The Bloody Doors Off

Here’s a snippet of the backstory I’m writing for the play. I’m not sure why I’m sharing. You don’t need to read. This is more for me.

Some would say that, nearing his 40s, he was poised for a mid-life crisis. He would counter that loneliness was the main factor. The motivation was irrelevant; the point was, he required companionship. And he was willing to pay for her time.

He hadn’t dated in nearly two years. It wasn’t always a concern. He could distract himself. And if that failed, there was the fallback of porn. But this particular summer brought an abundance of silence.

There wasn’t a specific type to scratch his itch. He just wanted a friendly voice, soft face. A woman who, for an hour, cared for him.

There was a phrase for what he sought. It was a convenient lie, two words that eased the conscience and soothed the soul. But in the moment, it was the truth he needed.

***

She wasn’t from a broken home. She hadn’t run away, there was no addiction to feed. She wasn’t just off the bus, hadn’t been coerced into a life she didn’t want.

She was 19 and more aware of her mind and body than people twice her age. There was a spark in her eyes that could never be dimmed.

And if you had the cash, she could be your girlfriend for an hour.