Crack.
“Mmm…”
The tremor reverberated on the surface of my skin, against my sore, tender, punished muscles.
Crick.
“ Ah…”
First the sharp, known, yet always unexpected pain… and then the most splendid, blissful comfort.
“Lower.”
As the girl hurried to comply with the demand, the sensation as consequence of her moving weight sent a violent, glorious shiver that descended to the tips of my toes. My sealed lips tore open, releasing a ragged, drawn out groan.
But once my worn, tired lungs had dragged in another breath, I couldn’t help but let out an exasperated sigh.
I was getting old.
___

As I started to button the crisp holes of my Armani Privé shirt, I slipped a few notes from the roll of hundred dollar bills I kept tucked away and handed a fistful to the masseuse. The girl smiled brightly in appreciation, and left the room promptly to be considerate of both me – in my half dressed state – and her. I was sure she had a substantial number of clients waiting, what with her wonderful talent. Her wonderful, pricey talent.
Once sufficiently clothed, I departed the day spa, and headed towards my next destination, “Teppanyaki on the Rocks” at the Shangri La – what I believed to be the epitome of whatever could entail fine dining. The service never out of line, the chefs superb in their work. And what was most important was what I considered its most admirable quality – their homemade green tea ice cream. Simply sumptuous (I’ve always had an attachment to whatever’s homemade).
As I walked past the concierge of my hotel home, only things of beauty managed to stake out a place in my field of vision. Young, lean women, draped so heavily in faux fur coats that you could mistake them for animals themselves. A simple, yet handsome arrangement of the purest white lilies. Even the gleaming marble floor exuded aesthetic perfection.
But it was only then I realised.
I’ve grown tired of all that is luxurious.
All that is elaborate, extravagant.
Indulgent.
Plush, posh, lavish.
Decadent.
But that didn’t mean I was going to cancel my reservation.

___

Stomach satiated, I decided it was time for my biweekly pedicure. On my way to David Jones, I saw and heard things reminiscent of my old life… seasoned leather briefcases, frustrated telephone exchanges… someone seated in a crouch on the grimy pavement, the fag in hand perhaps drawn out one too many times.
My lips didn’t hold back another sigh.
I sure had come a long way.
Of course it had cost effort. And I do appreciate where that effort got me.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t regret it.

___

This place was going to kill me.
“Hold out your arms,” they demanded.
I didn’t even consider disobeying.
Even if I knew it was leading me to my grave.
The sheer mass of the thing in my arms required all means of my strength in order to not crumple underneath its colossal structure.
But today… my strength was simply not going to be enough.
All I could do as my knees buckled underneath me was make an effort at a strained whimper.
In my collapse, I knew what would be coming.
Crack.

___

Blinking wildly, abruptly, awoken from a regularly visited dream, I saw a lady scrambling to clean up the smashed nail polish bottle she seemed to had carelessly dropped.  Ignoring the woman working on my feet, I bent down to help the lady. Although at first insisting that I return to my treatment, she did make it known that she appreciated my effort. I said it was the most I could do.
After being through the kind of things I have, it’s hard watching others struggle.
That’s what I learnt anyway, after many mistakes. Too many.

___

“Those who don’t comply with my demands won’t ever earn anything.”
Wait. That voice was familiar.
“Those who don’t comply with my demands won’t ever own anything.”
But it seemed so cold… it couldn’t be..?
“Those who don’t comply with my demands are nothing.”
And it was with those last two words that I felt my own lips forming themselves into the cruel sneer which couldn’t belong to anything else but those hard, unfeeling words.

___

But thankfully now, those days elude me.
In my own pain, I refused to conform to what I wanted – compassion, empathy, consideration, respect.
But it was with the essence of these that I was able to get where I am now, today.
Doing what I love. Doing what I deserve.
It was these things that I thought of and cherished as I donned my St Vinnie’s apron, a swift knot and tie to the back, friendly, genuine smile on show.
This, I felt, was what I’d truly earned.