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She had still been alive when they dumped her body in that ditch. Barely so, but she had heard them, when they discussed to do with her and she had felt weirdly distant from it all, like they weren't talking about her, when they decided not to call an ambulance, but just "get rid of the evidence”.
She feels almost like an observer to her whole life story in this moment.
The arguments in which she got at her parents place about moving to the city to find a job.
She had just finished school, had good grades and felt so certain that there must be something better waiting for her, than the small village in which half of the population were alcoholics and the majority without a real job.
She had wanted to break free from all of this, make her own fortune in the big city. And it had all started so promising.
A job at a bar as a hostess. “Nothing sketchy, really!” The employers had assured her.
She'd just sit and talk to men after their long days of work, keep them company, serve them drinks.
But soon she had learned if she didn't accept the extra money those costumers would give girls for extra favors, she'd not be able to pay for food and rent for the shabby room she shared with three other girls.
So she had started giving "favors" in exchange for money: A kiss on the cheek or the mouth, letting them touch her, hug her and eventually join them in one of the rooms for rent above the bar.
She had felt terrible, yet she had always been sure that this was just a stopover, until she'd find a legit job and wouldn't have to put up with those men anymore. She had even started writing applications and gone to a few promising interviews.
But then the thing had happened.
She didn't even recall the guys face. She just remembered that he had been even more rough than the men before. She remembered that she had screamed for help and he had told her to stop, hitting her in the face until she couldn't scream anymore. She couldn't recall when he had left.
She had come through when her employers had opened the door and freaked out. She had quickly realized that they wouldn't take her to a doctor, that they cared more about her blood that had soaked into the sheets, mattress and carpet. And she had hated that with every bit of life that was still inside her.
She hated that they saw her like an item that could easily be replaced, that they had not reacted to her screams, that they had told her this job was “...nothing sketchy, really!” and that "most girls made so much money that they were able to quit after a few moths". She hated that she had believed them.
If she had one regret, it was that she had trusted in other people as much as she had.
She shouldn't have listen when her parents told her, she wasn't smart enough for university.
She shouldn't have listen to her teachers saying that a girl from her background shouldn't dream to big.
She shouldn't have listened to all those men, who had seen a naive girl, all too happy to do as others told her, cause she "didn't want to cause a scene".
That girl was dead and gone.
She would only do whatever she liked! Only eat and wear and say what she wanted! All the others and their sensibilities be damned!
She deserved better than this! A lot better!
If she could she would aim much higher next time. Not merely a job in the city, no! She'd put in everything she got until she became the god damned prime minister or would win a fucking Nobel Price!
Fuck all these people who told her that she couldn't do any better! She would proove them all wrong!
She was overcome by a weird sensation. It felt a little like vertigo but also like falling asleep...
A moment later Power, the blood fiend, opened her eyes in a human body that was still warm and felt weirdly agitated.
Also, what the hell was a Nobel Prize and why did she want one?