I just want you to know who I am...

Weirdly, I just found this while tinkering around the stuff I have saved on the college network. It kind of runs out of steam near the end. Please don't laugh at the names! I want to keep it as original as possible, as it's too stale now to go back to. I might have a go at rewriting the whole thing but keeping the idea. Enjoy!



They say not to talk to strangers. But put yourself in my shoes. He was sent to kill me on her orders, what options did I have? What else was there for me to do? The police weren’t an option; she’d know I was still living. She would know he had betrayed her, and I wasn’t prepared to put his life in danger. It was the right thing to do.

It makes it easier to think about, to talk about if I make it so any other option would have ended worse than this one.

I suppose I should start from the beginning, when things were normal. Well, normal for me. We were in love, me and Rae. Of course, she had no idea about that. We kept it to ourselves, it was exciting. “Our little secret.” He would whisper in my ear as he pulled me inconspicuously behind a door or a curtain. We were happy then. It hurts to think we might still be happy if – No. I mustn’t think about it, I refuse to let myself pull open that wound.

I digress. We were happy together. Endless nights would pass with us planning our escape. Talking and hoping that one day we would be free of her hold. That one day our love wouldn’t be a secret.

She was my employer, my landlord and my provider. Not a mother. Never a mother or even a guardian. Just a warped imitation of someone who should care for you. She found me work, made sure everything went smoothly, made sure I wouldn’t get hurt and that my ‘clients’, as she called them, were sane, or at least clean. My real name was Airlyeth but my ‘clients’ called me Snow. Ironic that I should be called something so pure and innocent when I was, in fact, a prostitute, nothing more than a whore. It doesn’t matter how you dress it, how you sugar it to become something higher class and somehow morally right. I sold my body, pure and simple. She was the person who did the selling and the person who saw the money. What I got was a roof over my head, a place to sleep at night and food to eat. I should’ve been grateful. But I snapped. Wouldn’t you? It gnawed away in a fragile place in the back of my mind until I couldn’t do the sordid thing any longer. I remember it happening so vividly. I lay there planning it all. I wasn’t going to do it anymore, I was worth more. All these thoughts swirling none stop. I wasn’t thinking about dooming me and Rae. I just wanted out.

The door opened and I sat up. He was a businessman, they usually were. Grey suit, novelty tie their children brought them for Christmas. I tried not to think about that part. Instinctively I clocked his wedding ring but I didn’t want to think about his wife at home, it revolted me. He must have said a couple of things to me, I don’t remember what. I was sweating even though I was hardly wearing anything. I wanted it over with. He sat next to me and my blood boiled. He was 40, if not older, he had a family; he had a wife, why was he not happy with the things he had? I stopped thinking then. As he forced himself on top of me I forced the knife into his stomach. His eyes bulged as the air left him in a soft whooshing sound and blood started to flow over my hand and onto me. Panicking, I hauled him off me. It was hard to do but I somehow found a reserve of strength inside of me. He rolled onto the floor, a croaking sound coming from somewhere deep inside his throat. I stopped on my way to the door, looking at him. Contempt washed over me; he deserved it I told myself. I still believe this now but the guilt hides in the cracks of my argument. I could have taken anyone’s life and it would have still felt like my own.

This might not explain anything to you. In my head I’m trying to make sense of why and how things turned out like they did. This isn’t for anyone’s benefit but my own. It’s selfish. I’ve come to understand and accept that I am selfish. If I hadn’t have been so consumed in myself I might’ve stayed and me and Rae would still see each other. I can’t believe how wrong things went.

He came to me. He kissed me. I remember him explaining that she had sent him to find me and kill me. He cried. He cried so hard and I wanted to hold him but he wouldn’t let me. He kept shaking his head, asking why I had done it? why I had ruined everything? I got so angry. Why had I done it? I practically screamed in his face. I had done it because I was scared and angry and fed up of having to do what I was doing. Could he not understand that?
Evidently not.

He walked away. He left me standing there all on my own, to salvage something out of the wreckage of my life.

So I wandered through the city. Looking for something to do, someway to maybe change things. That’s when I met Gee. He was 30, long black hair, awful dress sense but an overwhelming charm to him. He wasn’t Rae, no, he would never be Rae. But he was someone to turn to, someone to take care of me. Or so I thought.

Gee took me to live with him, he didn’t care about my past. He said that those sorts of things are better left untouched. I agreed. His flat was dark, damp, and dingy. I didn’t think much of the tin foil or the spoons strewn on the floor. I thought he was just messy. Until I saw him shooting up on the kitchen floor. I wanted to walk out but my legs wouldn’t get into gear. I didn’t want to a part of that. But he grabbed my arm, he was frantic, his eyes wild and sweat running down his forehead. Stay, he whispered, stay please. I shook my head and turned away. Seeing this change come upon him pity rolled over me in waves. I stayed; what a mistake. That night he offered me some of his ‘stuff’, it hurt to think about Rae, to think about what I had lost and he assured me that it would help me forget, that he could see the pain in my eyes and that this would take it all away. I believed him and I nervously held out my arm as he slid the syringe into my skin. I don’t remember much of my first trip, in fact, I only remember words and numbers flashing in front of my head, and of course the face of the man I had killed. Rather than take it away, it amplified it.

Ciao.
xoxo