Modern Day Match Girl
This is just an idea for a story I've wanted to do for a while. I was inspired by the film clip to Ed Sheeran's: The A Team, and so have developed all of my thoughts about this kind of thing in to a story. I may or may not end up turning this in to an actual book or something like that, so don't hesitate in telling me what you think!
Her name is Violet, and this is the story of a homeless girl and former prostitute and drug addict, and her struggle in life. :)
That was one thing I was infinitely aware of as my feet sunk deeper and deeper in to the snow, icy cold malice, it seemed, creeping its way up to wrap around my thighs in a death hold.
I furiously rubbed at my arms with bare hands, teeth chattering as the sun sunk lower and lower in to the sky and I became further and further lost in this unreality.
A few people walked past me- families- and I let out a cough as I tried not to maintain eye contact so to prompt a repeat of this afternoon.
I didn't dare go home, not now, not without at least a few dollars or silvers to show my days work. People just weren't as kind as they made out to be in the movies.
I sniffled and watched as a horse drawn carriage busily trampled by, and smiled as it reminded me of an old film, where there were no cars or homeless children or any of that horror and fiction.
Another car skidded past suddenly, screeching and leaving tire marks next to the sidewalk.
It drove through a puddle of icy water, and splashed and hit me in the face. I cried out, my long blonde hair clinging to my cheeks in defeat. The car didn't even stop to check if I was okay, and I didn't blame them. I probably looked rabid or something.
I fumbled to pull out the contents of my pockets. An old coin, rusted and worn, and an old quarter that nanna had given me- the coin I never dare give up. I dug further, and found some more old coins, counting them and crossing my fingers that they would be enough to get me through the night.
I quickened my pace as I spotted a gas station further up the road, and I walked up to the station, dodging the ungraceful cars with much precision I could manage.
People glared as I walked by, and some even stepped back as if my soot covered face may be contagious.
I placed what coins I had on the counter in front of the wincing man, and he regarded me with disgust. "Can I help you?" He spat, and I nodded.
"What can I get for fourteen dollars?" I asked, my voice kind of hoarse from lack of hydrate.
The man glowered and gestured to the counter in front of him.
I sniffed and looked over them, finally picking up a very cheap carton of cigarettes, a lighter, and a loaf of bread from the shelf next to the counter.
I payed him and got no change, and he watched in disgust and silence for
me to leave his store.
I tucked a long strand of blonde hair behind my ear before I sat down by the alley behind the store and lit my lighter so that I could warm my hands a little better. I ate the bread quickly and hungrily, and felt a lot of remorse for doing so afterwards.
I stood up afterwards, and leaned against the wall for a cigarette, mumbling in frustration until it lit.
I coughed, feeling tears well up as the nicotine made its way down my throat. I was a serious addict, and this honestly wasn't doing it for me tonight. I knew what I was craving.
I made my way back up the hill to the gas station, and went in to public bathroom.
I looked at myself in the mirror, frowning deeply at the face that glared back at me. Smudged mascara from where I had been crying, bags deeper than the colour of the mascara under my eyes.
I hit the woman in the mirror with my fist, and grimaced when the reflection didn't change.
Sighing a shaky sigh that meant I was on the verge of tears again, I pulled out from my right pocket a tube of lipstick and mascara, and an old scrunchie. I pursed my lips and applied more lipstick, and steadily reapplied the mascara, wiping under my eyes where it had ran. I then pulled my hair up in the scrunchie, and gave a shaky, false smile at the reflection in the mirror.
Though I knew she was no different from the girl five minutes ago, it was nice to pretend she was. It was nice to pretend that I was a normal 20 year old girl, putting on makeup to get ready for a party. I smiled at my reflection, sniffed, and packed up my things to leave.
I walked back along the road until I found the free way, and waited by the side, wrapping myself in my large coat.
I didn't dare go back under the bridge without earnings, I kept reminding myself. Not if he was going to be there, waiting. Corey was always waiting...
A car slowly pulled to a stop a fair distance from me, and I approached it slowly, my high heels clicking distinctively as I walked.
He rolled down his window, and I leaned in, giving a smile.
"Hey." I said, my voice less hoarse this time.
The man was encased in shadows, so I couldn't see him as clearly as I'd have liked to, but that didn't matter. I had worn a paper bag over my head before.
"How much?" He asked, sounding kind of nervous.
I glanced around behind me, and slowly slid out of my coat to reveal my fish net tights, skirt, and strappy tank top. The cold bit at me furiously, but I tried my best to ignore it and do my job.
"That depends," I breathed. "You got a fifty for an hour?"
He smirked. "I got two fifties for two and a half hours." He countered, and I considered.
"You got yourself a deal, handsome." I said, getting in the car and doing up my seatbelt.
I still couldn't see him, and he instantly sped away.
"Where to?" I asked him, my voice almost a playful purr. I lightly stroked his arm, and he seemed to grimace. He didn't want me to touch him?
I was used to the initial disgust I got from people, so I moved my hand, and instead smiled at him.
"You've got protection, right?" I asked, making sure. I had never done my job without protection- I may have been a whore, but I was a careful whore.
"Of course." He spat, and I nodded gently, settling back in to the seat.
"Where to?" I asked again. "Did you just want to get a hotel room?"
"We're not going to a hotel room." The man said, and there was something gentle in his voice, which was more unnerving to me than all the anger he could have easily thrown at me would have.
"Where are we going, then?" I asked. "I only ask because I have to know my way back."
"Back where?" He asked, gently prodding with his words. I frowned. "Um, I don't believe I'm entitled to tell you that."
"Are you homeless?" He asked, and I bit down on my lip hard.
"Yes." I whispered finally, somehow ashamed. He didn't seem like it mattered to him, though, and kept driving.
"So will I know my way back?" I asked again.
Very quietly, pulling up to a house, he said, "You won't be going back."