New Rocks are hard to walk in this terrain with. Soft bushels of long dead grass and tar covered gravel along the dirt-sided street, which was a pale mud and reminded me of skin and sweat. The rain dripped at a lazy pace with the rhythm of my slowly falling feet. A hallow echo into the earth – I wonder vaguely if beneath the crust someone is listening to the pounding steps which must accumulate daily and focus itself on a central point.

There are bright headlights - fog lights that shine and blind me as they pass. I can see the outline of the heads turn to watch me walk in this season with no coat or sleeves, my bright skin shinning from beneath the red and black like the moon’s light attempting to shine through clouds; vacant and lost behind something unseen. I don’t bother to stick out my thumb with the brightly coloured nail. I’d rather walk until my feet begin to numb.

My legs shake with exertion when I pause to re-lace the leather masses on my legs, and even when that point comes it seems more fitting for me to sit in the dirt with my legs crossed watching the cars roll by as the intense feeling of my skin numbing due to the elements covers every other thought. There’s a beauty in watching droplets of rain roll over marked skin that’s grown a vague translucent purple. A sign that pain has been lost and the shivers have long since stopped. My teeth are quiet and my breath runs out in a wind unseen. I wonder why it’s running when it should pace itself.

This is all so passe.
Cliched bullshit.
The way I’m dressed and the situation I’m in.

A car rolls by and slows, I wouldn’t have known if the red brake lights hadn’t burned bright against my eyes turning me into a pink disheveled statue of satire. I paused in my steps as the car pulled into reverse allowing the now open passenger’s seat window to center on my sullen shoulders and bitter snarl. I lean over the cold steal of the window, I realise vaguely the driver is getting an eye-full yet am too tired to care much at the mounds of flesh his glimmering eyes are focused on.

It’s a man; in his thirties and he smiles while his eyes remain enraptured. His soft voice offers me a ride in the pale yellow light from the dashboard. It’s a damn nice car and there is heated air that is striking my now pain-ridden arms, so I open the door and slip inside like a sodden fox into a den of prey.

He watches as my frame moves itself into the leather bucket seat in the light on the ceiling of the car. It casts shadows over my pale skin and his face holds a look of pure amusement that brightens his work-weary eyes, which are grey and sunken. His face is old beyond his years but his body is tight with muscle and soft cashmere sweater over grey slacks.

He reaches over my wet skin and clothing to pull the door closed and I stiffen as his chest brushes my legs. His arm moves casually against my chest as the door slams. He rights himself and moves the car into gear and while watching the pale green numbers that suggest the speed, I notice he’s going over the limit, slowly and casually. I laugh to myself and he says it reminds him of heaven. I sigh and look out the window. I’m not in the mood.

He asks if I mind him stopping somewhere and I shake my head in a response watching the rolling landscape pass by at a horrendous speed, tree trunks lashing out against the night sky and the moon and stars following at a steady pace. ‘No,’ I said. ‘I don’t mind.’

I hear his body shift in his seat and his hand brushes against my leg as he shifts gears again, I don’t bother to look. It’s a small car and my mind is wary- dancing with images of fallen minds and brick-covered layers of ground where something resides beneath, stars shimmering in the water and the pattern I think to have noticed at the falling rain against the window.

The car slows and stops beneath aged trees with wide trunks and a hidden world in their branches. I smell pine and the scent of sweeter rain than in a city, a hint of something I often smell while watering flowers in mid-summer, it brings me to smile through my shivering mouth. This change of atmosphere is almost too much, the smell of wet summer from the smell of dirt-ridden city; the heat forced to replace the cold, and my skin now burning from the difference.

He asks me what’s wrong. I can’t respond while he takes my hand to his warm mouth and places his in-between my frozen thighs, moving it upwards as he begins to lightly suck on my finger. I gasp in shock through my chattering teeth while he tells me everything will be all right, how gentle he’ll be with me. He drops my hand with his right and moves to my chest. He removes his hand from my thighs and lowers the back of my seat with his lips against my neck.

I wonder why it is I can’t move or speak while his fingers reach beneath my shirt pulling it up to my collarbones while his face follows, trailing kisses against the cold fury of skin. There’s a strange moment of enlightenment when I wonder if he’s the one to rescue me. If he’s the one who’ll kiss me, taking away every thought unclean, every moment come undone. That he’s the one who’ll build me my house by the sea whispering sweet things into my ears in the morning, write poetry on my dinner napkins, swear undying love and passion until we’re both old and grey. Then he asks me why I have such a large scar and rubs it, kisses it. I become sick. His probing fingers trace the ones on my stomach and sides asking me if I like to be cut, fucked in blood.

My breath shortens not being able to do anything else except inhale the sickly new-car smell into my bursting lungs, which raises my chest. He mistakes it for passion and lust although I’m filled with paralising fear at the realisation he assumed I was a prostitute when he saw me walking down the road in high boots and revealing clothing.

He moans against my nipple and tells me how cold I feel and how he’s going to change the world for me with his hot breath against my skin and his kneading hands. I bite my tongue and search of an escape route where I can calmly inform him of his mistake in my career choice and allow me to leave without violence. My mind is failing me and his hand is back between my legs prying them apart - his voice is telling me to relax while he bites my skin and he adjusts himself closer to my seat. I begin to breathe in small panicked breaths and move higher in my seat, away from his lingering fingers.

He bites me harder, moves closer to me, his free hand unbuckling his belt. His soft warm sweater against my exposed chest, his leg between my thighs, his breath against my skin, his hand kneading my breast, him telling me how hard he is for me, asking me how old I am, how hard I can fuck him, how much he wants me to ride his cock. A silly confused tear slips from my eye as I try to push his chest away from me and move back - higher in the seat until my head and shoulders are away from him and leaning in the air above the back seat.

I can feel him smile against my cheek while he tells me what a bad girl I am. How he’s going to slice open my skin and suck me dry while cumming inside of me, which strikes me as horrendously funny – this whole happening – hilarious, so I laugh as he pulls my skirt up over my hips and he kisses away the tear on my cheek while he rubs his now hard cock against my left leg while biting on my nipple. I can’t stop thinking of bad porns or the horrible jokes made in reference to crack addicts whoring themselves out in the streets and how much my red eyes from lack of sleep must resemble theirs, and how my thinning body from sickness, my clothing, my hair- everything resembling something I didn’t notice I had become. I laugh again. Small and sick beneath a man in an expensive car with leather seats while the heated air from the vents ricochets off my skin and his breath makes me convulse with horror and I whisper to the fogged windows wondering where my stars have gone, ‘This isn’t who I am.’

He looks up and smiles, his hands leaving my chest to remove his sweater and shirt, moving his slacks over his thighs and pulling his boxers from his erection. He positions his legs between mine and corrects me.

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