sure tell he’s on something. I slide in near him and whisper in his ear. He grins and pulls me toward him, then drives his tongue halfway down my throat.

  This one doesn’t waste any time.

  “What are you on?” I ask when he gives me my mouth back.

  “Open your mouth.”

  I do as he says, swallowing when he drops a pill in my mouth. We dance for a while as I wait for the familiar feeling of bliss to take over me.

  Then it hits me. And it’s not an E.

  My eyes grow wide as the guy I’m dancing with grows before my eyes, looming above me. His facial features fall into his face and when he speaks, strange animalistic sounds come out. Fuck. I think I dropped acid.

  As I look around, the room looks totally fucked up, nothing is as it was before. The music sounds distorted in my ears and dark shadowy creatures are hiding between the strobing lights. They’re roaring and clawing at me, trying to take me somewhere.

  Panic takes hold and I push my way through the crowd. I don’t know which way is out, but I need to try and find it. I can’t breathe in here. It’s angry and I’m scared. Something is after me. Hands grab at me and my body shakes. I hear screaming.

  It’s coming from me.

  When I open my eyes, I’m on a couch and Braden is peering down at me. “Guess he wasn’t giving out molly?”

  “I don’t know what the hell that was,” I croak, as I try to sit up.

  “Lucky I was there to watch your back. And speaking of backs, I have your gross backpack here too. It’s heavy. Have you got nowhere to go?”

  I lie back and roll my eyes, sighing. “If I had somewhere to go, do you think I’d fuck half the guys I go home with?”

  “No. No I don’t. Although, if I had your gift for attracting men, I wouldn’t be here looking after you. I’d be off with a man of my own.”

  “Congratulations. You’re gay,” I state, my voice an emotional void.

  “Officially I’m bi, but I do tend to lean a little closer to the gay side, which is why I’ve noticed you. You have gone home with some very fine men lately.”

  I sit up properly and clutch at my head as pain throbs behind my eyes. “Thanks, I guess,” I wince.

  “Here,” he says, handing me two Nurofen and a glass of water. “I’m curious. Why do you keep going home with different drug-fucked meatheads? Why don’t you choose one of those geeky-looking guys who drool all over you and would do anything you asked just to be seen in your presence? You’re a fucking goddess.”

  “Been there, done that. I can’t do relationships. I can’t stand the hurt look on their face when I screw it up. I go with the guys I do because they’re jerks. Hot guys are always jerks. They don’t give a fuck about me. They don’t ask questions. They just give me what I want, while taking what they want. It’s an easy trade.”

  He takes the glass of water off me and places it on the coffee table. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a wad of cards and starts flipping through them.

  “So which one of these are you? Linda? Erica? Peyton?... there’s more. What did you do? Rob every girl who looks remotely like to you take her ID?”

  I reach out to snatch them back, but he pulls the cards out of my reach. “Give them back.”

  “Maybe I should. I can write these girls a nice letter and tell them I found the girl who stole from them. I’m guessing she’s this girl right here,” he says waiving my own ID at me. “Paige Larsen. A seventeen-year-old runaway from where? Jamisontown? Where’s that?”

  “I’m not from Jamisontown. It’s just where I was living when I got my learners permit,” I tell him, reaching out again to try to take my ID.

  “Ah, ah, ah,” he tuts, moving them away from me again.

  “What do you want from me? I don’t have any money, and I’m too sober to sleep with you.”

  “Well, I did have something else in mind for you. But after seeing your skills, I think you can help us both out.”

  “What kind of skills are you talking about?”

  “The ones that help you survive my dear, Paige.”

  “That’s not a skill. It’s called a pussy.”

  He laughs. “Not your pussy, sweetheart. I’m talking about how you got your hands on all these IDs. There’s a lot of money in selling them because they’re too hard to counterfeit without the right machine.”

  “So you want me to bag snatch for you?”

  “I prefer to call it ‘acquiring stock’, but yes.”

  “And what’s in it for me?”

  “Well, you’d be doing me a slight favour in helping me change career paths. In return, since you seem to be lacking a permanent place to stay, you’ll have the use of my couch, and we’ll split the money from the sales, fifty-fifty.”

  “That seems a little unfair. I’m taking all the risk, and you’re getting all the gain.”

  “Believe me sweetheart, there’s plenty of risk in what I’m doing. The guy I’ll sell to is into a hell of a lot of shit, and if I get caught, I’ll be charged with more than just theft. I’m not a good boy.”

  “And I’m not a good girl.”

  “I know. It’s why I already love you.”

  Looking around the room, I take in my surroundings. It looks like we’re in a studio apartment. There’s one of those tri-fold room dividers separating a bed from the rest of the room, and a small kitchenette off to the side. The walls are a bare red brick, and the floors are a grey concrete with rugs dotted about the furniture. There’s only one door, so I assume there must be a communal bathroom somewhere.

  Sleeping here and actually making some money would be a nice change of pace. All the men are starting to look the same, and I’m getting sick of being a hole to fuck. I have no idea how prostitutes do it as an actual job.

  “All right. As long as I don’t have to sleep with you, it’s a deal.”

  He laughs. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I like my dick too much to put it in the likes of you.”

  “Fuck you. I don’t have anything. I always use protection.”

  He holds his hands up in surrender. “It’s OK. I’m joking. But you won’t have to worry. I don’t want sleep with you. I just want to make lots of money with you.” He grins. “Are you in?”

  “Fine. I’m in,” I concede, with a roll of my eyes.

  Clapping his hands together, he rises from his seat. “I think this new business venture of ours calls for a little celebration. Care to chase the dragon with me?”

  “The what?”

  “You can’t be serious. You don’t know what I’m talking about?” He gets up and walks over to his kitchen.

  “Never heard of it.”

  “Well then, let me show you.”

  He opens a drawer and pulls out a roll of foil and tears pieces off. He folds them into neat rectangles and sets them aside. He then takes a baggie of small irregular shaped crystals and adds one to the end of each bit of foil.

  “Is that ice?” I ask, wondering what he’s doing with it.

  “Heroine,” he replies, pulling out a funnelled tube and a lighter.

  As I watch him heat the foil, the crystal starts to smoke. Using the funnel, he breathes in the vapour like he’s inhaling from a bong.

  “You try,” he says, handing it to me.

  I have a bit of trouble holding everything together, so he holds the lighter and the foil and I just hold the funnel. The burning crystal gives off a strange smell of chemicals mixed with caramel. It’s sickly sweet, but not terribly offensive.

  It doesn’t take long before the buzz hits me. I’m deliriously happy, and this shitty world is once again a wonderful place.

  “I li
ke this dragon,” I say, my eyes heavy after we’ve smoked the crystal down.

  “It’s my favourite,” he says, lying back on the couch. We collapse next to each other and just enjoy the high.

  “You don’t even know my name,” he says after a while.

  “Yes I do. It’s on your name tag,” I tell him, my mouth moving sluggishly around the words.

  “Braden,” he says in reply.

  “I know. I told you I know.”

  He finds this really funny and chuckles to himself.

  I think that maybe I say something else, but I’m not sure I do. My eyes open and close slowly. I’m just so… blissful.

  Twenty-Four

  18 years old. 3 years since the note. 2 since Jeff. 1 since Ed and Matthew. 271 days ho-free. Zero days since I stole my last purse.

  “Stop drawing me,” I complain when I notice Braden sketching me as I sit on the bench top, shaving my legs into the sink.

  “I’m an artist, sweetheart. I see beauty, and I draw it. Simple as that,” Braden says from his position on the couch that also doubles as my bed.

  “Me shaving my legs is beautiful?” I laugh as I continue my quest of hair removal.

  “Well, yeah. In a way. It’s the light. The angle you’re sitting. And you, of course. I like drawing you.”

  “Hmmm,” is all I say in reply.

  “Just why are you doing that there, anyway? You know there’s a bathroom down the hall.”

  “Yes. But that weird girl from number twenty-eight is in there. She sings all the time and asks me super happy questions. She kind of freaks me out.”

  “Which girl? Oh, Valerie? Geez Paige, she’s completely harmless. I’m sure she’s just trying to be friendly.”

  “I feel like she’s trying to force me to join her super-happy-hyper-girl cult.” I shudder, bouncy girls really do freak me out.