The Service Station

She was a mannequin

An exquisite beauty consumed by a sadness that was eternities old

Doe eyed. Porcelain skinned. 

Her perfect face seemed framed by shadow, a product of her charcoal sweater and dark silken mane of rich chestnut 

Her gaze was alert and innocent, yet she would not meet with mine

What is your name?

"Lilya"

Her demeanour and grace at odds with the cheap and dated decor of this motorway inn

Pine veneer headboard and embossed wallpaper borders

Wall lights with canvas shades

Tropical flowers faded with years of use patterned the duvet cover upon which Lilya sat

I tell her her name is beautiful

"Thank you" Lilya says, lowering her gaze like she was undeserving of the compliment 

I tell her she is beautiful

"Thank you", she says again, automatically

A few seconds pass, in uncomfortable silence. My attention wanders, finds the distant drone of the motorway and suddenly I become conscious of what I ought to be doing here.

"What do you do? Do you study? Work?" I ask briskly, the intense solemnity of her repose now beginning to confound me a little

".....work", she mumbles after a lengthy pause 

"What is your job?" 

At this she remains silent, perhaps slightly confused by what I could mean. 

I hand her some magazines to look through.

"Do you like anything there? Say which things you like. Do you like that? Is that something you might like to try?" I quiz, pointing to a couple engaging in anal sex

"I don't know", Lilya says timidly but now sitting more upright

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

"No"

"You don't have a boyfriend!"

"How many boyfriends have you had?"

"One"

"You're a serious girl aren't you?"

"Maybe"

"Ok, could you take off all your clothes for me"

I started at her feet, slowly moving the camera up her body, scanning her ankles, knees, thighs, her smooth waist, supple breasts, before arriving at her flawless face which held an eternal expression of indifference. As Lilya gathered her hair to tie it back I could see a scar running around her neck which clearly hadn't healed. A continuous red ring.

"What is that scar on your neck?"

Lilya looked directly at me and failed to arrest a smile that had escaped

"What scar?", she calmly replied, eyes now alive 

"Lilya, there is a deep scar around your neck that is weeping. Now tell me how you got it!"

"What scar?, she repeated gently. "What scar?", now glowing with the deepest satisfaction.