PTSD

Unlike the Rest – 26 December 2000 – 6.10PM

Soul Destruction - Diary of a London Call Girl

I flick my cigarette ash out the window. Me and Mickey are sitting in the front of the van. We were in the back for hours. I was stuck there. I felt frightened. As soon as he held me, that’s when it happened – I went off somewhere in my head.

Dissociation – that’s what Dr Fielding says it is, when I disappear like that. It’s taken a longer time than usual to come back. Piece by piece, it’s happening slowly. I can speak again now and I can move my body. Mickey was patient and understanding. I don’t know what I was expecting but it wasn’t that. I’m used to men criticising and judging me. I’m used to angry men, men who only want one thing from me. Mickey’s different. He’s a good man.

We’re still parked on the side road near where his connection lives in Narrabeen. It’s peaceful here. Cars are parked up but there’s none driving by. The street is lined with trees. The trees in Australia seem brighter shades of green than the trees back in England. I could imagine living here, being near the sea. I like being by the sea. I like the sound of it.

We shot up the last of the heroin before coming to sit in the front. We need to score some more. My money’s at the Radisson. I didn’t put my purse in the white handbag I’m using today. Mickey said he’d drive back to the hotel as soon as I felt ready. I feel ready now. I tell him, and he starts the engine.

He’s been completely hands-off with me since what happened in the back of the van. I’m sure he’s going to keep it up. But there is a part of me that’s scared he’ll do something that makes me disappear again. I can manage him holding my hand. When he did that at the party, it wasn’t a problem. It was okay when I woke up with him this morning as well. It was the expectation of something sexual that caused it.

It’s so strange because if Mickey was a punter, I could’ve acted the part and done the job. Being with a normal man in a normal way isn’t something I’m comfortable with. It fucks up my head that I’m more comfortable being with a client even though I hate it.

Earlier, Mickey said we could just be friends, but I want more than that if it’s possible for me. He said he did too. But it won’t work between us if I keep disappearing. He won’t put up with that. What man would? And I’m sure I can’t cope with it happening either.

I know I’m not cursed but that’s how it feels. I want to be like most other women. But can a woman who’s had a life like mine ever be like other women?

A Place to Hide – 26 December 2000 – 12.50PM

Soul Destruction - Diary of a London Call Girl

Mickey’s parked the van on a side road near where we scored. I think he said it was Narrabeen. We’re in the back. It’s a little grotty with rust and dirt but it’s not too bad. There’s multi-coloured cushions spread on the floor. I’m lying down carefully on the cushions so as not to spoil my white dress. He’s sitting upright, leaning against the side of the van, which isn’t a good idea in a white t-shirt, but he doesn’t seem bothered.

He’s mixing up the shots in my spoon. He didn’t have his own with him but I always carry one. I’m disciplined like that. After he’s filled his own syringe, I pass him mine. He draws up my share into the barrel. I hope it’s strong.

I sit up to inject my shot. I fall down on the cushions. My eyes are closing. It’s a good hit. Using with Mickey is better than using with Stix. Mickey’s more generous with what he puts in. I’m thinking he’s not in my company for sex. He didn’t fuck me last night, and he could’ve done. It’s blowing my mind that I’ve met a man who wants to just be with me, and who I can kind of trust.

He’s lying next to me. We don’t speak. I’m dreaming. In my head, me and Mickey are dancing, an old-fashioned ballroom dance. He’s in a black tuxedo. I’m in a scarlet dress that cuts at the top of one thigh and has ruffles at the hem. He has one arm around my waist. I have one hand on his shoulder. My other hand is clasping his. He spins me around. I tip my head back. He pulls me up. We’re spinning around again. It feels like I’m spinning as I lie here. This is the best hit I’ve had since I’ve been in Sydney.

“So what’s the deal with you and Lorna?” he says. “Have you slept with her?”

I open my eyes. “Why are you asking me that?”

I stare up at the blackened ceiling of the van. I don’t want to discuss any sexual experiences I’ve had. I don’t want him to know anything about my past like that. Not knowing whether he’s aware that I’m a hooker is doing my head in enough. He doesn’t need to know I sleep with women as well. He might have an opinion on it. Most men do. They want to watch me with another girl. I don’t want to put on a show for him. I like him. I don’t want to know if he likes that. It’ll change everything. I felt content. Now I feel on edge. He’s ruining my hit.

“I guess you won’t be wanting breakfast?” I say to change the subject.

“No, I’m not hungry anymore.”

“Shall we go?”

“Let’s lay here for a while.” He stretches his arms out wide. With one hand, he scoops my body towards his. He has one arm wrapped around my back with his hand on my shoulder. The other arm crosses over my stomach with his hand on my hip.

My head rests on his chest. My eyeballs feel like they’re about to extract themselves from the sockets. What do I do now? If he was a client, I’d climb on top and sit astride him. I’d grind on his cock. I’d make him hard. I’d say whatever words that particular client wanted to hear. But Mickey’s not a punter. I’m not on a job. I don’t know how to act.

“You okay, Nicole?” he asks.

“Hmmm,” I force out a sound. I’m frozen, still. I’m in that place where I can’t talk. It’s somewhere in my head. It disconnects me from the world. It’s where I go to be safe. It happens quite a bit. I don’t know how to get back though. I’ve never worked it out. I’ll just need to wait for it to happen.

The Past in the Present – 24 December 2000 – 6.55PM

Soul Destruction - Diary of a London Call Girl

I managed to get rid of Lorna. She went to her place then she’s going to score before the party tonight. I’m back in my hotel suite alone. I’ve got the syringe that I’m not sure is Lorna’s or mine in my hand. My belt is wrapped around my arm just above the elbow. A thick vein is bulging. I push in the needle. I pull back the plunger. The blood swirls up to meet the liquid in the barrel. I push in and deliver half the hit.

I’m being careful. Although I still want to die, I’ve decided I can’t do it. I can’t leave my sisters and my brother without me. I can’t be that selfish. I don’t see the point in living. What can life hold for a hooker who can’t work? It’s not about the money. It’s about doing something I’m good at, the only thing I’m good at, the only thing I know. It makes me feel like shit but it’s also my reason for being. It’s who I am. If I’m not a call girl, what the fuck am I? Who the fuck am I? Some twenty-five year old abused child who can’t deal with life.

I lie on the bed. The room feels like it’s getting lower. My eyelids are closing. I open them again, but they fall once more. I can see the babysitters. They’re standing around me. I’m in the bath. The bath in the house we lived in when my dad was still there. He’s gone though. He left a few months ago. That’s when mum started leaving me with these people. She didn’t know they were paedophiles. I know she didn’t. She wouldn’t have reacted like she did when she eventually found out what they’d done.

“I want to go to my room,” I tell them.

There’s four or five or six of them. All men apart from one woman. She holds out a towel. She picks me up out the bath. I’m standing naked in front of them. She lays the towel on the floor. She lays me on it.

“Stop! Stop!” I’m sobbing. I need the rest of my hit. I feel like I’m seven years old again. I don’t want to see this. I don’t want to watch another rerun of this fucking memory. I can feel their hands on me. The evil cunts! I want them off me. I want to kill them. When they get out of jail, maybe I will kill them. Unless some other inmates kill them while they’re in there. I want their throats slit. And hers. She wasn’t there often. But she was kind to me when she was. As an adult, I can see she was their accomplice. But at the time, I thought she cared for me. The fucking bitch. What an idiot. I thought she liked me. I thought she was a good person.

I pick up the syringe from the bedside table. I know I shouldn’t take the hit yet. I’ve too much heroin in my system already. This could be dangerous. But what else can I do? I can’t watch this anymore. Eyes open, eyes closed, it doesn’t make a difference. It’s all I can see. Me lying on that towel. I’m really small. They look really big. No one was looking after me. Someone should have been looking after me.

Holding the syringe upright, I flick out the air bubbles. I put the belt back into place around my arm. I slip the needle into the vein on the inside of my elbow. I pull back. The blood flows through to the pink mixture in the barrel. I push in hard.