Crying out thorns is a cactus

Sand or jade?

Chapter 7 (excerpt)

Crying out thorns is a cactus

It was a small motel room, with more than a dozen people, with seven Thai men and three elderly women. As Sandy walked in, they seemed to see delicious prey. Sandy paused, frankly feeling a little regretful, but this was the lowest-paying motel where she could rest.

Sandy chose the innermost corner, quietly putting down her overstuffed backpack. The men looked at Sandy with a grin, and the three women pouted contemptuously at Sandy as if she were a cheap slut. "Not my concern," said Sandy to herself, "I'll be out of here as soon as I get the chance."

That first night, Sandy couldn't sleep, staring into the darkness with eyes wide open, scared of the lustful gazes of the men in the room, and haunted by the prying eyes of the women on her backpack. Sandy's first night in Thailand has already passed, a sleepless night. 

For the next three days, Sandy was always in a state of alert. The men still looked at her with lustful eyes as if they wanted to eat Sandy alive. Indecent licks on the lips, loud sucking sounds, and frequent intentional strokes on her butt as Sandy tried to get past them to get back to bed.

Her body began to wear out due to fatigue and constant insomnia, Sandy wanted to sleep so many times that she hid in the toilet and fell asleep in a room full of urinal smell, only to wake up again because of the loud cursing and banging sound on the door of her roommates. Sandy's work productivity also decreased significantly, she broke dishes continuously, her whole body was lifeless, her limbs were exhausted. She sometimes couldn't even lift a plate, let alone a ton of clutter. 

And then whatever will come has come. One evening, the young man among the men could not hold back the desire to enjoy the delicious prey in front of him, which he couldn't get his hand on. He crept sneakily past three old women stinking of old age, to his delicious bait. Sandy heard him move as he began to stir. In the stillness of the night, the naked, rising lump of his desire made Sandy want to get up and throw up, but she restrained herself, reaching under the pillow, grasping the handle of the small sharp knife she had bought in the second day of staying here. Gripping the knife handle, Sandy waited breathlessly. He swooped down lightly, and when his hand was about to touch her shoulder, Sandy let out a loud scream, then slashed the knife across his body. The sound of the blade cutting through the flesh, sweetness, the smell of blood, the scream erased the silence of the night. The whole room woke up. 

A man jumped out of bed, stepped out, and turned on the tiny yellow filament light bulb in the middle of the room. The young man hugged his bloodied cheeks, cursed continuously, his eyes flickered up to look at Sandy, he was about to rush into her to fight and vent his anger. But Sandy raised the knife and pointed it at him while speaking in the barely learned Thai language.

• Don't think you can touch me, if you dare, I… I'll kill you! 

The whole room looked at Sandy like a madman, then they looked at the young man again, on his left cheek, a long, deep slit that was bleeding non-stop.

Sandy stood up, without redressing, and picked up her backpack, leaving behind the group of men and women.

Sandy stepped outside, wandering the brightly lit streets of the city that never sleep. Tourists flock to bustling gay bars, where the door has an electronic "welcome" sign in Vietnamese. 

Bored, tired, noticed by no one, Sandy sat down to rest on the bench at the bus stop. The street at night was as crowded as daytime. The buses came in all night and then left again, Sandy didn't know which one to get on, the drivers looked at her with pitying eyes. In a land where language posed a barrier that she can't overcome, in a country where people use money to talk instead of love, is there anyone who would care or sympathize with her?

Opening the phone, looking at the contact list full of Vietnamese names, Sandy was anguished. What did you save them for? When you decided to leave, you almost cut off all contact in Vietnam, from your phone to social media and other networks, everything was down. But now, when you need someone to protect you, you turn on the contacts? How silly!

One by one, she searched mindlessly, then came across the name Jackie. She suddenly remembered, then hesitantly pressed call.

• Jackie, I’m really hopeless rightnow.
• Where are you?
• Bus stop.
• What? What are you doing there right now, at this time? Midnight?
• …..
• OK, I’ll take you, wait for me.

Jackie is a local guy, the bartender of the restaurant Sandy works in. More than 20 minutes later, Jackie stopped in front of her on his motorbike with a puzzled look. He then picked up her backpack first.

• Don’t say anything, go home with me.
• Home? I don’t…
• My home. Let’s go! Come on!

She obediently sat in the back of the motorbike, like an injured kitten.

Autobiography of a girl who was sexually abused from the age of 8, recorded together by Hoa Binh and Co.

Vietnam Women's Publishing House published in 2015