Candi (a short story)

[TRIGGER WARNING: graphic sex scene]

Her name was Candy- except with an 'i.' That's what she told people to be cute- “except with an 'i.'” The cuter you acted the more likely they were to buy. No- her name was not really Candi. Her name was Andrea- Andrea...Andi...Candi. That was how she had arrived at the name- the name she told her clients. Andrea blew air through her nose like a short laugh. It had not been a laugh. Clients? Was that an attempt at humor? No- it was an attempt at denial.

Andrea stared out the smudged window of this apartment. It faced a dark city street. She stared. She didn't look. There wasn't much to look at. A tingle suddenly went through her, like the chill of a fever. It manifested as a vibration and lingered in her hands and feet. Her legs moved restlessly. Then it stopped. Shit. How long had it been? More than twenty four hours. She felt sick. A runny nose was next. Andrea rubbed at her nose instinctively. It was dry. She put her hand down and stared out the window again. A bird flew into view. Andrea watched it glide down. She saw it pick something from the sidewalk then fly to the branch of a tree. She could see the nest. She continued to watch as the bird tried placing the thing into the nest, amongst the sticks. It was building. The thing fell from the nest back to the ground below. The bird dove, retrieved the thing, then flew back to its nest. It again attempted to place it in with the sticks and grass but it again fell to the ground. The bird dove down again and picked it up. The bird pecked at the nest, trying to make the thing stay but to no avail. It fell again. Andrea watched as this happened a few more times, until she grew bored. She turned away from the window.

Andrea walked across the small apartment. 'Small' was an overstatement- a gross exaggeration. It's okay, I won't be here much longer. She hoped at least. No- she knew. Knowing this, Andrea glanced at the glass jar atop the counter. There was a label taped to the side. The jar was turned so that she couldn't quite read it from this angle, but she knew what it said. She walked to it and saw the dollars and coins near the top. The jar was about three quarters full. It was colored a collage of silver and green- some brown.

She closed her eyes for a second and imagined. She opened her eyes. Andrea turned to the mirror behind and above it. Leaning in, she looked at her face, touching it gently with her hands. Her skin wasn't as taut as it had been when she was younger. It had a few premature wrinkles. It drooped slightly under her eyes. She needed more sleep. She doubted she would get any. She looked again at the jar on the counter. She would eventually. A smile crept onto her face for a split second before she again turned to the mirror.

Her dark hazel eyes appeared sunken. She stretched the skin around them with her fingers. She stood up straight and looked at herself as a whole- her petite frame. One might say unhealthy. Her dress hung loosely from it. She imagined a time in the future when she could fill it out more- when she wouldn't have to wear this dress at all. She adjusted her hair so it was straight. It pulled slightly at her hair underneath. She assured herself that she looked fine- that she looked 'sexy.' Then she left.

Candi walked out the front door of the shitty brick building she called home. The sounds of the surrounding city met her. They crashed together- no cohesion, just noise.

    Sirens.

Candi walked on. Her high heels clattered clumsily on the concrete sidewalk. She heard that too, but she did not listen. She was somewhere else. The scene played in her mind as if she was there. No, she was there. She saw everything.

    Shouting.

Andrea could see the beautiful brick streets busy with people walking. She could hear her own feet- elegant heels, rhythmic on the brick. The people were illuminated by the beautiful shop lights and the dim orange glow of the city lamps.

    A baby cried and screamed.

Andrea could feel the crisp night air hit- no, caress, her face. She could taste its cleanliness- its purity.

    Somewhere down an alley two men were fighting. Their grunts and skidding shoes echoed down- bouncing off the brick and metal until they escaped to the open street.

She could hear the people chatting- a beautiful cluster of languages which danced into her ears. She could hear the collective shuffle of footsteps of the pedestrians. They were enjoying this dreamy night just like her. Andrea smiled at them as they walked past her. They smiled at her. We are all just enjoying this peaceful night.

    A gun shot.

Andrea jumped. Her eyes momentarily widened. Goddamn it. You've heard a gunshot before haven't you. Another gun shot echoed. Candi did not jump this time. She adjusted her dress. The sequins caught the white light of the street lights for a second- not even. The street light itself flickered and buzzed. Its glow faded. Candi looked back up to the dark street ahead of her. Her eyes adjusted.

Candi could see the light ahead- the bright glow of liquor stores, strip clubs, and shitty bars. This was Candi's city. This dark, dirty place. She walked through it, coaxed by the bright lights. The constant click of her heels on the hard concrete continued. She felt each pinpoint collision vibrate through the bone of her heel, through her ankle, radiating into her leg and body. And suddenly she felt slimy wetness on her upper lip. It's creeping out of you. She could feel it slowly roll out of her nostril down the skin of her upper lip, over the hairs. She should have waxed. Fuck, who cares? They certainly wouldn't. She rubbed her nose. The fluid stuck to her index finger. Shit- she wiped her it on her dress. Cramps would be next.

Candi walked into the light. She looked down the long city street, colored with the neons of thousands of buzzing signs. Cars drove by. Their collective mechanic drone hung in the air. People walked back and forth. She walked with them. Each new light hit her face and bounced off her dress- yellow, green, red, blue, violet. She could feel her pupils contract and dilate with each new glaring color followed by the inevitable moment of dark. Yes, this was her city too- these lights so bright they weren't even real. Candi sighed. No one smiled at her.

Where Candi stood now was considerably darker, and quieter. She could actually hear the hum of the few lights and signs that lit this area. It was colder here too, or maybe it was just the chills. She crossed her arms against the breeze- against her own cravings. Andrea welcomed the wind. It was warm. The cafe she stood in front of bustled with nightgoers who chatted and conversed over hot coffee and tea. Old buildings sat across the street. She could hear its patrons talking and laughing- probably with glasses of wine or champagne in their hands.

    A car's engine rumbled.

Candi saw the dim street. A car came from the side street behind her. She heard it first, then watched as it swung to the curb and slowly rolled to a stop next to her. She took a step toward it- an old car. Its paint had chipped off and its metal body was rusted. She saw herself in the reflection of the driver's window. It rolled down. A man grinned at her from behind it.

    “Hey baby, what's your name?”

    “Candy... with an 'i,'” she said.

They liked it when you were cute.

    “Aren't you adorable!” He grinned. She saw his yellow teeth.

    “I try,” she played.

    “Well, why don't you hop in and we'll see how adorable you can be.”

Candi stepped off the curb.

The car pulled into the alley. It glowed a sickly yellow-green from dirty backdoor lights. The inside of the car briefly glowed the same as they slowly passed under each. Candi adjusted the bottom of her dress. The car came to a stop at the back. He moved the shifter into park and looked at Candi. Their eyes met for a second. She quickly looked out the front windshield to the dimly lit brick wall ahead.

    “Where do you wanna do it?”

    “We'll go in the back seat.”

She opened the passenger door and slid out. Closing it behind her she turned to the back door and looked over the top of the car. A green dumpster sat idly against the wall- its mouth agape, open wide to a black void Candi couldn't see into. She got into the back of the car. The man got in behind her and shut the door. Its thud shook the car. Candi waited while he undid his belt and pants and slipped on the condom.

    “Face forward.”

She did. She could hear him move to kneel on the seat. She could feel its worn and ripped leather on her knees and hands. She waited.

Candi felt him inside her- forceful. Her body jerked forward with every thrust. His penis prodded painfully into her each time. It was not human. Her muscles contracted against it uncomfortably. As if triggered by this, Candi's stomach began to twist in a cramp. She didn't need this now, not now. All the while she could hear his heavy breathing- his grunts. His hands gripped her waist hard. She could feel the pads of his fingertips press into her skin- into her muscle, what little there was at least. They gripped the hard bone of her pelvis. His penis continued to push into her. Candi could only stare out the back passenger door window into the alley- the dumpster slowly disappearing behind a layer of condensation. She watched as a bead of water ran down the glass. It meandered as it went, rolling around other droplets. She watched as it-

    “Make some noise bitch. Make this shit interesting, aye.”

    Pushing.

    Pushing.

    Inhuman.

Candi mustered enough air into her lungs. It hurt her aching stomach. Then she began to moan. She moaned the way she thought men thought a woman was suppose to moan. Each uncomfortable thrust was accompanied by a high pitched, nasally groan. Candi made sure.

    “That's better.”

    Prodding.

Candi saw the water on the glass- a hazy sheen. She felt a droplet of moisture roll from the inner corner of her eye. It ran down her cheek and broke on her lower lip- salty. Candi closed her eyes. The harsh grunts became measured breaths. Her nasally moans became sighs of pleasure- to her, only her. They were in love. She didn't know him, not yet. This was love.

    Pushing.

Andrea could picture the beautiful steel structure in the distance, out her apartment window. It was bathed in white from spotlights which fought the starry sky. She could see the red and white dots of car lights stream around it. Yes, this was love- human. She could feel it.

    Thrusting.

Andrea held on to that feeling- that hope, of real love, all the while seeing the beautiful view. She could see the streets of Paris alive at night with all those pretty lights. She could see the Eiffel Tower, its god- her god. She was there. Her body moved with the slow rhythm of her lover. His patience washed away all the pain. He was caring. He was gentle. He was-

    Harsh.

Candi felt him push into her faster and faster. His penis drove harder into her, the discomfort increasing. His grunting increased in volume. She increased the volume of her own moaning. Her lips tasted of salt and were wet with nasal fluid. Her cheeks felt damp. She knew she wasn't sweating.

    “Oh fuck, yeah”

His fingers left her waist but she could still feel their residual pressure on her flesh and bone.

    “Goddamn yes”

    Faster.

    Harder.

Candi suddenly felt his hand grab her hair. She was about to protest, but it was too late. With a final climactic shove, and last loud groan, he slammed his pelvis into her. Candi fell forward, her head hitting the glass of the window with a thud, followed by the screech of the condensation as her forehead slid against it. She felt too the tug of her hair as it pulled free from her wig.

Her face now crammed against the hard interior of the door, Candi heard the man begin to chuckle. Choked and throaty at first it quickly became a full, harsh laugh. Candi could only glance out the corner of her eye, but she could see him there, belt and pants undone, his cock still erect, condom still on. Her wig was in his hand and he was laughing.

    “Well, fuck! I bet that don't happen much does it?!”

Candi braced her arms under her for leverage, pushing her legs under her until she sat on her calves. Then she swung her legs in front of her so she could sit. Opening the door with one hand, she grabbed the wig from his and got out of the car.

She turned to look at him- shirt and face drenched with sweat, pants still open, penis now only semi-erect, the condom now a limp and loose cover... like your dress. Shut the fuck up. Andrea slammed the door. She walked down the sick alley, past the open dumpsters. She pulled at the bottom of her dress until it wouldn't pull anymore, its straps straining against her shoulders- taut. Her stomach and muscles were now aching rhythmically. Andrea began to cry.

She walked home quietly. Her heels were held in her hands now. Her bare feet pressed against the cold ground. The impacts of the hard concrete on her heels caused a dull pain but Andrea did not care. It was overshadowed by the ache of her body, and it was better than hearing the clack of her heels. The quiet of her shitty neighborhood slowly returned as she walked farther and farther away from the busy, bright streets- kept alive by liquid neon. It was behind her now.

Andrea could no longer take the chills. She could no longer take the cramps and aches. She could no longer take the restlessness. Most of all, she couldn't take this goddamn city and everything that came with it. Yes, it's okay- just one more time, just to make it all go away. She knew she wouldn't be here much longer anyway.

Andrea approached the door of the worn brick apartment building. It was barely lit by a flickering overhead light. A fly circled it frantically- coaxed by it. She saw it approach then fly away. Then approach again. Finally it flew into the flicker with an electric zap. Andrea entered the building and walked up the stairs. Each step caused a resonating pain in the muscles of her legs.

Andrea was grateful to be in the room, but now she needed to go home. She could still feel the moist trails left behind on her cheeks as she closed the door to everything behind her and let her weight collapse against it. Seeing the small shitty apartment Candi called home, Andrea began to cry again, renewing the trails from before- making new ones. Her soft whimpers were the only sound in this place. Andrea heard herself- felt herself in this place. She couldn't take this anymore.

She counted the cash from the night. It wouldn't be enough. She opened a small purse hanging on the back of a chair- nothing. With sudden guilt she looked at the jar that sat on her table. A sad sigh went through her. Her body suddenly felt weaker. She walked to the jar and just looked at it. It'll be fine. She'll just save double tomorrow. She'll buy one less meal. She'll work an hour longer. Yeah, it will be fine. She reached inside and took several bills. Making sure it was enough she turned and walked out the door. The guilt did not stay in.

It returned when the door closed behind Candi as she walked into her apartment- trailing but never leaving. She sat down on her bed by the window. She could see out to the tree and street. She began the process that would take Andrea away- take her home.

The needle stung as it drove into her skin- into her muscle. She looked at the quarter full jar atop the counter. Lying down now, she could read it's label- written in dark black marker. It read 'for Paris.' It's okay. It'll be okay. Her eyes became wet with tears. Someday. Andrea closed her eyes and let the heroin run through her. Her body lost all its weight. Her jaw went slack- mouth agape. She felt the redeeming euphoria wash through her, cleansing her. She forgot about the sirens. She forgot about the dirty alleys. She forgot about the discomfort and pain. She forgot it all. Now she remembered. She remembered memories that never happened. They will. Someday. Candi imagined someday.