People who have become shameless through sin have their own distinctive gaze. When they look at you, you know they want something for themselves; it’s likely things you won’t be happy with. The weak links at the top of the hierarchy strike powerful poses, but they have many weaknesses and little faith. They can’t show their arrogance in the daylight, only after they’ve drunk enough to bring it out. That’s why the night belongs to them, and they spend their money recklessly, just like their time. To drown out the voices in their heads, they turn the music up as loud as possible, and then drink more to prevent that music from buzzing in their ears. This vicious cycle continues until they crash, until the lights go out. Following the White Rabbit doesn’t always lead to comforting places; not everyone should follow those in a rush without questioning them. In the Red Queen’s order, no one escapes without bleeding a little. Every city has its dark neighborhoods, with crumbling buildings where people who are just as close to falling apart live. People who have no hope for tomorrow live today like this; they experience the results without thinking of the causes, and they curse more than they thank. That’s why more things are given to them to curse. When someone wants to hold their hand, nothing could be worse, like Dostoevsky’s dog, they either walk away in pain or show their teeth. Half of the 24 hours are filled with sins, the other half with nightmares.
That night, you descended from the Hilton, advertising one of their most expensive perfumes in the corridors, and told them you’d be late tomorrow before leaving and getting into a taxi. Your hair was freshly dyed, your nails done yesterday; the only thing that belonged to you was the birthmark under your right eye, which you carefully concealed with makeup. You always wanted the eyes of strangers on you, regardless of who they were; in your bed, it wasn’t the sheets that changed, but the people, and every time you opened your eyes, you feared looking at the person lying next to you. There were few days when you remembered how you got home, as many as the times you smiled.
You took the almost finished lipstick from the front pocket of your tiny bag, unwillingly opened the cap, and while parting your lips, you watched the buildings pass by on your right. Your eyes got stuck on the shops that offered fake promises that would never come true, just like the people who would offer you more promises as you walked toward them. The car stopped, you paid, your movements were automatic. If it weren’t for the changing drivers, it wouldn’t be hard to guess that there was something wrong with you. You opened the door, placed your right leg out first, making sure your high heel said “I’ve arrived,” then followed with your left leg and smiled at the bouncer in front of the club. He smiled back, likely because you’d been coming every night for the last six days. You showed your ID, the card that allowed you to exist under the name the government gave you, the one that made it easy to find you if you went off the rails. With a mocking attitude, you shoved it into the eyes of the two-meter-tall man in a suit that was too small for him, saying, “I’ll be here for a while longer, I think it’s time to drop the formality.” He accompanied you until you entered.
When you stepped into the unbearable noise that could only be called music when you were drunk, it was exactly 01:25, and you knew you had to get to work immediately to catch a stranger’s attention. These were automatic behaviors.
You were never the apple of your mother’s eye, nor the one your father couldn’t resist. Despite being an only child, there were always more important things than you. You were the kind of person who created problems even while trying to do good; as a child, you were one of those who said “I’m sorry,” but soon realized it didn’t work, and then became the type to provoke with violence. You would replace the fingers that touched you with the men whose sole purpose was to satisfy their own desires, men who never bandaged your bleeding knees when you fell, never hugged you, never kissed your cheeks.
It was a bit like making wine from lemons, like cleaning mud with blood.
By the time the dawn arrived, your desires had materialized into a tangible object, your steps crescendoed. To dance, you need music, but no, dancing in this noise seemed more like a drunken ritual.
There’s no need to extend it; that night you bought yourself a few drinks, but no one wanted to talk to you anymore. You had made it too obvious that you were a wreck trying to stand. You resembled a bird whose wings would tear if it spread them, and no one wanted to take that risk. After all, they were there to have fun, not to fix something. In the early morning, you called a taxi and went home, fell asleep as soon as you got there, and woke up the next afternoon. You spent the day envying the excessive plastic surgery that women were now calling beauty, convinced that your flaws were what others would consider flaws, and spent a fortune at the nearest hospital to change what you disliked. After the surgery, nothing changed. In fact, after realizing that what you hated had nothing to do with your body, you tried to endanger your life by making attempts to return your new plastic body to its old state.
May God keep us away from our troubles. What would we do without them?
After a few days of hospital visits, when you were discharged, it was already 8:00 PM. No one would get hurt this night, you thought, as you calculated the last of your money, hoping that your new face would bring you luck. You called a taxi once more—though your pockets were empty, you were the type who wouldn’t compromise on luxury. Waiting for the car at the hospital entrance, you covered your eyes with your hands as a blinding light approached, and within seconds, the rain started pouring down. You thought, “I shouldn’t go out today,” just before seeing the approaching taxi. With a faint smile, you opened the car door and sat down, turning to the driver with what could be considered a friendly attitude:
“Drive to Hilton, come back in a few hours; I’m going to the club I went to the other day.”
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