Lost was something she felt all the time. How do you know what that one choice was that snowballed you into this inevitable reality? This fate where you’re sitting next to empty, greasy, Chinese take-out cartons and squishing ants under your fingers just to feel powerful for once. Stinky, nasty dirty floors. Moldy gray-green walls. Die, ants, die. She knew he was coming soon. She didn’t know what time it was, he had turned off her power, but the sun was finger painting the clouds. It couldn’t be long. If she tried hard enough she could remember a time when her life wasn’t like this. A time when she wasn’t giving hand-jobs to the chinese delivery boy for free cashew chicken, letting him paw pathetically at her nipples. A time when she wasn’t sleeping with the wiry, pit-stained manager of a failing motel chain in order to live in a room that smelled of cigarettes and cat piss. She remembered when she used to pretend to snorkel in the great barrier reef in a little wading pool in her backyard. She remembered eating pizza sandwiches and painting the dog’s toe nails sparkly pink, his wizened furry face filled with the kind of patience and understanding that humans can strive for but never reach. She ran her fingers against her scalp. They caught against her oily, thick tangles. She turned on the shower. She knew it was going to be painfully, dreadfully, tortuously cold. She deserved it. She watched her skin pucker and pop into goosebumps. She deserved it for smoking pot behind the bleachers with Jenny and Eric. She deserved it for sleeping with Susan’s boyfriend. She clenched her jaw. She deserved it for calling her mom a bitch. She deserved for leaving her family behind. For never calling no matter how many Christmas’ went past. The blood under her fingernails was turning a faint blue. She deserved it for traveling to this little shit town where no one even knew her real name. She deserved it for believing she could never escape her bad decisions. She wrenched the water off, the knobs giving a disgruntled screech. She desperately rubbed life back into her limbs. The towel smelled like it had been wrapped around a dead alligator in the musty bowels of a Florida basement. The sky was a deep pool of ink. The MOTEL light came through the window and stained the carpet. More accurately it was the OT L light. She opened the bottom drawer in the lopsided desk in the room. She peeled a manila envelope off the bottom of the drawer. Inside was almost two hundred dollars she had collected doing obscure little jobs. Mowing Jerry’s lawn twenty two blocks North. Begging Harold in Tina’s Diner to let her do the dishes. Walking old Mrs. Rosewood’s aging miniature poodle. Such hard earned money. So many months to collect something that in the grand scheme of things seemed so small. Tears puddled into the deep pockets of her lower eye lids. The salty burn was purifying in a way. She peeled what must once have been a white top sheet off the bed. She twirled into into a long rope, fashioned it into a noose and hung it from a hook in the ceiling. She felt a her heart swell up into her throat. She was scared. But she had made her decision. She ripped the last page out of the Bible in the top drawer. She grabbed a pen and wrote a note. And then she said goodbye.
When he barged into room number 8 he was in for a surprise. A makeshift noose hung from the ceiling. He stared in disbelief for a moment before checking the room. She was gone. On the desk was a note.
Dear Stephen,
I hung the part of me that didn’t believe in myself. I hope you go under along with this shit hole.
Margaret
Ps. You smell awful.
I had to reread the end. Nice job!