Who is Sam?

Dreaded stars had faded from outside her window, and the wounded sun crept over the horizon bringing Sam consciousness and realization of the pungent smell filthing the ambient. She could feel the hardness of the floor separated from her by a cheap mutton, yet her head was spinning like a cursed roller coaster. It smelled of vomit, alcohol and sweat. 

She lifted her torso and turned her head, while her heart raced and her mind begged to find herself alone in those depressing chambers. She was alone, last night´s bloke should have already left, as usual. She wished she could remember him more clearly, all she could recall at the moment, was that he had a cute smile and that he knew a lot about Batman. Exactly why that had been a turn on last night, however, still slipped her unwoken self awareness.

Clumsily she stood up, so clumsily that she ended up banging her head against the wall closest to her: like hitting a bell with a mace, the room vibrated causing her nausea, she did her best to hold it back, but she couldn't help feeling that taint of acid deep inside her mouth.

Sam closed her eyes for an instant, trying to hold back her sickness and her tears. She bursted crying like an infant, she could feel something liquid dripping between her naked legs, made evident by the cold air that made those pallid drops feel like knifes tearing her skin. With her blurred vision she quickly scanned the room in search of a condom wrapping. How many fucking stupid things could she do in a single night!?

She covered her mouth in a futile attempt to silence her whimpering, as if anybody could listen to her in the desolation of her cheap and empty room. The chilling air of the night, not yet displaced by the rising sun, reminded her further of her own nudity. She tumbled into the bathroom, and trembling turned the light on, fearing the monstrosity she would find in the mirror. What little makeup she had had last night was now smeared like burn marks all over her face, a thin line of blood was running in front of her ear and dry crimson rubies circled her left nostril. She puked in the sink after a few minutes, at least this time she wasn't throwing up blood.

She sat in the toilet, looking down as the sound of running water echoed in the lifeless small apartment. Her petite pierced breasts were missing their rings and there were scratch marks over the tattoo of a tree to the left side of her abdomen. She left out a few more tears while grabbing a nearby scissor, she opened its blades as far as they would stretch, just like she did her legs last night, and used the edge to carve a long crimson stripe into of her right thigh. She made herself bleed at the end and smashed the tool of repentance against the wall, letting out a deafening cry, shaking her legs and pulling her hair. Why did she keep doing this shit!?

The morning sun began to pierce the shadows outside the bathroom, evidencing last night´s battlefield. She was tired of all this. It was fun at some point, it was fun when it was happening, when it all begun, but now she completely hated this, her labia hurt as bad as the day she lost her virginity, and god that brought back bad memories. She could barely feel the cold given how numb her body still was and now she feared having caught some weird disease she could probably not even pronounce. She slammed the side of the sink with her closed fist. Why was she so fucking stupid!? Why!? Her already inflamed eyes felt too big to fit inside her wounded skull.

She just gave up, she wanted to kill herself or… Well yeah… Kill herself, since she had already tried to put her life back on track three times before and they all ended with new shameful scars on her body. If only she wasn't a coward on top of stupid.

Her cellphone rang. She just wanted to have a simple life.

It rang again. She wanted to use her money on something else than lines, condoms and junk food.

It rang of a third time. For fuck sake! She just wanted a bed! She picked up the cheap cellphone that for some reason laid at the bottom of the shower next to her. The screen was broken, and it read “Camille”. 

Suddenly she noticed the sun had risen enough to light up her small apartment. Maybe it was finally time to stop faking strength, to get rid of the puny facade. Camille had been her best friend since high school, that kind of friend she didn't deserve, the kind of friend that doesn't turn her back on you no matter how many times you screw up, and yet she knew nothing about the Sam that now existed inside this bathroom of broken mirrors. 

She was like a lighthouse flung into the distance… She was… a story for another time… Sam hung the call and solemnly stood up to get dressed and get ready to march with the rhythm society for just another day.