Smoke leaves her rosy lips, twisting up and evaporating into the atmosphere. She currently stands with her forearms resting on the balcony railing, a passive look set on her face. She taps her cigarette to rid of the ash, then sets it on the ashtray, turning to the sliding glass door behind her. The door squeaks slightly as she prepares for the consequence of her decision. Opposite her frail body, a man gives a rough cough and scratches his back, turning in her direction.
"Can we get on with it then?" he questions, his eyebrow raised and his voice scratchy as though he's had that cough for a long time. "I'll pay extra if you do as I say," he smirks, giving a revolting wink in her direction. She thinks for a while. She needs this money.
Nodding, she notices the wallpaper in the corner, peeling slightly. A sigh releases itself from her lips; her eyes travel to the floor. The pale lighting highlights the green-blue bruises that line her thighs, but the man doesn't seem to notice them. He pushes himself up from the mattress, and the sharp squeals of the springs bother her, but she tries not to show it.She acts casual as the man approaches her, and she can feel his hot breath against her face. It smells of alcohol and vomit and she forces herself not to make a face as he puts his calloused, rough hand on her arm. She closes her eyes and imagines herself in a better place, letting the man do what he wants. She needs the money.
CZYTASZ
--short stories and vents--
Losowesometimes when I listen to music I'll get into the mood of the music and I have to write to get myself out of that mood. other times I am already feeling blue and need an escape so I write my feelings away. this is the product of that~
