Post by Jessimine Reeds on Jan 16, 2009 13:53:16 GMT -8
The lights were off, but the air conditioning was on high when she entered the little door with the number “two” displayed on it. No one had spoken to her yet, and she’d known her assignment, so she was happy to find her own way around. Her hair, way too red to be natural, glowed iridescent as the lights came on, and her flesh prickled along her arms at the sudden chill of the room. The outside was pleasantly warm for a girl from Vegas, and the sudden chill caught her off guard. The gooseflesh chased up her arms, around the series of knife scars and one gunshot wound to trace her shoulders and neck.
The room was bigger than her room at home, complete with bathroom. Through the paper-thin walls, she could hear a man and a woman talking. She hoped they didn’t keep her up at night fucking each other. That would be too much to ask her to bear. The other bed in the room hinted she might have company soon, so she got to work fast.
It was as if an imaginary line split the room, daring the next occupant to come closer to her. She shoved her clothing into drawers, mussed up her bed, pulled the blinds closed, and pulled out her knife. She had to get this done before anyone came in.
The hole she made in the wood on her headboard was almost a hands width wide, and couldn’t be seen unless someone moved her mattress. Into the small hole she deposited a wad of cash, two small flasks, a pack of cigarettes (emptied of tobacco and filled with weed), and a small pouch containing honest-to-god Indian peyote, the kind you couldn’t get unless you were an Indian, or knew one who happened to have a drug issue. That was for when things got tough. This was not Jessimine’s first rehab stint, and she knew all the survival guides. Now, it was time to lie down, save energy, and suck in as much of the cool air conditioning as she could.
The room was bigger than her room at home, complete with bathroom. Through the paper-thin walls, she could hear a man and a woman talking. She hoped they didn’t keep her up at night fucking each other. That would be too much to ask her to bear. The other bed in the room hinted she might have company soon, so she got to work fast.
It was as if an imaginary line split the room, daring the next occupant to come closer to her. She shoved her clothing into drawers, mussed up her bed, pulled the blinds closed, and pulled out her knife. She had to get this done before anyone came in.
The hole she made in the wood on her headboard was almost a hands width wide, and couldn’t be seen unless someone moved her mattress. Into the small hole she deposited a wad of cash, two small flasks, a pack of cigarettes (emptied of tobacco and filled with weed), and a small pouch containing honest-to-god Indian peyote, the kind you couldn’t get unless you were an Indian, or knew one who happened to have a drug issue. That was for when things got tough. This was not Jessimine’s first rehab stint, and she knew all the survival guides. Now, it was time to lie down, save energy, and suck in as much of the cool air conditioning as she could.