This Train Never Sleeps

The city lights blurred outside the window of the speeding subway, reflecting in Chan's tired eyes. Every Saturday, he went there like a moth drawn to a flame, hearing the distant rumble of the train, like a harbinger of the inevitable. He knew he was getting burned, but he couldn't resist this self-destructive urge. He would sit at the closest table to the stage, ordering the cheapest cocktail, just to see her again. The thunder of the music mixed with the rhythmic clatter of the wheels in his head. In the smooth movements of her dance, the minimum of clothing she wore would slip off, leaving only lacy thongs. Another bald, fat rich man would take her to a private room, and Chan, following her with his gaze, would clench his fists so tightly that his nails dug into his palms. Each time, he felt something inside him breaking. The image of this girl was stuck in his heart like a splinter, causing a dull, aching pain. He saw something special in her, something fragile and vulnerable, hidden behind the mask of a professional smile. Today, everything would be different. Today, he would take her away from here. He had been saving for months, putting aside every miserable won, to buy himself this moment. When the dance ended, he approached her, extending a trembling hand. She coquettishly placed her fingers in his palm, her touch burning his skin. She led him behind the stage, where the muted club music mixed with moans and slaps from behind closed doors. Sounds reminiscent of the screech of a train's brakes. "Do you have the money to pay?" she asked, opening one of the doors, looking at the simply dressed guy for this place and smiling mockingly. "Y-yes," he stammered, rummaging through his pockets, pulling out the coveted wad of cash. "Hmm, did you sell a kidney?" she said, walking to the bed, not waiting for an answer. She had long noticed this guy, standing out from the crowd with his innocent youth and inconspicuous clothes. She saw his greedy looks when she performed her sexy dance. Lately, she had been playing with him, as if dancing for him, seeing how he swallowed at her winks and smiles. But he had approached her for the first time. "Close the door, why are you standing there?" He hastily locked the door, looking at the girl uncertainly, who was already sitting on the bed, spreading her legs wide and seductively pushing aside the fabric of her panties, showing what was underneath. In her eyes, he saw the usual emptiness, but today he wanted to believe that it was just a mask. "Well, are you just going to stand there?" she asked seductively, biting her lip and looking at him longingly. "Come here. The clock is ticking." He swallowed. What was he thinking? Why did he strive so hard to possess her? He knew that he was just one of many for her: one of those who paid for the illusion of intimacy, for a brief moment of oblivion. But he continued to deceive himself, clinging to the crumbs of her attention like a drowning man to a straw. And now she was here. Nearby. Ready to bring all his fantasies to life. But did he want this? He believed he could save her, pull her out of this abyss, but reality turned out to be different. He had never thought about whether she wanted a different life, naively assuming that no girl would voluntarily go into this. Suddenly, all his excitement evaporated. He saw before him not the woman of his dreams, but a doll ready to play any role for money. "Can you just talk to me?" he blurted out suddenly, "and cover up..." The smile instantly disappeared from her face, and a shadow of irritation flashed across it. She threw on a robe: "What do you want to talk about?" she asked, sitting down next to him. "About electricity prices? Or maybe about the latest movies? Perhaps about the elections in America?" "No. Tell me how to get you out of here," he said softly, hearing a bitter laugh in response: "There is no way out of here, baby. Unless you sell all your organs to buy me out..."...