Dear Diary;
I haven't written for a very long period of time, I am aware of that, and I hereby apologize. I truly haven't had the time necessary to immerse into my feelings and pour my heart and sould onto these pages. The last time I've done so was, if I recall correctly, a month ago. Perhaps that is for the best, for I doubt you would've enjoyed simple descriptions of my daily life. Not even I enjoy them. Far from that-in my heart, they are in the farthest and the most despised corner. Every night, when I go to sleep, alone or with a client by my side, I try my hardest to set them aside, forget them, but they keep coming up...just like clouds and bad weather. Sometimes...more than often, more than just sometimes, I find myself despising my entire life, my entire being for this...Even though it is the only thing that keeps me warm and prevents what would certainly result in my death in the streets.
Just a few days prior to opening you, Diary, I thought I was finally going to write down some good news. I was certain that my life could and would change, that it was going to take a brighter way...finally. But as I was climbing up the stairs to my room today, I met a client coming down. A rather young man...a doctor, named Edison. Handsome...and one of my more gentle clients. Passionate, but not violent. I nodded my head at him, and greeted him, when he stopped me; "Anastazia," He said, "You shouldn't go out on your own. Have you not heard there is a killer on loose?" Indeed, I had heard, that very morning. Last night, a man, Mr. Mallister, had been murdered on the Easter Ball. Oh, you know how I used to love balls, how I still do...but I couldn't have attended, naturally. Who in his right mind would've taken me? The victim had been another client...A different sort of a client, though. Sometimes, when he was drunk and alone with me, he would tell me about his life before. A very tragic story...Perhaps that was why I felt a tad connected to him. But there was no chance for sympathy...I could never feel anything of the sort for a man who used my body as if it was his possession.
"I am certain I shall be fine, Doctor Edison." I said, and continued to climb. But a grasp of his hand on my elbow stopped me; "Anastazia." He called me again, "Be careful. If you were killed, nobody would bother to investigate it any further. You are just a prostitute." His words can be sharp, yes, and they were then. However, even though a whore shouldn't have done so, I dsiplayed some pride. Shaking off his hand, I gave him a fierce look and went on up the stairs.
Yes, if you have not already guessed, I intend on trying to regain my life.
I know I will never be what I'd been before. I'll never be the rich, blissful Miss Bartos with a blissful future before her. But I certainly hope I will at least gain back little bits, fragments of it.
Doctor Edison had given me doubts. His words, as painful and mean as they were, were the truth. Who would ever lift a finger to help a whore?
But I am Hungarian. And we don't give up. Now that I've promised myself and James I would go on...I am going to do it. By God, I am going to do it, even if I have to lie, steal, cheat and kill. I will clear the name Bartos of all the shame I have brought it. If I do not succeed...then let me be damned.
Another week I will spend in this brothel...just to get enough money to pay for a decent lodging. Then I will try to find a job. A decent job.
After that...I'll see where life takes me.
Anastazia