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This dead girl was beautiful too. What can I say? I like pretty things. Even when they’re wrapped in shit, I can see the beauty beneath the initial layer of grime. Those are my kinds of women—tarnished but waiting to be polished to a shine. And once she’s nice and shiny, I dirty her all over again.
Well, that’s what I usually do. I enjoy cleaning them up and making them look nice before I end them, but I was overtaken by anger with this one and kind of skipped that step. Some might say I spend too much time on these bitches when I just plan to kill them in the end, but I can’t keep them. They hate me. They’d run off the moment they could, and that isn’t an option. You don’t stay out of prison and avoid getting caught by letting them live. They all gotta die.
Whining at my feet draws my attention. Pup’s tail thumps against my legs. Her half-curled ears flick back and forth as she listens to the scurry of a nocturnal creature in the bushes. We’re far enough away from the road that we can hear the sounds of nature instead of tires humming on asphalt. The muscles beneath her fur tense, and I grab her collar to stop her from going after the fading sounds scuffling through the leaves. I don’t want her running off. She’s the only thing in my life that has remained consistent.
“Let’s get back in the truck, Pup.”
Now that I’m done burying that girl, I let the hum in my head intensify. I squint my eyes against the growing buzz in my brain. If he wants to come out now, he can. He can provide a break from my evil thoughts. My ailing mind.
After all, isn’t that what I created him for?
Chapter Two
Aurora
I shield my eyes and head toward the building as horns blare at me. Black smoke billows from the tall exhausts attached to the massive trucks. A truck stop isn’t exactly the safest place for a girl on her own, but what choice do I have? I’m trying to get across the country.
I was born in New York, but I chose to attend college in California. So many brazen dreams and wild hopes filled my head then, and for the first few semesters, things were fine. I did well in my classes and though I mostly kept to myself, I had a budding social life. Yes, things were just fine.
Until they weren’t.
My parents believe I’ve graduated and am living my best life because that’s what I told them the last time we spoke. In reality, I dropped out and have been on a steady decline. I stopped answering their calls, and once my phone was stolen, avoiding them became the least of my worries.
I have no source of steady income, and I’m down to a measly twenty, ten of which I’m about to spend so I can take a hot shower. To make more money, I’ll have to go on “dates.” What little I earn quickly dwindles away once I pay for food and showers. At least the rides from one truck stop to the next are free. Well, I guess they aren’t, since I technically pay for them with my body.
Jazz music floats from the overhead speakers the moment I step through the glass doors and enter the truck stop. I stop and listen to the familiar tune and realize it’s a gaudy rendition of “Careless Whisper.” Now I feel like I’m in an elevator filled with racks of snacks and coolers of beer and soda.
Gripping the backpack strap digging into my right shoulder, I meander toward the counter, where an elderly woman peers at me beneath a mess of white curls. The way her pinched lips curve inward, I can tell she has no teeth. Or if she does, there aren’t enough left to push her mouth into a proper shape.
“I need a shower,” I say as I slide a ten across the counter.
She lifts the bill and holds it up to the light, then opens the register drawer and slides the money inside. A receipt prints out, and she hands it to me. “The code’s on there. Don’t dillydally, and we don’t allow men and women in there together.”
I normally say thank you because it’s just good manners, but this old hag can go choke on her remaining teeth for all I care. Sex work is work, and her judgment isn’t needed.
Clutching the short strip of paper in my hand, I head toward the showers so I can wash away the travel grime. I punch the code into the keypad, and the door unlocks. Once I’m inside, I fasten the deadbolt and turn toward the shower without looking in the mirror. I don’t want to see myself right now. I don’t want to see myself until I’m clean, when my wavy auburn hair isn’t slick with grease and my clothes aren’t sticky with sweat.
I’m looking forward to this shower way more than anything. If someone gave me the choice between a steak dinner and a ten-minute shower, I’d ignore the growl of my stomach and head straight for the running water.
There’s only one downside to showers, which is all the thinking I’ll do while I mindlessly wash myself.
I step beneath the water, and thoughts begin to circle my mind like the cloudy mess circling the shower drain. Why am I even heading home? To come face to face with my parents’ disapproving looks? They think I’m this very successful twenty-four-year-old political student graduate, but in reality, I’m a whore. There’s no other way to describe what I do. When they find out the truth...
Warm water slides down my back, gliding over a bruise on my left shoulder. The last trucker got a little too rough, but I’ve been through worse. Thankfully, not all the men are mean. The super truckers are a whole different breed. They’re the kind of men who live and breathe trucking. They take care of themselves, they take care of their trucks, and for the most part, they’re very respectful.
The last guy was not a super trucker.
I stick my hand beneath the shampoo dispenser and collect the gel in my palm. Rubbing my hands together, I form a lather and run it through my hair. Grime collects within the suds and flows down my body, taking the weight of the world with it as well.
I feel more human when I’m clean. More like myself. For this moment, I’m alive and healthy, despite the clenching hunger in my gut. I can ignore that gnawing pang, close my eyes, and pretend I’m at home, just taking a normal shower.
I can pretend the incident in my dorm never happened.
I can pretend I have loving and understanding parents.
I can pretend I graduated and became an advisor at the state department or joined some up-and-coming politician’s team.
I can pretend I’m safe.
