SILENCE

It takes everything I have in me not to bolt. Not to turn on my prissy five inch heels and run. But I made a promise to someone, so here I am, in the dead of the night, waiting for a man.

I scrub up well, in heels, sheer black stockings and a slinky black and red number, just below thigh high, the top half, cut low enough to emphasise my ample cleavage, but high enough to leave just enough to the imagination.

I know how to work what I’ve got, but I’m no ones whore. At least, not usually.

I hear the street lights buzzing with that electric hum that fills up the night in every back street, of every city, in every town, on this whole rotten, spinning pile. A low dull buzzing and an orange glow. It could be anywhere. Could be, but it’s not.

The sound of heavy footsteps breaks my reverie and I am snapped abruptly back to the here and now. “Are you waiting for someone?” the voice is deep and thick, syrupy, but harsh, it cut through the night like cold steel.  Every inch of me begins to tremble, my skin, crawling at the baritone of each syllable.

Without turning around I nod into the darkness. Silence wraps itself around my tongue and mutes me. He takes my hand, turns me around and leads me back the way I came. Our soft foot falls echoing in unison through the dark damp alleyway as I fall into step beside him.

Keeping up with him, keeping my mouth shut for him, keeping my promise. I always keep a promise.