Okay, third chapter. Thanks to anyone who reviewed. Might post the next one soon.
A year passed. I received no contact from parents. If anyone asked about them, I said they were dead, because they might as well be.
I changed, but it seemed it was only on the surface. I went from playing the innocent girl to smoking and wearing trashy clothes like the other girls. I curled my blond hair, applied some bright red lipstick, curled my lashes and headed out. Monica was waiting for me in the car, along with the other girls. It wasn't every night that we piled into the small car. Tonight was a fun night, and if we had 'an opportunity' we were supposed to take it anyway, but we most likely wouldn't, as we wouldn't be flirting tonight.
I still didn't drink. I refused to make a fool of myself. Smoking was different. It eased my nerves and made me look like a force to be reckoned with. It's a necessity to look like you can at least put up a fight when you do what I do and go where I go.
I had donned a red halter, some old torn jeans, and a leather jacket for this occasion. These were the garments that were most comfortable, and since it was a fun night, we didn't need to dress up for the men.
I hung around outside of the bar, leaning on the brick wall and smoking a cigarette, watching with a mild curiosity as the smoke floated up into the night air. Only a few weeks ago it had been the anniversary of my arrival. The girls celebrated by decorating a cake for me. I liked them, they liked me, but I still wasn't happy. The weeks passed by even more dreadfully slow as I allowed the past to infiltrate my thoughts. Did my parents ever think of me? Did they miss me?
The foul stench of alcohol wafted towards my nose as I spotted the silhouette of a male stumbling aimlessly across the street, heading my direction. The whirring sound of a car's engine became louder as the vehicle approached, and I realized that the man was far too drunk to make it across in time.
I bounded out into the road, several feet in front of the man, waving my hands in the air madly. The car screeched to a halt. A man poked his head out the window and shook his fist at me.
"There's a man here," I explained breathlessly, "hold on a moment."
I timidly approached the staggering figure, knowing well the precautions to take around a drunk. I saw, in the light of a street lamp, that he was very young, possibly around my age. He looked rough, so I made myself wary. He didn't seem to be carrying a weapon, I noted with relief.
"Can you hurry? Someone's waiting…"
"Dammit! My foot!" he muttered angrily. I glanced down to see it dragging on the concrete.
"Let me help you," I offered in a kind, patient voice.
He didn't seem to want to comply, but he did anyway. I rushed to help him over to the other side, and once we were there, I instructed him to sit down. He collapsed before I could finish my sentence.
"Oh dear," I whispered as I set him up to lean against the wall. There were bruises and cuts on his face. I whimpered a little as I recalled the night I had been found in a similar state. I had to help him.
I parted through several groups of people who were conversing and found Monica chatting with the bar tender. She had an extensive knowledge of wines, apparently. I would've stood there and listened with a dumbfounded expression if I wasn't doing something at the moment.
I tapped her shoulder, my eyes growing big as she turned to glare.
"I found someone, he's hurt, I…"
"Just a drunk darling, he be okay."
"No, I want to help him." I pressed.
"Why?" she beseeched. "Why tonight?"
I cringed as her sharp accent began to come out. Whenever she was angry, it was very apparent. Sometimes she even hollered out a string of Spanish swear words at us. Her patience was endless at times, others her fuse was very short.
She sighed and gathered up the other girls. The twins had already acquired a ride home. Only Adriana was forced to go with us, and she wasn't happy about it.
"Why are we doing this?" she grumbled to Monica, shooting a brief glance of anger at me. We hauled the unconscious boy into the backseat.
"Dree, you know what she went through. You saw her. It's understandable that she wants to help this kid. Let her. She'll learn." I heard Monica explaining in a quiet voice as we road home. I sat in the back, staring worriedly at the young man, pretending I didn't hear her.
After we dropped Adriana off, there was only me and Monica to carry the boy up, and it wasn't an easy task. Somehow we managed. Monica was not a weak woman, I knew this, and it only gave me a reason to admire her more.
We set him on the couch, since we did not have a bed to spare.
"His foot," I began, "he hurt it somehow."
"I don't know too much of tending to injuries."
I pulled his shoe off and examined his ankle. It seemed to be nothing more than a sprain, but it was a serious one. His ankle swelled worst than I had seen in my lifetime, but then again, I hadn't witnessed too many injuries besides the ones in my books.
"Monica, can you get some ice?" I requested. She nodded and left the room. I took a pillow and elevated his foot, carefully studying his features to see that I caused no pain. He did not stir. I sighed with relief.
Monica returned with a bag of ice. I took it from her and placed it on the swollen ankle. Then I stood back to get an overview of what we were dealing with. The rest of his injuries were only minor cuts and bruises. He must've gotten away before anything else could be done, and maybe tripped in the effort, I surmised.
"You done this before?" Monica assumed questioningly.
"I was studying to be a nurse." I admitted. "My dad ended up losing my college savings."
It was the first time I had mentioned anything about my life since she had first found me. Monica smiled weakly and gave me a hug, petting my head as she did so.
"One day you'll make enough money to get into college." She assured affectionately.
"I hope so."
We said goodnight. I washed my face, put on my gown, and went to sleep after briefly checking on my patient. I observed that he had a mass of blond hair, and wore roughed up jeans with a white tee that had too many stains to be white. Monica had removed his jacket and placed it on the back of the sofa. I didn't have to smell it to know the familiar scent of sweat, booze, and smoke mixed all together into a bittersweet aroma.