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filled with poison(but blessed with beauty and rage)

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Somehow she always fucking ends up like this.


The bouncer didn't care how fake Carmen's ID was, as long as she slipped him a Jackson in his pocket. Carmen had been dancing when one of the bartender girls, with their platform boots and black dyed hair, approached her and gave her a drink someone sent over. The victim was a balding thirty-five year old who probably had a wife at home and came to this goth club to 'explore a different scene' and poach girls young enough to be his daughter.


Carmen didn't give a fuck. He'd lavish her with drinks and when he'd get starry eyed and when his tongue will become too thick for his mouth and words will become garbled non-sense, she'd pull him close, batting her fuck-me hazel eyes and dip her hand in his pocket, pull out his wallet and 'go to the bathroom to freshen up' and the poor old bastard will go home to an earful from his wife and empty pockets.


This time around, the pathetic bastard grabbed her wrist and pushed her off him and as everyone was too drunk to notice or simply didn't care to help her as he was threatening her, calling her a thieving whore and a prostitute, she had to wriggle out of his grasp and make a beeline for the bathroom, where she is currently puking up cheap liquor and the two biscuits she ate for lunch.


A lighter clicks and that's when Carmen notices him, sly as a cat, features odd and harsh but still intoxicating under the white bathroom light. It's cliche but he does look like the type of guy Mother would warn her to stay from or she'll end up like Aunt Hilda, a single mom and ex-communicated from the family, removed from the will.


She immediately gets up, holds on to her purse, ready to dig her nails in his eyes if she has to because she does know him, she's seen him talk to John, the blonde owner with smudged red lipstick and the other one, with long black hair and different colored eyes but no one with pure intentions would sneak in the women's. Of course not, this was a cesspool of junkies and fetishists, raving and fucking on the stairs until the MDMA wears off and they'd sway, glass eyed, like they were all sharing in their fucking misery.


"What the fuck are you doing here?" she yells at him but the guy just fixes his long raven hair in the mirror and tsks.


"Maybe you are dizzy from puking up your guts, princess, but you do know this is the men's bathroom?" he says and picks up the fake ID, flicking it to get the coke residue off and turns to her, a look of genuine concern on his face. "You don't belong here. You should go down to the arcade, have some fun with people your age."


"I am old enough to be here. Give me my ID back."


"No, Elizabeth. You're whatever age I was when I'd sneak in here to score blow."


"Just give me my ID back." she sighs, defeated. The comedown is already hellish, almost makes her want to go home, fall down to her knees in front of Mother and promise that she'd be the perfect model debutante daughter, that'd she'd go back to that ridiculous overpriced boarding school and she doesn't need this guy and his fake concern but he just blinks at her, his lashes going one-two-three with her heart. When he just turns to the mirror, periodically taking a long drag of his cigarette , Carmen just slides down to the floor, all the fight leaving her body. "Will you at least tell me your name?"


"It's Trent." he says with an easy smile before he turns to the mirror, as if he's waiting on someone. "What's yours? Your real one."

"My Christian birth name?" she teases. "Carmen."

"And how old are you really? I promise I won't tell Tim."

"You already care about me?"


"No, Twigs, the guy at the door, is my friend and if I tell Tim he's letting in underage girls, his ass is toast."

"I'm seventeen."


They stay in comfortable silence, as he takes a drag, making O shapes with the smoke until she snaps at him to stop, he was going to stink up her red dress. The leather jacket he's wearing is ratted so he must not come from money like her. There are dark circles under his green eyes, his body on the verge of being dangerously thin and she wonders if he's impatient for his next bump or fix and gets her answer when someone knocks on the door. The guy-Trent- grabs her elbow and whispers to her to hide in the stall.


"Where the fuck have you been? It's been an hour, other people are looking for me." Trent snarls but the guy takes out a wad of cash and slips it in his pocket.

"That enough?"

"For two grams." Trent says and pull out a baggie full of dope, as Carmen tries to slow down her beating heart, balancing herself on the toilet. The guy takes a bump with his car key and snorts it, whooping as his nose burns.

"That's some good shit, bro. Same time and place in a week?"


"I'll be there, man, sure."


Carmen nearly pulls the door off its hinges when she opens it, right after the guy is gone with a bag full of coke but Trent just looks at her, amused by her antics and she snarls in frustation.


"You're a fucking drug dealer." she says angrily.

"Listen here, princess, I don't push it down their throat, they're the ones calling me. Not all of us have a safety net of cash to catch us when things get fucked up. I don't need a trust fund brat who thinks she's hard for drinking Bacardi at '2wo' underage to tell me I've fucked up in life. But every time one of you is having a dorm party or some shitty bachelorette thing, you all run to me."


"You don't know the first thing about me."


"Whatever you say, kiddo. Now leave, you're gonna scare my customers away."

Carmen flies out of the bathroom door and out in the cold air and when it fully hits her, churning her stomach she bends down and pukes again. As she gets up, she notices her some old crone watching her from her window, probably some boring old lady named Mildred whose biggest excitment is winning at bingo and Carmen flips her off. She doesn't need Mildred or some petty drug dealer judging her.


It dawns on her that she doesn't have anywhere to go to and a guy honks at her but she flips him off too. Maybe one day she'll be desperate enough to get in such a car and she'll end up on a Crime TV special. Maybe they'll make a Lifetime movie. It does make a perfect fucking Lifetime movie, she thinks bitterly, the daughter of a wealthy New York family, with two nannies and horseback riding lessons and cotillion dresses leads a double life as a lady of the night.


She always fucking ends up like this.


Tonight she values her life a bit more than yesterday so she lets the coins clink and picks up the pay phone.


"Mom, it's Carmen, I want to come home."