Damaged

By
HUDA Ansari

The sound of his phone beeping woke him up.

“I hate it that you have to work late even on our anniversary. But it’s okay! I already put the kids to bed and let’s just say… your present is waiting ;)”

The message annoyed him.  He sat up in bed, with just his shirt on, fumbling around for his boxers. It was wedged under her passed out figure. He forcefully pulled it from under her naked belly. She didn’t budge. He didn’t expect her to. He had ravished her flesh like a hungry beast. It often surprised him how it didn’t kill them.

He put on his boxers and made his way to the grimy washroom at the corner of the room. The toilet bowl was leaking and the place reeked of filth, but he was no stranger to a place like this. He relieved himself in the mucky and putrid excuse for a loo and proceeded to wash off the remains of the night from himself under the creaking shower.

The water was cold and smelled rusty, but it didn’t bother him. It somehow felt better than the comforts of his en suite at home. He stood there for a long time with his eyes closed, cold water streaming down his body, almost cleansing him of the sins of the flesh. He breathed heavily and finally opened his eyes; his one hand reached for the grubby shower handle and the other for his shirt and boxers he had left on the encrusted sink. He pulled on his boxers over his dripping member and exited the bathroom.

She had roused from her stupor and sat up on the broken chair at the far end of the room, looking out of the tiny window. The room was dark but he could see the burning embers of her cigarette.

He turned on the lights to look for his clothes. The sharp light caused her to impulsively knit her eyes and lower her face. Her sudden movement made him look at her – for the first time in the night. She had unremarkable features, her complexion was tanned, and the only thing attractive about her was her long curly hair, but of course the job had left them lustreless and coarse. One could see the events of the night had taken its toll on them too. She just had a shirt over her shoulders; he could see she had not bothered to button it up – her semi-naked heaving bosom was in clear sight of him. She had pulled on her half-ripped stained panties underneath.

He stared at her for a while and then started putting his shirt on.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Vodka,” she murmured

“I meant your real name?”

“What is your wife’s name?”

He got his answer. He buttoned his shirt up. His phone beeped again. She was still waiting for him.

“Supper awaits: In case you are hungry when you get back! Sorry if I am bothering you – I just miss youJ ”

Attached was a picture of steaming hot pasta and meatballs.

He put his phone back on the table. She was still staring out of the window. She had stopped smoking. Her arm hung limply off the back of the chair exposing her ample bosom. She didn’t seem to care. A blasé attitude was the free gift the profession brought.

He pulled out the cash tip for the night from his wallet. He sat down on the ruffled bed as he put the money on the side table. His wedding photo was staring him in the face from his wallet.

“Jade.”

He looked up at her, feeling a little lost.

“My name… Jade… because of the eyes.”

He tried to remember if they were indeed green. He couldn’t recall. Relief was the only thing on his mind. He took her word for it.

“Does she not give you sex?”

He was quiet. He contemplated lying. What it worth the fibs? She was a paid one-night stand for him. He always had a different one each time. He’d never see her again.

“She does, she loves me. I just like doing whores.”

The answer didn’t trigger a response. She pushed her hair off her face as she lit another cigarette.

“You are a pig,” she muttered as she blew off a whiff of smoke.

He didn’t object. He knew he was a cheating excuse for a husband. He just continued staring at her. He thought she looked repulsive and uncouth. There was even a tattoo on her arm.

“Why the “C”?” he asked pointing at the tattoo.

“For Chris… my brother.”

He laughed mockingly. “Incest?!? And I thought I was messed up.”

She turned her head to look at his face. Her eyes were indeed green. She stared at him for a moment as he snickering laughter filled the empty room and then went back to staring outside the window.

“He is dead. Shot himself in front of me.”

He stopped laughing. He felt ashamed of his earlier comment. She got off the chair and started buttoning up her shirt.

“Is that why you became a prostitute?”

No one had made that connection before. It made her uneasy.

“What is it to you? You didn’t come here to be a shrink.”

She lit another cigarette. He went back to staring at his wedding picture.

“I love her. I can’t not love her… she’s so perfect. But I can’t change me.”

She extinguished her cigarette and looked at his pathetic form. She didn’t feel anything. She had made herself incapable of feeling anything.

“I got in the business when my boyfriend made me sleep with his bosses for extra commissions,” she said as she bent down next to him to reach for her skirt under the bed.

“Your brother… he didn’t… stop you?”

She pulled on her skirt. “He was long dead,” she mockingly laughed to herself. “He wanted me to be a doctor. Took the easy way out himself.”

She picked up the tip money from the table. His phone buzzed again. A picture of a very attractive woman dressed in a white negligee came up with the message, “White, because it’s your favourite.”

Angelic white. “So perfect,” he whispered under his breath. A slight smile lingered on his thin lips but it was soon followed by the knitting of his brows. “Too perfect!” He was annoyed again: at her perfection, at his wretched damaged self, and at possessing everything a man could ask for.

She was indifferent to his mumbling. She knew they were all messed up beyond repair. If they weren’t, she’d be out of a job. “You know the way out?” She asked as she grabbed the tacky door handle.

He was mesmerised by the picture. His hand instinctively reached for his manhood. He looked up at her. “Are you interested in an extra shift?”

She looked at his hand clutching the phone. “I’m done for the night.”

“Okay, get Prat to send someone up here. I’ll settle the account after.”

She slammed the door shut as he sat on the bed, staring at the picture, waiting for his next relief.