It was the booming thunder that woke her up; otherwise she could've slept all day. Dragging herself out of bed, Mimi Marquez stumbled over to the large partially opened window, tripping on her flimsy cheetah print sheet on the way. Latching the window closed, Mimi sleepily walked back to her bed, stopping suddenly after catching her reflection in her full-length mirror.
She looked like hell and that, she believed, was being generous. Her mass of curly hair was wild, but not in the sexy, unkempt way. Her once vibrant eyes were bloodshot and the dark circles underneath them had been getting harder to conceal each day. Her skin was pale making her look sick and she had lost a drastic amount of weight recently; for the first time she noticed how much her ribs were sticking out. The biggest difference in her appearance, the one she loathed herself for, was starkly clear in the mirror.
The red, raw, track marks were beacons, drawing all sorts of unwanted attention towards her. To make matters worse she was a picker, any scab she had was immediately torn off, making the scarring worse. But the physical baggage from her habit was nothing compared to the emotional and mental baggage it came with.
Her drug use had become a messed up mind game. Every spare moment in her day was filled with thoughts of how to get more money to support her habit. No matter what it took to get extra cash, more hours at the club or favors for 'the man,' Mimi did them without hesitation. She could live with the physical and mental repercussions of her habit, but the emotional ones were beginning to weigh her down.
Mimi was a shell of the girl she used to be. She was lethargic most of the time and easily irritated, irrationally lashing out at anyone who even looked at her the wrong way. She hadn't been raised to end up this way.
"Chica," she forlornly pressed her hand to the glass, "what the hell happened to you?"
Mimi sadly walked back to her bed and collapsed. She wasn't sure exactly when her life became the sham that it was. There was a time when she had had real dreams and hopes and ambitions, but somewhere along the way they had took a backseat to life and survival.
Since the age of five she had wanted to be a prima ballerina, her parents had enrolled her in dance classes and she had excelled. Her father had always been her biggest supporter, but all of that changed when she had turned fifteen. A sudden heart attack stole her beloved father away from her, leaving her poor ill mother to take care of the two of them and to takeover all of his responsibilities.
Mimi understood where she could make the best money to do her part. The Cat Scratch Club had been an answer, albeit a weird one, to her prayers. She wasn't entirely sure knowing what she knew now and where choosing that path would lead her, that if given the opportunity again she would still take the job at the club.
Her life could've been so different…
She had dreamed of getting her high school diploma and a college degree. She had dreamed of a husband and a nice house in the suburbs. She had dreamed of opening her own dance studio and being able to teach her own daughter, or daughters, ballet. Just an average, happy, life that was all she had wanted and she had completely blown her chance at all of it.
Hastily wiping away stray tears, Mimi pulled her sheets, and the blanket her mother had knit her as a child, tighter around her body. All of this introspective thinking was making her depressed and she was already beyond exhausted, not to mention her high had long since worn off and her body was beginning to shake and sweat.
Closing her eyes, Mimi was slowly lulled to sleep by a mix of the steady rain against her window and the repeating song coming softly from the guitar in the apartment above hers.