Viv:
The walls were dingy yellow.
Not paint. Stained. Nicotine soaked. Peeled at the corners from years of rot and too many nights that never saw daylight. I stared at them for hours, unmoving, the bedsheets scratchy and damp under my thighs. The carpet smelled like piss. The AC wheezed like it was begging for mercy.
And I couldn’t move.
My limbs were heavy. My mouth dry. There was music in the room next door, some kind of bass thump that kept time with my heartbeat. I wasn't sure how many days it had been. I wasn’t sure what day it even was. Just a haze of heat, sweat, strangers.
Men.
Always men.
I felt the ache between my legs before I felt the sting in my arm. The needle marks never faded fast enough. One shot to take the edge off. One more to keep me still. Quiet. Smiling.
God,
