A Night In Your Arms

I was sitting on the terrace of my building, holding a cigarette in one hand and a bottle in the other. My life was a fucking hell; I couldn't find a way to escape this damn misery. I owed five months of rent and had nothing to eat. I was fired from my job because I refused to sleep with my boss. No matter how desperate I was, I would never sleep with a married, older man. I liked good things. If I was going to eat a piece of meat, it better be top quality.

I was gazing at the sky when my neighbor, Tiffany, sat down beside me.

"Life is hitting you hard, Vanesa. Or is it just my imagination?" she said while looking at me.

"Life is hitting me extremely hard, Tiffany. I've lost my job, I owe several months of rent, I'm about to be kicked out, I have nothing to eat, nothing at all, I'm so depressed," I replied, crying.

"Why don't you come work at my place? It's a bit indecent and flashy, but they need a dancer. Then you could get promoted and become the manager of the place," she said, looking at me as she took a drag from her cigarette.

"I don't know; it's just that I've never tried working as a dancer or a prostitute, I really don't know. Life is bullshit."

"If you want or need, just let me know and I'll help you. I have to go."

I watched her leave the rooftop and sat there looking at the moon. I had lost my parents at the border between Mexico and the United States. I had to fight alone. My brother got lost in the desert. That was the movie that my mind had on repeat. I wanted to work, earn enough money, and be able to get him back, but apparently, life had other plans for me. I had never been financially stable, nor had I ever been happy. I carried three crosses on my shoulder and in my soul; no one could bear that.

I walked straight to my tiny apartment on the top floor. It goes without saying that it was a real dump, but I didn't have enough money to rent anything else, so I had to stay here. Now the problem was that I had no job, so I couldn't pay for it either. I opened the door with some magic on the old handle. The landlord refused to fix it; he was extremely stingy. They should invite him to one of those shows where people have that impulsive disorder.

After struggling with the door, I managed to open it. Inside the place, there was nothing-no furniture, no table. There weren't even light bulbs. I lived shrouded in darkness. I was fine with the moonlight. It's not like I wanted to live like this; it was just what I had to deal with.

Just as I was about to lie down on that old mattress, someone knocked on the door. I walked with all the patience in the world. The person knocking was impatient. When I opened the door, I found the furious face of Tomás, the owner of this dump.

"Mr. Tomás," I said, pretending to show respect.