I have a story to tell you. It’s a story about a girl, and no, it’s not a story about boy meets girl, they fall in love, and live happily ever after. As much as I wish it were, it is not that story. Unfortunately, it ends on the darker side of things. But it’s a story I have to tell, I am compelled to tell it although it is a story I would much rather forget, it is one that will not forget me. Normally, when I write I try to use flowery prose and bullshit quasi-philosophical themes to make myself sound smart, but this isn’t that sort of story either. This is a naked story, no clothing to make it look glamorous, and no armor to protect it from the attacks that might come. But before I get into that, let me tell you a little about the girl. To call this one a desert flower would be an understatement, but she was indeed that as well as an oasis in and of herself. She provided respite to all who came to her, and provided an everlasting emotional shelter from the torrential beatings that life can sometimes offer, to anyone who sought it. She was a creation of the world certainly, but she also seemed to be created for it as well. Her long slender body and alabaster skin, which was as smooth as porcelain, seemed to reflect light in such a way that it was almost as if it was the will of God that his glory and goodness shine only through her. She had long, flowing auburn hair, with waves in it that were reminiscent of the Hawaiian sunset that I once watched with her, as the waves fiercely, yet with gentleness caressed the sandy shoreline of Waikiki. I had been there.
Together we lay on a beach towel, watching a Hawaiian sunset. Let me tell you right now, there’s nothing like it, and the movies have never done it justice. She sat up and looked into my eyes with a troubled look, go to belied more than just worry, but a great sense of sadness… and I have no idea where it was was coming from. I sat up and put my arm around her, pulling her closer to me in an attempt to comfort her, but as I did, I felt her body wince with a tension that I hadn’t felt before. She looked at me and smiled weakly, and in one gesture, she brushed a stray, and almost willfully defiant strand of hair behind her ear. Just then, I knew that the course of our lives would soon change forever. I have no idea how, but I knew. A sharp pang in my stomach gripped me like a pair of vice grip pliers slowly ripping out my intestines. The sensation was almost an unbearable pain. And then she spoke:
“I don’t think I can do this anymore, this place is beautiful… but even in this place, I don’t think there can be an ‘us’ anymore.” She said this, and the angelic melody of her normal voice, seemed to be replace by the sound of a melancholic violin.
“What are you talking about?” “Dammit, I knew this was a bad idea.” Just as I said this, the engagement ring had been concealing my pocket fell onto the sand. She looked at it unphased, and tossed it back to me, looking away.
“Don’t you get it? We’re done!” She stormed off kicking this stand behind her and creating a tiny cloud of dust. I was heartbroken, and I have no idea what the hell had just gone on. I’ll tell you one thing though, if I’d known then what I know now, I would’ve begged her to stay. I would’ve handled it differently. I would have never let her go.
I just finished telling you that I would’ve done things differently, now it’s time for you to know why. Kayla had been accepted to Brown University, where she would go to study philosophy with a minor in political science; she’d always dreamed of changing the world, and that’s how she thought she was going to do it. But Kayla wasn’t from a family who could afford an Ivy League education, quite to the contrary, Kayla’s family was lower middle class and they had to struggle for a lot of what they had, and it wasn’t much. Sometimes it seemed as though her parents treated her more like a prized possession than the daughter she was. So, needless to say Kayla really didn’t have the money for tuition. She told me she’d gotten a job as a bartender, but I found out that was just a cover story. She and some of her friends had been working as escorts, and the money was good… especially for someone like her. She had this way of making everyone feel comfortable, and apparently that helped her a lot. She ended up with a lot of clients who just paid her to talk to them after a while. But this isn’t a story about how a hooker changed the world, or maybe it is and I just don’t know it yet.
Anyway, there was this guy who had been stalking Kayla at school, and I guess he had be saving up for a while to pay for her $500 an hour price tag. Eventually he succeeded in saving $2500, all for her. He seemed harmless enough, or so she told me. She didn’t really think much of him, just another socially awkward guy who needed a little bit of love, that’s it. That’s how she was, always seeing the best in people. So on the night he decided to contract her for the evening, she agreed, and met him at a hotel just down the street from campus. She expected another casual night of sex and maybe a pleasant conversation, but what she got instead was much worse.
It started out normally enough, she helped him undress as she kissed and caressed his body, and he began to make love to her, she moaned in a false portrayal of pleasure so as to be polite, and encourage repeat business. And after, he wanted to cuddle, but that particular night she didn’t really feel like cuddling, she was having a really bad night prior. Instead of being her normal graceful self, the endless nights of joyless sex had finally gotten to her, and instead she said,
“Why? I’m not your girlfriend…”
And with that, she sensed something snapped inside him, he flipped her over onto her stomach, took a knife, and cut small, skin deep incisions just parallel her shoulder blades, as he watched the blood trickled down her back as he muttered incoherently about removing her “wings” he licked the blood with a twisted joy, as he took her from behind and she screamed in protest… this wasn’t consensual, this was rape, escort or otherwise. He unmounted her to flip her onto her back; she kicked him, hard… in the place no man ever wants to think about being kicked. But this guy kept a bottle of chloroform in his backpack… he was used to this. He used that shit on her, and she was out cold for two hours. She woke up to find herself feeling like she’d been violated in every single way. She looked around as a pervasive sense of fear gripped her; she realized that she was tied to the bed. Her assailant was standing over her with a syringe that she could only assume was filled with heroin. She knew from stories friends of hers told, that a syringe of that size, full, would surely leave her dead.
Her attacker forced himself on top of her, and emptied the syringe into her veins. He then untied her and left the room. As the forced euphoria of the heroin gripped her, she brought herself to write an account of what happened, as well as an apology to those she was leaving behind. That’s what I got back from the police after it was no longer state’s evidence. She said that she could feel death coming for her, but she also remembered all the good things that happened in her life, and she regretted none of them… selfishly though, I hope one of her last thoughts was of me telling her that I love her. And I always will. I guess she thought she couldn’t tell me what she was going through, or that I would somehow think differently of her. But she will always be my desert flower, my eternal oasis. I felt compelled to tell her story to remind you dear reader that every woman is someone to somebody. Never forget that. I love you, Kayla always and forever.
Together we laid on a beach towel, watching a Hawaiian sunset. Let me tell you right now, there’s nothing like it, and the movies have never done it justice. She sat up and looked into my eyes with a troubled look, go to belied more than just worry, but a great sense of sadness… and I have no idea what was coming from. I sat up and put my arm around her, pulling her closer to me in an attempt to comfort her, but as I did, I felt her body wince with a tension that I hadn’t felt before. She looked at me and smiled weakly, and in one gesture, she brushed a stray and almost willfully defiant strand of hair behind her ear. Just then, I knew that the course of our lives would soon change forever. I have no idea how, but I knew. A sharp pang in my stomach gripped me like a pair of vice grip pliers slowly ripping out my intestines. The sensation was almost an unbearable pain. And then she spoke:
“I don’t think I can do this anymore, this place is beautiful… but even in this place, I don’t think there can be an ‘us’ anymore.” She said this, and the angelic melody of her normal voice, seems to be replace by the sound of a melancholic violin.
“What are you talking about?” “Dammit, I knew this was a bad idea.” Just as I said this, the engagement ring had been concealing my pocket fell onto the sand. She looked at it unphased, and tossed it back to me looking away.
“Don’t you get it? We’re done!” She stormed off taking this stand behind her and creating a tiny cloud of dust. I was heartbroken, and I have no idea what the hell had just gone on. I’ll tell you one thing though, if I’d known then what I know now, I would’ve begged her to stay. I would’ve handled it differently. I would have let her go.
I just finished telling you that I would’ve done things differently, now it’s time for you to know why. Kayla had been accepted to Brown University, where she would go to study philosophy with a minor in political science; she could always dream about changing the world, and that’s how she thought she was going to do it. But Kayla wasn’t from a family who can afford an Ivy League education, quite to the contrary, the family was lower middle class and they had to struggle for a lot of what they had, and it wasn’t much. Sometimes it seems as though her parents treated her more like a prized possession than the daughter she was. So, needless to say Kayla really didn’t have the money for tuition. She told me she’d gotten a job as a bartender, but I found out that was just a cover story. She and some of her friends had been working as escorts, and the money was good… especially for someone like her. She had this way of making everyone feel comfortable, and apparently that helped her a lot. She ended up with a lot of clients who just paid her to talk to them after a while. But this isn’t a story about how a hooker changed the world, or maybe it is and I just don’t know it yet.
Anyway, there was this guy who had been stalking Kayla at school, and I guess you’d be saving up for a while to pay for her $500 an hour priced tag. Eventually he succeeded in saving $2500, all for her. He seemed harmless enough, or so she told me. She didn’t really think much of him, just another socially awkward guy who needed a little bit of love, that’s it. That’s how she was, always seeing the best in people. So on the night he decided to contract her for the evening, she agreed, and met him at a hotel just down the street from campus. She expected another casual night of sex and maybe a pleasant conversation, but what she got instead was much worse.
It started out normally enough, she helped him undress and she kissed and caressed his body, and he began to make love to her, and then she did, she moaned in a false portrayal of pleasure so as to be polite, and encourage repeat business. And after, he wanted to cuddle, but that particular night she didn’t really feel like cuddling, she was having a really bad night prior. Instead of being her normal graceful self, the endless nights of joyless sex had finally gotten to her, and instead she said,
“why? I’m not your girlfriend…”
And with that, she sensed something snapped inside him, he flipped her over onto her stomach, took a knife, and cut small, skin deep incisions just parallel her shoulder blades, as he watched the blood trickled down her back as he muttered incoherently about removing her “wings” he looked at the blood with the twisted joy, as he took her from behind and she screamed in protest… this wasn’t consensual, this was rape, escort or otherwise. He unmounted her to flip her onto her back, she kicked him, hard… in the place no man ever wants to think about being kicked. But this guy kept the bottle of chloroform in his backpack… he was used to this. He used that shit on her, and she was out cold for two hours. She woke up to find herself feeling like she’d been violated in every single way. She looked around as the sense of fear gripped her, she realized that she was tied to the bed. Her assailant was standing over her with a syringe that she could only assume was filled with heroin. She knew from stories are friends of hers told, that a syringe of that size, full, would surely leave her dead.
Her attacker forced himself on top of her, and emptied this syringe into her veins. He then untied her and left the room. As the force euphoria of the harrowing gripped her, she brought herself to write an account of what happened, as well as an apology to those she was leaving behind. That’s what I got back from the police after it was no longer state’s evidence. She said that she could feel death coming for her, but she also remembered all the good things that happened in her life, and she regretted none of them… selfishly though, I hope one of her last thoughts was of me telling her that I love her. And I always will. I guess she thought she couldn’t tell me what she was going through, or that I would somehow figure for differently. But she will always be my desert flower, my eternal oasis. I felt compelled to tell her story to remind you dear reader, that every woman is someone to somebody. Never forget that. I love you, Kayla always and forever.
The Musings of a Digital Vagabond 