by E. V. White
It was strange how her behaviour had changed radically in a few years. Until recently, it would not have even occurred to her to use any ploys to fool people into giving her money. Initially, in fact, she did not use any tricks and, for days, she had to rummage in the refuse in order to eat something, which, in some cases, could not even be defined as edible. Eventually though, she succumbed to desperation. Observing the other beggars, she learned how to empty the paper cup once it was filled with coins and hide the money safely under her clothes because they were all desperate out there, all ready to take some piece of you just to survive.
Emily had just picked up the cup to put in a few coins from her pocket when a girl passed by her and gently placed a supermarket bag by her side. She did not stop but simply continued gliding on her skate, greeting her with a slight wave of her hand and smiling. A girl with long green hair and metal rings scattered throughout her face whom she had never seen before and probably would never meet again had suddenly changed her day. Inside the bag, she found a box with two packed sandwiches, a bottle of water and a bar of chocolate, most probably the lunch she had not yet eaten.
She got up from where she stood and walked off for a few feet to reach one of the small, secluded beaches that lined the river. She did not want to eat in front of other people because when she did, which had often happened to her after days of not putting anything in her stomach and feeling sick, she would devour her food so quickly that she would throw up all the food she had just swallowed. She had no desire to be rescued, pitied or driven away for that reason and so she preferred to choose those little sandy spots seen only if you lean against the railing.
She passed the skate park, often crowded with curious tourists watching the lads trying their new stunts. That afternoon, however, it was almost empty, except for one lad who was defying the cold weather on his board, trying repeatedly the exact same feat with his skate. Blond hair, a black hat down over his eyes, a black leather jacket, a pair of ripped pants of the same colour and headphones over his ears. She could not meet his eyes but, from his behaviour, going up and down the concrete ramps like a caged lion, she suspected that he was angry and almost felt sorry for him.
She let herself slide down next to that place as she had done with all the rest of her things and then proceeded to go down the steps that led her to the little spot of sand that was just a little larger than a couple of meters. She sat down and began savouring every morsel of what she had despite of the seagulls demanding their share.
Alex went up and down the ramps with his skate for hours. It was something he did when he needed to think: trying over and over the same tricks with the board until they were perfect. It often helped him clear his mind and focus. Not at that particular moment, though. He could not set his mind on what worried him the most, writing songs.
He knew he had to do it as soon as possible. He also knew that Matt was badgering him only because they had a once in a lifetime opportunity that could change their lives forever and he felt the weight of responsibility for their success, and this held him back. All his songs were the results of his trials and tribulations, drawing out the anger that was inside of him, preventing from going crazy. Rage he no longer had, pain neither, just a giant void swallowing his soul remained. Only alcohol allowed him to dull that incessant feeling of plunging toward the absolute abyss, but it also had its drawbacks: every emotion was flushed out by that liquid that made his throat burn every night.
He felt suffocated and did not know how to catch his breath. He stopped, picked up the skateboard and threw it violently across the skate park, shouting like a madman. He did not care if people stared at him; he had never cared about what they thought of him. He had always been treated as the problematic misfit, who would never have done anything good, and so he learned how to cast away all those degrading comments that would have broken him and, sometimes, even people out of his life.
He walked wearily towards the skate, turned it on its wheels, got on it and headed back home.
*
Emily went back to Hoxton Square again. It was already evening, it was dark and the square had taken on a sombre backdrop that unsettled her. Living on the streets was not a problem during the day, but the nights lasted always too long not to be afraid. She hesitated for a moment hiding in a dark corner, then got the nerve to approach Bobby’s door, trying not to be noticed by the people that crowded the premises that evening, and started knocking. She did not have to wait too long before the man opened the door. She did not even give him time to throw her out since she immediately gave him the bag with all the money she had collected that day.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” He asked her.
“Keep it for now, I’ll bring you the rest,” Emily responded with a conviction that even surprised her.
She needed that dose so badly that she would have done anything to get it. Whatever Bobby had asked, she would have had agreed to because she was absolutely desperate. Her heart stopped when a grin appeared on the man’s face: he could have really asked for anything.
“Wait for me there, in the back,” he said, pointing to the dark alley next to the club. “I don’t want my guests to put up with your stench,” he added in a derogatory tone.
Emily overlooked the man’s demeaning words. She was used to being insulted with far worse names than what he said, which was like water off a duck’s back to her now. Fear, on the other hand, silently took possession of her and made her go towards that menacing dark corner away from prying eyes.
Alex was at the Underbelly sitting on the couch with Matt, Jaden and Jordan. They were talking about the talent manager and what to ask him. They were all excited about the opportunity that had presented itself. The only one who did not feel anything was Alex. Maybe the alcohol was already making him numb or he simply could not see the reason for such excitement and wasn’t able to feel any kind of enthusiasm. He was staring at them, without really listening to what they were saying with a glass of scotch to his lips.
“So? What do you think?” Jaden asked, tearing him away from his thoughts.
“That I need some fresh air,” he revealed, standing up and leaving them baffled.
Alex walked to the alley next to the club and pulled out a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his jacket. He was lighting the first one when his attention was caught by someone hiding in the dark. He had to squint a few times in order to focus on the figure and realised that one of the two shadows was the girl who had slept in the park the night before. She was leaning against the wall, barely conscious as a tall, hefty man was clearly trying to have sex with her. He felt his stomach writhe with anger. He did not know the girl but he was pretty sure that she was not in a position to stop the man. He hesitated for a second, then approached them.
“Hey, leave her alone,” he butted in urgently.
The man paid no attention to him and went on with what he was doing.
“Did you hear me? Let her go,” he urged, raising his voice.
The man turned toward him with an expression of indifference.
“I heard you the first time and bog off, this is none of your business,” he hissed.
“It is my business if she isn’t able to think for herself,” Alex countered with a seriousness that convinced even himself.
The man burst into laughter and let the girl fall onto the concrete pavement.
“Hey! What are you doing?” she mumbled.
“She’s’ just a stoned whore. Who gives a shit about her?” The man asked.
“I do,” said Alex.
The man roared with laughter once again and walked away.
“Good luck with the junkie,” he bid before walking away for good.
Alex knelt beside the girl and helped her stand up and put her trousers back on. She was young but her skin was so battered that she seemed much older.
“Are you ok?” He asked with concern.
“What did you do? You moron,” she tried to shout at him but onl
y managed to mumble a few words.
Alex was stunned: he had never been insulted by anyone for trying to help.
“What do you mean, what did I do?” He asked in disbelief. “I saved you!”
“No, you moron. You didn’t. You ruined everything. How do you think I can pay him now?” She hissed.
Alex looked at her confused.
“Do you think he’ll give me a dose of oxycodone next time I ask him? Moron,” she attacked angrily.
“Stop calling me moron,” Alex shouted furiously. “How was I supposed to know?” He asked innocently.
“You should have just minded your own business and left me alone, moron,” she shouted back, staggering away and leaving him completely dumbfounded.
He stared at her as she walked away from the square.
“What the fuck just happened?” He marvelled.
He lit a fag, walked away and turned toward home.
Emily was holed up once again in the basement where she had found refuge the evening before. She was angry and confused at the same time; she was regaining consciousness much more quickly than the previous times. At that very thought, anger returned: she had hoped to spend most of that night high from the dose but, because of that boy, she believed she would not even be able to fall asleep. She continued to think about why he did not mind his own business and the more she mulled over that thought, the more those two big blue eyes full of concern and confusion came back to her mind. It was the only detail she remembered about him and also the very thing that was making her lose her mind that very moment. For a second, she felt guilty for having made him worry. It was a stranger who had completely wrecked her night but she still felt guilty about how she had berated him.
She settled herself on the cold floor and closed her eyes. Little by little, the anger and thoughts once again joined up with the oxycodone, which had not lost its effect after all. But, now, the only thing she could think of while falling asleep under those boxes were those big blue eyes.
Alex was sitting on the couch, the guitar close to him, a pen between his fingers. The room was dim, only a faint light coming from the kitchen seeped in where he was sitting. He was thinking about what had happened a few hours earlier with that girl. He was still confused and angry. How could she allow herself to be treated that way? Didn’t she have any dignity? He tried to find some explanations for her behaviour but only felt pity and the desire to protect her. He wondered why she did not have a home, a place to stay, or someone who cared about her. Because if someone cared about you, you would not end up having sex with your dealer in a dark alley, right? He repeatedly kept asking himself the same question but could not find any plausible answer.
He finally grabbed the pen firmly and a piece of paper and started to write.
She felt dead in her young bones
the coldness was embracing her alone
Alex was still sitting on the couch since the night before. For hours, he stared at those two sentences he had written yet nothing else came to mind. He could do nothing but think of the girl, how he had met her, how she was furious at him. It was the first time anyone had ever treated him that way and he was only trying to help. He did not know whether he should feel offended, apologetic for what had happened or worried about her. Mixed emotions assaulted his mind, and he did not like what it made him do: feel. He was used to feeling something only when playing the guitar; in any other situation, he had always buried emotions with alcohol.
He glanced at the leather jacket lying on the sofa and suddenly felt the urge to go out.
Emily opened her eyes late in the day. The dose from the night before had made her sleep despite the cold weather and she was not sure that it was a good thing. It was almost certain that one day she would pass from sleep to death without even realising it. She felt completely numb. She knew she had to get up and go beg for some money but she did not have the desire nor the strength to do neither one.
It was one of those days when she regretted being a runaway even though her only other option was to live in hell. She cursed the day she began taking oxycodone because of her two broken ribs and dislocated shoulder. She reproached herself for not having had the strength to quit in spite of the fact she had tried countless times. That day was one of those days when she would rather not have woken up nor stood up, let alone exist.
She covered herself as best as she could to close her eyes again, almost hoping that the cold would do its duty and lift her once and for all out of that hell.
Without even realising it, Alex was running inside the tube towards Old Street station. He looked at the people around him and wondered if any of them knew the girl or if she was simply invisible to most of them. When he got off the train, he ran to Hoxton Square, but did not find her.
He went around the small park a few times, carefully examining each face, as though he could ever mistake her for someone else. He received a series of nasty looks from the people sitting on the benches and eventually stopped in the middle of the square. He brought both hands to his head and took a turn a couple more times. How could he find her? However, the real question was, why did he need to? He could not find answers to any of his questions. A door suddenly caught his eye, the one the girl was knocking on the first night he had noticed her. Almost at once, he approached it and knocked a couple of times.
“Youʼve got to be joking!” Bobby said, opening the door.
Alex met his gaze and immediately recognized him as the man who was trying to rape her the night before. He resisted the urge to punch him in the face.
“Have you seen the girl?” He asked seriously.
“Who?” Bobby replied, puzzled.
Alex took a deep breath, he could not tell if he was being serious or mocking him.
“The girl you were trying to bang last night,” he hissed annoyed.
“Emily? No, I havenʼt seen her. Why do you care anyway?” He was curious to know.
Alex did not answer; he did not even know what to say. He did not have the slightest idea why he was so obsessed with her.
“Do you know where I can find her?” He insisted.
“No, I don’t know where she is. Iʼm not her assistant. Maybe she’s begging around somewhere,” he supposed.
“Where?” Alex asked peeved.
“I donʼt know. Fuck off!” Bobby barked, shutting the door.
But, before he completely closed it, he added a piece of advice.
“Don’t go out of your way for her. Just do yourself a favour and let her be. Sheʼs nothing but trouble, believe me,” then he locked him out of his home.
Alex stood there on the stairs for a few minutes thinking about what to do, and then decided to go and wait on a park bench.
Emily finally found the strength to get up and was now at the entrance of the tube station, begging for money. She was covered with a silver waterproof material that a tourist had given her a few hours back in Oxford Street. At least she could also use it when night fell to stay dry, as she had been able to scrape together only a few quids before the police drove her away from the road congested of passersby. She did not collect enough to buy food and pay Bobby, but hoped to be able to return the next day or, at least, find someone generous where she was now.
Normally people running to take the tube were not as compassionate or attentive. They fumbled with their phones, read the newspaper or simply stared straight ahead. Sometimes she wondered if anyone felt her presence. She was not angry with them, she would have probably done the same thing in their place, but she wondered several times if they saw her.
If they had stopped close to her, they would have definitely smelt her stench. She could not remember the last time when she had a shower or even a regular meal. Three years earlier, when her stepfather had beaten her, she ran away from home. She tried to find a job and stay clean but when drugs entered her life, everything began to fall apart. She was not able to get to work on time; sometimes she was so high that she could not even tell what day of the w
eek it was. In consequence, she began begging her friends for a bit of hospitality until they grew tired of her problems and asked her to leave. That was the first time she went to Bobby’s for shelter and little by little she began to beg on the streets. She had always been able to procure enough money to buy drugs and it made him happy to have someone at home who regularly forked out. That lasted at least until one week ago when she had nothing left to pay him and he then kicked her out of his house. Since then, she was homeless.
The Starbucks paper cup with a couple of pounds inside was propped in front of her. She stared at it without begging any of the people passing by. She had noticed that if people didnʼt feel bothered, they were much more inclined to be generous and throw a few pennies in. A little girl about four or five years old passed by, clutching her motherʼs hand. She inadvertently kicked the cup spilling the coins out. The little girl stopped and turned towards her.
“Sorry,” she whispered shyly.
Emily smiled.
“How many times have I told you not to talk to them?” her mother scolded abruptly.
“But…” the girl tried to justify herself.
“Rachel!” reprimanded her mother.
Emily smiled at the little girl and paid no attention to the woman. Do not talk to THEM? What did she think she was? Some sort of disgusting disease? She was a human being, just like everyone else on that street. Maybe not as stylish or clean as the others, but certainly more polite. Usually, she did not allow herself to lose heart by what people said about her. At that moment though, she felt less human, just as what the woman had probably told the little girl, and this made her feel miserable. She felt so humiliated by those words that she got up, picked up her things and left quickly.
*
Alex was sitting at the bar of the Underbelly. He waited for Emily for almost the entire day, sitting on the park bench, but she did not show up. Finally, when he was almost frozen, he decided to wait inside the club. He sat at a table by the window and looked out without saying a word to the people who asked him what he was doing. During the evening though, alcohol prevailed over his desire to find her and ended up sitting at the bar asking for another scotch.