Chapter 2 - Chapter 2: Downword spiral

Zane, at 35, void swallowed her. Tik dens in Hillbrow called; first hit chased pain. Nyaope highs blurred clients into monsters. Eviction hit—R10k arrears. Homeless, she Airbnb-hopped: charming Melville hosts with "artist stories," Maboneng pads with dog-friendly lies.Enter Spark and Ember—tiny toy poms from a rescue in Randburg. Fluffy black-and-white puffs, R2k each. "My babies," Lira cooed, backpack-carrying them between guest houses. Tik drained cash; gigs funded highs, not stability.Income pivots failed spectacularly. The House of Shadows novel—400 pages of her life thinly veiled—self-pubbed via Shopify store: 20 sales, mostly pity buys. Music: "Street Queen" EP on SoundCloud, horror-pop beats made in free GarageBand—50 streams, zero collabs. "Freelance writing?" Pitching blogs: crickets. Airbnb side-hustle? Her own listing banned for "nuisance complaints."Guest house carousel spun: cancellations when hosts sniffed drugs, dogs whining. Spark licked her tears; Ember chased shadows. "We'll rise, pups." But mirrors showed hollow cheeks, track marks.Chapter 6: The Breaking PointBraamfontein guest house, rain hammering tin roofs like Thabo's fists. Lira, 38, high-faded, opened her door. Ember sprawled—eyes glassy, foam at mouth. Poison, deliberate; note pinned: "Take your filth elsewhere." Spark howled as Lira cradled the limp body, keening into the storm.Rage tsunami: she hurled lamps, clawed walls, tik pipe to lips till visions warped. Flashbacks—Thabo, rapists, Zane—collided. Overdose tempted; Spark's paw on her leg pulled back. "No. For you."Funeral under jacaranda: shallow grave, stolen cross. No one came. Society's rejection echoed: family ghosts, school taunts, clients' sneers. "Freak. Nobody wants you." Alone, she chain-smoked, plotting revenge fantasies. Self-control frayed— a brawl with a dealer, cops hauling her away, released with warnings.Dawn pierced clouds. Lira washed, dressed, leashed Spark. "We fight on." Hope flickered, ember-thin. Rising from AshesNow 40, Lira endures. Streets claim her body; spirit soars untamed. Spark, gray-muzzled, trots beside. She writes voraciously—novel drafts in Google Docs, shared in trans Facebook groups. Music uploads persist: "Phoenix Heart," a dubstep ballad of loss, hits 500 streams after a TikTok clip.Mentoring blooms: Gauteng support group, guiding young trans girls. "Streets teach, but you choose the lesson." Zane sighting—at a Newtown market, arm-in-arm with wife. Eyes met; nod exchanged. Love's echo lingers.Airbnb hops continue, Spark her talisman. A breakthrough glimmers: viral SoundCloud repost by an indie producer. Novel query to a Jozi publisher—fingers crossed.Each dawn, heels click: another gig, another page. Trauma scars, but Lira stands. "Life's cruel, but I'm crueler. One day, success turns. I'll live full—house, hits, no chains." Hope, her fiercest hustle.