Maybe Wrong, Maybe Right

Quinn

The heavens opened and rain poured down on the city, washing the filth in the streets away, and soaking me down to the bone within minutes.

The hot asphalt rapidly cooled down and steam rose up from the black top, making the air thick and heavy until it felt like I was trying to breathe under water.

I barely paid attention to any of the people rushing past me, looking for cover.

I needed to get to the shelter. Fast. When it rained, the beds filled up quickly, and they operated on a first come, first serve basis. There were other shelters in the city, but I preferred the woman’s only one – I felt safer there – and I never strayed too far from it.

The first time I had to go to a homeless shelter, I didn’t know what I was doing and ended up in a co-ed shelter where men and women slept in the same rooms without any supervisors to make sure the women wouldn’t be molested during the night.

I woke up with a filthy old man on top of me, running his slimy tongue up the side of my face while he fumbled with my jeans button, trying to find a way inside my pants.

My scream woke the entire shelter and the others pulled him off me, but I never went back to that place. I still felt squirrely inside when I thought about it.

My heart sank when I pushed the shelter door open and the familiar volunteer, Patty, shook her head at me. “Sorry sweetie,” she said. “All the beds are taken.”

I figured as much. “Do you mind if I just…stay until the rain passes?” I asked, my voice so soft that I could barely even hear myself.

I’d been on the streets for months now, and it still hurt to ask for charity but I had no other choice. It didn’t help matters that I was painfully shy and could barely speak to people. The only time I really shined and felt somewhat confident was back in my dancing days when I was on stage, but that was taken from me in an instant, just like everything else.

Life decided to teach me a harsh lesson: We were all just a fart and a bad day away from ending up on the streets.

“Let me see if I can figure something out,” Patty said. “Maybe we can rustle you up a meal or something.”

She gave me a smile that was both pitiful and sanctimonious at the same time. It screamed, ‘look at me, am I not a good person?’

Not that I had any kind of right to be self-righteous. I was at their mercy, and had to accept their alms with grace and a smile.

Patty returned ten minutes later, her whole face alight up with that same fake saint smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Come on, honey,” she said in a simpering tone. “I found you a spot.”

I followed the woman into the shelter to the dorm in the back.

The room was stark and bare, with flickering overhead lights that buzzed softly. There was no artwork, no colourful bedding, just dirty grey walls and a chipped white and black linoleum floor that reminded me of a chessboard. This was all we deserved. The scum, the dregs of society. A roof and a dirty bed. No more, no less.

The place stank of cheap booze, cigarettes, and unwashed bodies. Strictly speaking, no one was allowed to smoke and drink inside the dorm, but the smell clung to unwashed bodies like napalm.

It was the one thing I had been sorely tempted to do, but so far managed to avoid – I wanted to give in to something, anything, that would dull that constant, nagging hole in my stomach. All day, every day, it screamed at me, reminded me of what a failure I was.

As expected, the beds were all occupied. The women sat around chatting softly, sharing vital survival information like the best streets to panhandle, and which areas the cops were targeting this week.

Patty made a bed for me on the floor between two cots, and she was ever so proud of herself for doing it. She expected a hearty thank you and a pat on the back for her kindness. “I appreciate it,” I said softly.

“Oh, you’re welcome, honey,” she said and reached out to touch me, realised what she was about to do and quickly clamped her hands behind her back.

I wanted to scream and holler in her face that I wasn’t dirty or radioactive. That poverty wasn’t a contagious disease, but I just lowered my eyes and bit hard into my lip.

I threw my pack on the makeshift bed and tried to make myself comfortable on the thin mattress while I looked at my roommates for the night. A lot of the faces were familiar, but most of them didn’t pay any attention to me.

Even in here, in this place where we were all in the same boat and paddling up the same river of shit, I managed to make myself nearly completely invisible. I preferred it that way.

Patty came bustling back into the room with two helpers by her side. I didn’t look up, but followed their expensive shoes as they squeaked across the floor, “I think we can fit a few more mattresses in there,” she said and pointed to an empty spot next to the door that led to the toilets.

“Quinn?” a familiar voice asked. It was a voice I thought I'd never hear again. “What are you doing here?”

No.

My insides turned to water and I trembled with abject terror. I came to Haverton because no one here knew me. It was a big city. A place where I could disappear. In my wildest dreams, I did not expect anyone from my past to show up and find me here. Ever.

I lifted my eyes up to stare into the face of the young woman that used to torment me every day of the week for nearly three years straight. Caroline Hayes. She looked exactly as I remembered her, carefully styled, highlighted blonde hair, perfect make-up and all. The only that was missing was her cheerleader outfit.

She crouched in front of my mattress, resting her elbows on her thighs “What happened to you?” she asked softly. “One day you were just gone. We thought you went off to dance on the stages of Russia or something.”

“Or something,” I said and involuntarily glanced at my right foot stretched out in front of me.

“Imagine that,” she said with that same smug smile I saw on Patty’s face, “Prissy Princess Ballerina ended up in a homeless shelter.”

I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t handle her judgemental eyes on me. Her enjoyment at my misfortune so open on her face. I grabbed my pack and as quickly as I could limped out of the shelter.

Ignoring the shower from above, I picked a direction and blindly started to walk while digging around in my pack for a few coins. I never begged, but sympathetic shop owners would sometimes give me cleaning jobs, and I used that money to pay for my meagre needs.

There was a coffee shop not far from the shelter that didn’t mind serving homeless people, as long as we bought a cup of coffee. I could stay out of the rain for a few hours while I decided what to do next.

A hand clamped on my shoulder from behind. I screamed and spun around, ready to start swinging, but the moment I saw who it was all the fight left me. “What do you want from me, Caroline?”

“I just want to help,” she said, raising her voice so I could hear her above the rain.

I held my hand out over my brow, trying to shield my eyes against the rain. “Why do you want to help me?”

“Not here,” she said and pointed to a somewhat nicer coffee shop than the one I wanted to go to. “I’ll buy you a coffee.”

My first instinct was to decline. The Caroline I knew wasn’t a good person. I still remembered the day she stood up in the class, all dressed up in her blue cheerleader uniform, and loudly asked, “Why does Quinn think she’s better than all of us?”

Everyone in the class had an opinion, even Funny Freddie who was supposed to be my friend. I never thought I was better than any of them – if only they could see inside my head, they would have known that I never spoke because I was simply too afraid to open my mouth around them.

“Come on,” Caroline said and remarkably touched my upper arm. “Let me help. It’s the least I can do.”

I sighed and nodded. I hated this. I hated that I had to take other people’s hand-outs and pity. My life wasn’t supposed to turn out this way.

We entered the coffee house and went straight to a booth that offered us a little privacy. At least Caroline wasn't immune to water. With her smeared mascara and soaked hair, she looked as dreadful as I felt.

The waitress came right over and handed Caroline a small, warm towel. The young woman went right to work dabbing at her wet face.

I had to sit there dripping all over the place while the aircon blew full force on me, and slowly turned me into a popsicle. I wasn’t worthy of a towel. “What happened to your foot?” Caroline asked after she placed an order for two cappuccinos and two pieces of chocolate cake.

“I had an accident,” I lied. “I- I can’t dance anymore.”

“That’s a shame. I always thought you were such a good dancer.”

She had a strange way of showing it.

“Do you have a job?” she asked.

I shook my head. “I looked, but-” I shrugged.

“Yeah,” she sighed and leisurely dried her hair with the already damp towel. “This is a difficult place to live and work. You need to have connections.”

“Why were you at the shelter?” I asked. “You never struck me as the…volunteering type.”

“My sorority has to put in forty hours of volunteer work a month. I drew the short straw this week.”

I smirked but before I could say anything, the waitress returned with our coffees and cake. It had been a long time since I’d seen a piece of cake. It was forbidden food when I still danced, but I’d indulge every so often.

I tried my best to remember my manners as I dug the little fork into the spongy cake and popped a small bite of the bittersweet goodness into my mouth.

I hadn’t eaten since the night before, and my belly exploded with hunger as soon as the food touched my lips. My stomach rumbled loudly and I nearly started slobbering like a rabid dog.

If Caroline noticed, she didn’t say anything. “I know a guy,” she said at last and dropped her voice. “Gary. He can help.”

“Help how?”

“He can find you a benefactor. A man who’ll take care of you.”

“You mean sex work?” I whispered. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” Caroline asked in a huff. “Do you think you’re too good for it?”

I shook my head and took another bite of the chocolate cake, nearly moaning with pleasure as I rolled my tongue around it. “No. I think I’m not good enough. I don’t know how to do work like that.”

“Oh come on,” she snorted. “You practically fucked the whole football team when-”

“I didn’t,” I interrupted her softly. Any moment now, she was going to slap me for not knowing my place. “I’ve never had sex in my life. My mother would have killed me.” It was bad enough that my mom believed the rumours and not me. “I always thought you started that story.”

“Oh.” For the first time, Caroline looked a little contrite. “No. Freddie started the rumour, I just piled on. I thought you slept with Gage.”

Gage was her boyfriend and the captain of the Lacrosse team. He hated me as much as everyone else did. I had no idea why Caroline even entertained the notion that he’d sleep with me. “No,” I said at last, my voice a little husky from the tears brought on by the memory.

“Well,” Caroline said, "it doesn't matter anymore. We broke up after high school. It was a long time ago.” She dug a tissue out of her purse and handed it to me. “I’m sorry.”

As if that made up for everything.

My eyes darted to the other people in the coffee house. I took in their perplexed expressions. It confused them, seeing someone like me with a well-dressed and put together woman like Caroline. They didn’t even try to hide their frowns of disapproval or outright disdain for me. Others regarded me with pity, which was so much worse.

I couldn’t do this anymore. I couldn’t take it. Their eyes. It haunted me. “This- this job, the benefactor…how does it work?”

“Oh.” The blonde perked up. “You can’t tell anyone about this.”

“Who am I going to tell?” I asked. “I don’t know anyone.”

Caroline held two fingers in the air, indicating to the waitress that she wanted to two more coffees.

After the second round arrived, she started talking, and as she talked my mouth dropped open, nearly hitting my chest. I’d been in this city for a year, and I thought I knew every ugly thing it had to offer people like me. I was wrong.

“It’s a onetime thing?” I asked Caroline after she stopped talking.

She nodded and sipped her coffee, leaving the cake untouched. “If Gary approves you, yes. He prides himself on supplying only the most unique and interesting girls to his clients.”

“And how long do I…serve this man?”

“He only buys you for one night. If he wants you longer than that, he has to pay to keep you. Most of the girls are kept as side pieces, or sometimes used as companions…you know, arm candy.”

“I don’t think I qualify as arm candy.”

“Girl, what are you talking about? You’re gorgeous.”

Said the one who once asked me how much make-up I had to use to look like a human being and not a troll.

“Besides,” Caroline went on when I didn’t say anything. “The men who come to these auctions…they don’t want just another pretty girl next door, they can get that any time they want. They want someone different, someone unique. Someone like you.”

Someone like me? What the hell did that mean?

“Look,” she said when I still didn’t speak. “Just come with me, let Gary take a look at you. The worst he can do is say no. He’ll know for sure if you are auction material or not.”

My eyes swept across the room once more, taking in the people around me. Even the ones that looked bedraggled, dressed in clothes that had seen better days two years ago, regarded me with either distaste or the kind of understanding only others in my shoes had.

What Caroline suggested sounded like a risky arrangement. What if these men were dangerous and I ended up dead in a ditch somewhere?

Not that living on the streets, running from shelter to shelter, sleeping on bus stop benches or under bushes in the deserted park was any safer. My life dangled by a thread anyway, and every time the sun went down, I was at risk. It was only pure dumb luck that I’d made it this far.

It couldn’t do any harm just to let this Gary guy take a look at me, and it was no worse than what my mother had planned for me. “Okay,” I finally agreed.