I wake up to the sound of cats dying, and fumble for the clock. My room is like the belly of a beast. It reeks of death and the unbearable heat only amplifies the smell. The stench almost clings to you in the humidity. I feel around in the faint red glow of my curtained windows. Seizing hold of my clock I squint at it, my eyes are still blurry with sleep. 3 PM. I viciously throw the clock at the wall. It thuds dully and lands face up, it’s hour flashing mockingly at me and turning my room into a demented rave. There’s a sudden silence, abrupt and beautiful. I hear a muffled apology through the wall and then the sounds of my neighbors packing up their instruments.
I fall back into bed and needlessly cocoon myself in blankets. I realize my mistake and throw them off again; it’s just too damn hot. My air conditioning mumbles and gasps like an old man and then lets out a gurgle and farts. I groan and roll onto the floor, there’s not much use trying to sleep now that the cold has given up on me. I spread myself out as much as possible and try to gather some relief from the tiles. They’re about half a degree cooler then everything else and this minute difference is a blessing. But my body is a traitor and within seconds they’re useless. I crawl to the sink in a desperate hope there’s some cold water left. As I yank, the knob falls off in my hand, as useless as the air conditioner. I collapse against the counter and groan while I slowly sink to the ground. As my face rests against the floor I hear some one laughing bellow me, their muffled joy suffocates me.
I drag myself up and stumble across the room to my basket of clothes. It’s empty. I kick about in the bloody gloom and find a ragged t-shirt. I contemplate shorts as I pull the shirt over my head, but decide against them. Not only is it too hot, but I have a better chance of being let in if I stay in my underwear.
I lock my door on the way out and jog awkwardly down the hallway to the stairs. I stumble down 8 flights like a blind fool and trip on the last one. Rolling clumsily, my arms and legs flail uselessly like some demented bird trying to fly. I end up sprawled on the landing, my knees on my head and my limbs askew. I am the Raggedy Ann that got thrown away. My knee is scrapped and little droplets of blood are blooming and pooling together then dripping down onto my face. As I sit up, I lick my hand and rub at my knee absentmindedly. I glance down and laugh at the patch of white that has surfaced from beneath all my poverty.
I freeze suddenly as a blast of pure heaven envelops me. My skin is crawling with the sheer ecstasy of the cold, every thing tightens with pleasure. I turn slowly and look up, directly into his eyes. I quickly look away. He’s standing at the door of his suite looking down at me amusingly. I can see the other girls in the background. They’re clean and fully clothed, and I ache with envy at such luxury. I risk another glance at his face; he looks me over once more and begins to say something but stops and frowns slightly. He seems pensive but over what I cannot tell. He’s always so hard to read. He begins again, “ It’s not you’re turn Alison.” I exhale and look away as I mutter out my apology. “ It’s too hot to sleep” He smiles ruefully and says, “It’s always too hot.”
“Yeah I know but my air conditioner is acting up again.” I look back at him, “It’s too old.” He nods an acknowledgment “I’ll get it fixed tonight, but for now you have to just suck it up, and try to get some sleep.” He shakes his head “You know how it works. I can’t just let you in out of turn.”
I can see the girls sneering cruelly in the background. I nod my understanding and turn away as he closes the door. I stay for a few moments in the hallway, listening to the laughter trickling out from under the door, and trying to enjoy the lingering sweetness of his crisp air. It isn’t long before the heat comes back, wrapping it’s stifling claws about my body and stroking me, not in the sensual way that coldness did, but in a violent manner. It runs its fingers through my hair and promises obscenities. I trudge back upstairs defeated and try and hold back my tears at the thought of returning to my room and being left alone with the heat.
I arrive at my door and lean my forehead against it. I don’t want to go inside, I don’t want to go back to the beast. The hallway isn’t any less hot or dark or rank, but some how it’s better then my room. I stand there frozen with despair until I hear some one coming up the stairs. I scamper to unlock the door, dropping my keys in haste. I pick them up and shove them into the lock all with out looking back. It’s not until I’m slamming the door behind me that I catch a glimpse of her face as she saunters by. She’s new. Clean, white, and almost happy, she radiates with newness. I stop and watch her walk to her room, even her perspiration looks new, little beads of perfection which bejewel her skin. I look down at my own skin, it’s covered in blood and filth and then over all of that lays the sweat like a membrane. I am old in the same way that she is new. My body is not aged; but my soul, my soul is tired. I am beaten and old and tired.
I close the door fully and retreat into my room. The windows are eyes, their fleshy lids closed against the blinding light, but it’s too strong and rather then darkness the room is lit a sickly fleshy red. I collapse onto my bed and close my own eyes. I feel the beast breathing as the walls sigh and the floors moan and creak. I drift off into exhaustion inside this womb, and I can only hope that I might awaken new.
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