Sasha Richards
Sasha's eyes widened as she watched the woman's erratic behaviour. The ways she stumbled over her words, her odd little jerks and twitches. Oh no... Sasha came to the sudden and sad realisation that this woman was an addict. A junkie. Sasha felt a flicker of hatred flare up deep in her chest. Not for this woman, but because of the memories that drugs held. Her father. Her clients. People who were high generally did not know what 'No' meant when it came to sex. Sasha didn't have anything for the woman in front of her, as much as she would have liked to help her. It didn't matter anyway, because the lady sped past her before Sasha had chance to explain. She felt a pang of guilt and helplessness. Her gentler side wanted to help, but that little bit of stern Sasha that never showed her head was making an appearance and wanted to tell the woman that getting more drugs wouldn't help. That could probably be why she was in here in the first place.
Sasha let the woman be for a while, meandering over to the sink and running the warm tap. She scooped water in her hands and splashed it over her face and neck. That was better. Sasha looked in the mirror and hardly recognised the girl that looked back. She looked tired. Sick almost. Sasha pulled her hair forward over one shoulder and made an effort to scrub the layer of grime off her skin. She cupped her hands full of lush warm water and rubbed it over her arms, face and neck. As she cleaned her arms, the ever present scars on her wrists glared menacingly up at her. Just looking at them made her feel weak and lifeless and in fact made them itch a little. Was that what she was in here for? Or was it taking money for sex that landed her in here. Rumpling the towel up, Sasha dried her skin softly and pulled her sleeves down before making her way back into the main hall or whatever it was.
The lady from the bathroom was on her knees, and despite her reservations, it broke Sasha's heart to see her so desperate. Luckily, Sasha's crimes (or what she figured she was in here for) wasn't an addiction so much as a job to survive. Before she had chance to rethink her actions, Sasha careered forwards and sagged on to the sofa next to the woman, wrapping her arms around her shoulders and pulling her in close. "Sssh...it's okay. Sssh..." Sasha had to fight her own tears back as she stroked the lady's hair gently. In the back of her mind, part of her couldn't help but think that this woman was right. But she had to be strong. She had to be. Sasha lifted her head and glanced around the room. She had only been in her for a short time and already her self damaging urges were coming back. But of course there was nothing obvious to use, so she would have to improvise. Some part of her hoped that this 'mothering' side of her that showing would be a distraction. She knew she had to help this woman.
Sasha's eyes widened as she watched the woman's erratic behaviour. The ways she stumbled over her words, her odd little jerks and twitches. Oh no... Sasha came to the sudden and sad realisation that this woman was an addict. A junkie. Sasha felt a flicker of hatred flare up deep in her chest. Not for this woman, but because of the memories that drugs held. Her father. Her clients. People who were high generally did not know what 'No' meant when it came to sex. Sasha didn't have anything for the woman in front of her, as much as she would have liked to help her. It didn't matter anyway, because the lady sped past her before Sasha had chance to explain. She felt a pang of guilt and helplessness. Her gentler side wanted to help, but that little bit of stern Sasha that never showed her head was making an appearance and wanted to tell the woman that getting more drugs wouldn't help. That could probably be why she was in here in the first place.
Sasha let the woman be for a while, meandering over to the sink and running the warm tap. She scooped water in her hands and splashed it over her face and neck. That was better. Sasha looked in the mirror and hardly recognised the girl that looked back. She looked tired. Sick almost. Sasha pulled her hair forward over one shoulder and made an effort to scrub the layer of grime off her skin. She cupped her hands full of lush warm water and rubbed it over her arms, face and neck. As she cleaned her arms, the ever present scars on her wrists glared menacingly up at her. Just looking at them made her feel weak and lifeless and in fact made them itch a little. Was that what she was in here for? Or was it taking money for sex that landed her in here. Rumpling the towel up, Sasha dried her skin softly and pulled her sleeves down before making her way back into the main hall or whatever it was.
The lady from the bathroom was on her knees, and despite her reservations, it broke Sasha's heart to see her so desperate. Luckily, Sasha's crimes (or what she figured she was in here for) wasn't an addiction so much as a job to survive. Before she had chance to rethink her actions, Sasha careered forwards and sagged on to the sofa next to the woman, wrapping her arms around her shoulders and pulling her in close. "Sssh...it's okay. Sssh..." Sasha had to fight her own tears back as she stroked the lady's hair gently. In the back of her mind, part of her couldn't help but think that this woman was right. But she had to be strong. She had to be. Sasha lifted her head and glanced around the room. She had only been in her for a short time and already her self damaging urges were coming back. But of course there was nothing obvious to use, so she would have to improvise. Some part of her hoped that this 'mothering' side of her that showing would be a distraction. She knew she had to help this woman.