A Forgotten Tomorrow

by Teresa Schaeffer

  He had a nice car, a Mercedes SUV to be exact. Normally I would think a nice car like that would hold a decent person, but not this time. When I say decent, I mean more normal than most of the men that stalk this side of town.

  Anyway, in his own way he was attractive. He was clean shaven, his hair was spiked in the front, and he was wearing a designer silk suit. Why he was dressed like that at 2am is beyond me, but he was.

  From the moment he began talking to me I had a feeling that he was not a person that I wanted to be alone with. He was talking about some freaky stuff, like chains, whips and blindfolds. That is not my thing at all. Judging by his wedding ring, it’s not his wife’s thing either – that’s why he was out on the street looking for it.

  It’s obvious that I decided to join him, because I’m lying here on this dirty floor. I shouldn’t have got into his car, but I did. I couldn’t resist the couple of hundred dollars that he was offering. I have never been given that much money by one person. Hell, I am lucky if I make that much from one night’s work. On most nights I only manage to make thirty to forty dollars, which is nothing. That small amount of cash used to take me a lot further – before I started using – but now it’s enough to grab a bite to eat and a pack of cigarettes. After that, I have a few more bills to spare that I could use for something else – but I need to save as much as I can. Like I said, Elijah used to be my supplier; he would give me meth for absolutely nothing. Now that he’s gone, I need to pay my own way.

  Once I got into his car he immediately sped off. The interior was as immaculate as the outside of the car. It was fully loaded with XM Radio, a DVD player and leather seats. I tried not to look around, because I didn’t want to make him suspicious of me in any way, but I did manage to spot a small duffle bag on his back seat. That is where the horrendous night began.

  He drove me to a motel fifteen minutes away from Benz Street – a motel I didn’t even know existed. I remember thinking that I had no idea where we were, and for the first time in a while I felt lost out there on the street.

  The inside of the motel was like any other ratty motel in the area – dirty. The carpet and bed linen probably hadn’t been cleaned for a while, as well as the toilet seat in the bathroom – it was covered with urine stains. The smell of stale smoke consumed the room and the lighting was dim, immediately giving the place a miserable feeling.

  I couldn’t understand why a man like him, obviously full of money, would want to stay in a room like that. I mean, he could afford better – at least a hotel that kept a maid service on duty every day. But perhaps he wanted a mangled room for his odd fetishes, or maybe he didn’t think a better one would suit a girl like me. All the same, it didn’t make sense.

  Once in the room, he simultaneously took off his jacket and collared shirt, and threw the duffle bag onto the bed. I stood there watching him as he silently dug through the bag. Normally I would be the one to take action, but this was completely different. I had no idea what to say or do.

  Silently, he motioned for me to sit on the bed. His gaze was suddenly terrifying, especially when a smirk appeared upon his face. It reminded me of stinky Johnny, immediately bringing a nauseating feeling to the surface.

  He pulled out a weird piece of lingerie and handed it to me. Without asking any questions, I quickly took off my clothes and put it on, at the same time trying to settle my stomach. There wasn’t any talking going on between him and me, which disturbed me. He just motioned with his hands, indicating to me what he wanted me to do.

  The night got even weirder when he took out a blindfold and a small whip. I wasn’t sure who was going to use it and that made me nervous, because surely I didn’t want to get beaten with that thing. My nerves calmed a little though when he put the red satin blindfold on himself. I figured I would be smacking him, which didn’t bother me as much as the alternative.

  To cut a long story short, the first twenty minutes were okay. He did have me whip him, which truly wasn’t that bad. At first I was uncomfortable, but after a few minutes I swung that thing against his skin like I was taming a horse. The way he enjoyed it made me feel queasy. His sick yelps and moans each time I hit him was the worst part. I kept thinking – what am I doing? Money talks though, and I couldn’t pass up two hundred dollars.

  When he said he was finished I thought my job with him was done – oh, how wrong I was! The smile on his face revealed how pleased he was. I couldn’t understand it. He didn’t even seem to mind that his back was bleeding. Anyway, he took the bandana off and immediately tied it around my head. I didn’t like that.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, trying not to sound panicky.

  I tried to take the bandana off, but couldn’t. He didn’t acknowledge my question, just grabbed my arms and pulled them out from underneath me. I couldn’t get away from him, or even get off the bed. Within seconds, my arms were tied to the bedpost, and my legs did their own thing as I kicked the air hoping to reach his face. All the time, he never said a word.

  I tried everything to get my arms out of the knotted rope, but couldn’t. I tried to use my voice before something bad happened. It didn’t work.

  “Please, let me go. I did what you asked and I really need to get back.”

  “Not yet,” is all he said to me. The first words he’d spoken since we’d got to the motel.

  I squirmed and I yelled, and he got mad. Suddenly, I felt something smash against my face. I’m not sure if it was his fist, but it definitely was his hand, and it hurt – bad. Right away, my right eye started to swell. There was second blow to my head, and another. I begged for him to stop, but he didn’t care.

  He smacked me around for at least ten minutes, although it felt like hours.

  By the time he was finished, or I thought he was finished, I felt like I had been hit by a truck. I couldn’t see anything, I could hear him standing above me, panting like a dog. I was crying silently under the blindfold, praying that the night would end.

  After that, the rest of the night was a blur. I know that he raped and beat me no end. I know that people would think that saying rape is probably crazy considering my job, but I did tell him to get off me, and he didn’t listen. I have never had that happen since I’ve been out here on the street. I can’t believe I got into his car, either – that was stupid. Money rules the world. And I’m more naïve than I realised.

  I am still lying on the floor, unsure of how I got here, next to the window. I’m still shaken up about what happened, and my anxiety level has shot through the roof. It’s difficult to steady my hands, and my head is killing me. At least my vision has cleared a little, allowing me to see my surroundings.

  The room is in a bad condition, worse than how it was when we first got here. The bed is a mess, blood is covering the sheets.

  I have finally managed to stand up, but I have to hold onto the nightstand just in case I become wobbly and lose my balance.

  I try to avoid vomiting as I search the room for my clothes. After five minutes, I find them, extremely wrinkled and rolled into a ball, in the corner by the dirty bathroom.

  Strategically placed next to my clothes are the blindfold and rope. He must have placed them there, the asshole. I can’t find my money anywhere. Not only did he beat and rape me, he left me here without even paying what he’d promised.

  It goes through my mind that he could’ve killed me. I really think that if he’d kept on going, it would have happened. He managed to beat me unconscious – so death wasn’t too far away.

  My memory searches for Elijah’s comforting eyes. I can’t stop crying. I don’t know whether it’s because my head hurts so badly, or if I’m going through withdrawal, or if I just miss Elijah that much.

  Without him, my days only seem to get worse. Maybe tonight’s events wouldn’t have happened if he was still around. I know he wasn’t my protector, but emotionally he gave me a lot. With his friendship I didn’t feel so alone or helpless. Without it, I don’t seem to care about anything at all. Maybe th
is is who I am. Maybe this life is all that’s left for me.

  Why, Elijah? Why did you have to go?

  CHAPTER 10

  When I left the cruddy motel I was still hidden in the darkness of night, hidden from any passers-by who might stop and stare. Not now. The sun is slowly beginning to peak out over the cityscape, forcing a spotlight to beam down upon my face. I wish I was invisible, not existing to any of the people who are walking the streets this early in the morning. But I am not, and they continue to stare.

  I feel like I’ve already walked ten miles, but it’s probably only been one. What’s worse than the distance is my lack of balance and the loose pieces of gravel digging into my bare feet. Yeah, I had shoes, but I decided to leave them behind. The heel on one snapped, so what’s the use in trying to wear them? They would look even more hideous than they did before.

  Ever since I woke up from the floor of that disgusting motel room, I’ve felt unsteady and disoriented. I took a quick shower but even that didn’t help. Well, it washed away some of the grime that was caked onto my body, just not the dried blood on my face. I tried to scrub, but it hurt too much. There was no way I wanted the cuts on my forehead to reopen, so I gently washed around them.

  The street isn’t too busy this early in the morning, but on this side of town the rich folk come out to do their fitness routines. There is a park behind the boutiques, made for jogging, biking or rollerblading, so I try to stay out of the way as young men and women jog by dressed in designer workout clothing, iPods attached to their arms. It doesn’t seem to work, though – I can feel their eyes on me, staring at me. Just because they have a perfect life full of riches, why do they have to look at me that way? Idiots.

  With my head in a daze it’s hard, but I try to concentrate, focusing on the ground as I walk. I feel like I might fall over at any moment, swaying from side to side as if I were a drunk. I start to perspire and my tattered clothes begin to cling to my body. I feel like I could vomit. I have a long way to go, though, walking next to these damn boutiques. I’m sure the owners won’t let me in to use the restrooms. My appearance alone is enough to isolate me from what most people call a ‘normal’ world.

  Maybe that’s what I need – a fix. I have enough left in my bag for a handful of lines and it could only make me feel better, right? It has to, because right now I feel like I could fall over and die. But where? There isn’t anywhere for me to go. I have to keep moving forward, out of this place, away from the eyes of these have-it-all, good-for-nothing rich people.

  In front of the fine jewelry store I stumble and fall to the ground. My hands break my fall, but I land on broken glass. I try to hold it in, but I can’t.

  “Dammit!” I scream. I look at the palm of my hand and a tiny piece of glass is sticking out of my skin. I sit on the tarmac and tremble as I try to pull out the glass. My hands hurt so badly that I don’t pay any attention to the young woman approaching. “Shit!” I yell, pulling out as much of the glass as I can.

  “Are you okay?” the woman asks. She startles me.

  “I’m fine,” I respond, standing up and distancing myself from her.

  I try to walk away from her, but she grabs my arm.

  “Are you okay sweetie? Do you need help?”

  “Get off of me!” I yell. She does.

  She might have been trying to help, but she didn’t have to grab me. Besides, she probably just wanted to make a good impression to all the other rich idiots out here watching. That’s right, watching me. I hate that. I hate them. I wish they would all go away.

  I feel it now. My anxiety is rising and I feel angry. My stomach hurts even worse than it did before. I can’t hold it in and vomit escapes my mouth. I try to push it back in, but it only seeps through my fingers, landing on my already disgusting shirt. Now there are even more eyes staring at me, more comments from those passing. What is their problem?

  “What the hell are all of you looking at?” I yell, circling, looking at every one of them. “I don’t feel good, what’s the big deal? Mind your own business, you rich idiots!”

  I try to run, stumbling yet managing to stay on my feet. I don’t know where I am going exactly, because I’m not so sure where I am or which route to take to get back to my bridge. Screw it, though. I just need to get out of here.

  Tears fall, even when it’s anger that is brewing inside me. I’m angry at myself, at these streets – but most of all, at Elijah. Why did he have to go? Why did he have to be so stupid? He could’ve been great as a normal person, having a normal life. Too late now. He’s gone.

  I don’t want to, but I see his face flashing before my eyes. He’s not handsome anymore, though – he is covered in blood. He wants me to help him, but it’s too late.

  “Get out of my head!” I yell.

  I don’t want to see him like that. I want to remember how he used to be, not how he was after what they did to him. Not like that. I can’t push him away; he is still there staring at me, trying to smile as blood drips off his forehead like sweat. Please let me forget. But I can’t forget, and maybe that’s because I don’t deserve to forget.

  The afternoon had been horrible that day, when it all went wrong. It was freezing cold outside and pouring with rain. I remember feeling miserable the entire day, even before I met Elijah. I didn’t want to do anything other than sleep or get high.

  After work, I’d immediately gone back to my bridge to rest. I was hungry, but didn’t care about food – I was too tired. I also wanted to take in my last line before sleeping and seeing Elijah. I knew he was going to be giving me a brand new bag, so one line would surely hold me over until then.

  There was nothing out of the ordinary about that morning. It was quiet, boring and monotonous. I didn’t expect anything more of the afternoon, even though Elijah and I were going to hang out. I thought it was going to be just the same as it always was. I was wrong – dead wrong.

  Anyway, I met Elijah at a sandwich shop near Benz Street around noon. I was excited to see him. With all that was going on in his life we didn’t get to see each other so often now. When we did, it was only for thirty minutes here or there, so not nearly enough time to progress our relationship. I’d thought about it for days, and then finally I’d decided that it was going to be today day when I asked. I had to know if he wanted us to be a couple. I hoped he would.

  We spent nearly an hour in the shop that day, eating, talking and joking around. It felt good to hear his voice, his laugh and all about his work with Jon. He still felt confident, having no worries when it came to how he handled his business.

  Towards the end of our lunch I mentioned my feelings to him. I felt, like, self-conscious for a minute, stuttering and fumbling over my words, but it all turned out okay.

  “Can I ask you something?” I asked before we stood up to leave.

  “Sure, Van, what’s up?”

  I felt my face turn red. Suddenly I was shy – something I never usually was around Elijah.

  “Um, I don’t know,” I giggled, “I guess I was just wondering if maybe, uh–”

  “Yes,” he said before I could even finish. He laughed, and then grabbed my hand. “You don’t have to say anymore. I know,” he smiled.

  “Do ya?” I managed to say.

  “You know I been all about you, Van, for a while.”

  I didn’t respond, just smiled back at him as he rubbed my hand with his finger. I felt butterflies in my stomach and wanted to kiss him. I wanted to tell him everything I was feeling, but thought it was best to leave it at that moment. I wish I hadn’t. I wish I’d told him that I loved him.

  Ten minutes later, that beautiful moment between us was shattered into pieces.

  Once we left the shop we walked together to the park, where we were going to go our separate ways. On the way, we spoke about little things, nothing huge – just our lives and where we wanted to go. He had big plans; I wanted eventually to escape my life and become a little more normal.

  I felt bad when he handed me t
he bag of meth. I had mixed feelings. I didn’t want to just take it from him, but I needed it. He assured me that no one was noticing the amounts he was taking for his pleasure. We both agreed that after that bag was gone, we would stop using.

  Anyway, the street was silent and appeared to be abandoned. There was no one outside on that block, not even kids playing on their bikes. Granted, it was the ghetto area, but it was too quiet, even for there. Chills went down my spine as our steps echoed against the exterior of the residential homes.

  The chills I was feeling were a sign that I shouldn’t have ignored. Within seconds Elijah was laying on the cobblestone street screaming in pain. A group of four boys, huge boys, gathered around him and set about beating him with chains and a bat. As they took turns striking his body, I tried to get them to stop – but they pushed me away every time, threatening me with the bat.

  Suddenly, Elijah’s screams stopped. He lay there, motionless, with blood oozing from his head. I was frozen and couldn’t move. I couldn’t scream either. I was too scared. Why would they do that? Why? I wanted to grab Elijah and pull him out of the street, kiss his forehead – but I couldn’t. They were still standing there.

  One of the guys was looking at me, pointing his blood-drenched bat in my direction.

  “You better get lost, trick,” he announced, walking towards me and threatening that I would be next.

  I tried to run, turning my back on my best friend. As I ran off I heard one last smash against his body.

  “That’s from Jon. Never forget it, punk!”

  I started to cry immediately. Without even thinking twice, I knew those kids had just beaten Elijah to death. I stopped running but didn’t dare turn around, even though I badly wanted to.