I scramble across the mattress, pulling my legs up into my body before I look at him. He’s standing at the foot of the bed, his pants undone, his dark eyes glowering at me. “Make me feel wanted, bitch.”

  I try to think about what my next move should be, but my mind is too clouded with emotion for me to make head or tail of it. I don’t see a way out of this. Either I do what he asks, or he’s going to end up hurting me—or Chrissy.

  He’s waiting for me to make the move. Testing me. Seeing if I actually have it in me. To make it out of this I’m going to give him what he wants, but I’m going to win in my own way. He’s not going to have all of me.

  I’m not his to take.

  I push away my fear and move onto my knees, inching toward him. I force myself to think of Emerson, because if I don’t I’ll never be able to go through with this. I try to focus on him, but I can’t. Seeing his face in my mind does nothing to help me. I want to move, but I’m petrified. I can’t do this. Before I can say, or do anything, Big Earl’s hand strikes my face. Crying out, I place my hand to my lip, feeling the warm wet liquid against my fingertips. Tears fall from my eyes and my lip begins to quiver.

  Big Earl glowers down at me. “I don’t feel wanted, Presley.” His voice is harsh and abrasive and I bite down on my lip to prevent the sobs from escaping my throat.

  With fear in my heart, I force myself to pretend it’s Emerson standing there, ready for me, and I reach down and take him in my hand. It’s like I’m watching myself in a bad movie; my heart pleading for me to stop and run away, but my head telling me something different. When you’re responsible for the wellbeing of people you care about, you do what’s necessary to survive. Fight or flight in its most animalistic form.

  Big Earl gasps and pushes into my palm. “You’re a feisty one, aren’t you.” He groans and my stomach tosses itself around in my body. I turn my head for fear I may vomit. “Put it in your mouth,” he commands.

  Keeping my eyes focused on the patterns underneath me, I squeeze him harder and stroke a few more times before leaning down and taking him in my mouth. He groans and I know I’m doing something right. I’ve heard Chrissy talk about blowjobs enough to know that it isn’t about blowing after all; it’s all in the tongue and sucking power. Maybe this will be where it ends? If I suck him hard enough he’ll be done and it’ll be over before he has a chance to take this any further.

  Pulling my cheeks in around him, I flick my tongue over the head a few times, hoping that I’ll be able to finish quickly. But my hope is short-lived and he grabs me by the shoulders, throwing me to my back. I scream, hoping that someone will hear and perhaps rescue me, but I know it’s no use. This is a whorehouse and shit like this goes on more than anyone would care to know. Things have just taken a turn for the worse, and I frantically try to claw my way off the bed.

  His hungry eyes dance over my body as I try to move but he holds my ankles in place, preventing me from moving. Making his way between my legs, his body weight presses down on me as he pushes my dress up and my panties to the side. He doesn’t waste any time. There’s no kissing. No tenderness. Just pain as he rams himself into my already tender entrance. Crying out again, hot tears slide down my cheeks. I slap at him with my arms, but he grabs my wrists with his left hand and pins them against the mattress. He slams into me again and the wetness from last night returns.

  I’m bleeding again.

  A painful moan escapes my throat and he grunts in response. Every muscle in my exhausted body shakes as the sobs rip through me, my wrists burning, his hands tightening around them as I continue to fight. It doesn’t take long before his pace quickens and the only sound in the room is his skin slapping against mine. I want to scream it’s all so painful. I want to tell him to get out, to at least put a condom on, but I don’t. Because I can’t. I’m not in any sort of position to open my mouth about anything.

  “God, you’re so fuckin’ tight,” he moans, leaning back to study where our bodies are connected. He grins down at me, obviously seeing the blood from last night returning. “And a virgin too. No wonder you’re so tight. Makes me happy to know I just popped that cherry.” He laughs before going back to pounding against me. He lets my wrists go and places his hands on the mattress, creating more leverage for himself. I should fight again, but I can’t find it in me. It’s too late. It’s already over.

  The headboard bangs as he impales me over and over again. It’s like a knife, stabbing, tearing; shredding every hope I ever had. Every pump is punctuated by a grunt, the sordid noise filling the room, and a hot tear slowly falls down my cheek as I go limp, praying that it will be over soon.

  Again, he picks up the pace. The mattress shakes as he quickly and repeatedly hammers into me, his body hovering over mine as sweat drips from his forehead onto me. I cringe as it slides down my chest and I close my eyes, hoping that if I don’t see him that it won’t be as bad. But the noises are far worse. They’re the same ones I tune out when I’m working the desk: the skin slapping, the pops, the grunts.

  He quickens again, this time at the speed of a jackhammer. “Oh, yeah,” he moans, “you like it when I fuck that sweet little pussy. Don’t cha?”

  He stills himself, quickly withdrawing and hovering over my body as he uses his hand to stroke himself a few more times before his eyes roll back and he releases onto my stomach. I watch in horror as the warm jets land on my skin. Turning away, I feel so much shame that I can’t even look at him.

  Instantly, he’s on his feet, laughing as I hear him pull his clothes back on. “You know, Presley, I’ve wanted to fuck you since you grew tits.” His revelation makes me sick and I roll to my side away from him, using the comforter to clean myself before sliding between the sheets. I stare at the wall as I listen to him fumble with his pants. The door opens and I look over my shoulder in his direction. His eyes meet mine and he smiles a crooked smile. “You’re going to make a fine addition to my place, Presley, but you fuck like a dead fish. You’re not good enough to be one of my whores.”

  A strangled sob gets caught in my throat. After all of this he’s still going to throw me out on my ass.

  “Lucky for you I have a new venture. You’ll work in my strip club. Pull some backroom tricks and get some experience under your belt, then we’ll reassess your worth.”

  The thought of having him crawl between my legs again makes the tears spring from my eyes. Somehow I had managed to keep myself from breaking down in front of him. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry, I wait until he’s almost out the door before I roll back so that I’m facing the wall and allow them to fall freely.

  The second the door slams closed behind him I bolt for the bathroom that adjoins the room, barely making it to the toilet before the contents of my stomach empty. I wretch for what seems like forever before finally collapsing onto the cold, hard floor. Pulling my knees close to my body I start to cry. My chest tightens and the tears fall as my body trembles with shame.

  I cry for everyone, but especially for me; for the life that has slipped through my fingers. The life that I will never get to live. The life that I should never have started.

  I stay that way for an eternity. When at last I manage to pick myself up off the floor, I catch sight of myself in the mirror. I even look different. Staring at the stranger in the mirror I know that I can no longer be two people. I have to choose. Only one of us can survive now.

  I can’t believe this is how my life has ended up. All roads lead to here, and I’ve been a fool to think otherwise. My happily ever after was short-lived, my night with Emerson forever tainted by Big Earl. Just like I always feared, I’ve stumbled across that invisible line; straight over to the dark side. I’ll never be able to be normal. When I was born it was predetermined: I was meant to be a working girl.

  No. I was meant to be a whore. And here I am, nothing more than that.

  A whore.

  ONCE I MAKE MY CHOICE and throw myself into the abyss, the life I dreamed of quickly fell by the wayside. Dropping out of school was easy; trying to make my way through the messy life of a working girl was much harder. Chrissy helped as best as she could, but she was too busy pitying me to be of any real help.

  Emerson called and texted, but they all went unanswered. I couldn’t bear the thought of hearing his voice. It broke my heart, and I know that someday I’ll regret my decisions, but it’s for the best. I don’t have time to fill my days with remorse. I have to own my new life.

  The life that was inevitable from the start.

  The night of my first shift has arrived and here I am, frozen in front of my vanity. I look like shit since I spent last night in front of the toilet; visions of Big Earl hovering over me, grunting with each thrust, had emptied my stomach time after time and no matter how many times I scrubbed my skin raw, I swear I could still smell him. I haven’t been able to eat, and I feel weaker than I have in years.

  Now, with my first night of taking off my clothes while being expected to pull back room tricks facing me, I can feel the lump in my throat returning, and even just looking at my reflection in the mirror fills me with sadness. Torn between the girl I want to be and the girl I’m obviously meant to be, I’ve known all along that only one would win. One would eventually rise to the top and claim victory; I just wish it hadn’t been the evil broken one.

  I’m scared, and heavily considering making a run for it, when Chrissy walks in. “What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice so devoid of any inflection or tone that I hardly recognize it as my own.

  She sets her bag down on the vanity next to mine, huffing as she empties the contents of her purse. “I’m working,” she says, thumbing through her makeup and never missing a beat. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

  “What about the brothel?”

  Starting to apply her make-up, she groans. “Big Earl. He wants me to still pull my normal shifts there while coming to shake my ass here in my free time. He’s obviously determined to run me into the ground.”

  Little does she know, I’m on to her. The charade is over, and it’s time Chrissy knew that I know all about her deal with Earl. “Big Earl, or you?” Her hand stills as she realizes that I know. She looks at me with that look—the look of pity that I can’t fuckin’ stand. “Don’t you dare, Chrissy! You of all people know better. I can’t stand to feel like a goddamn charity case. You should have just told me!”

  Her eyes meet mine and she sighs. “It wasn’t like that. I just hoped that one of us could make a go of it. That you could beat this shitty life we’ve been given and make your own story. I wanted to do whatever I possibly could to help.” I glare at her, pissed that she’d kept this a secret. “Besides, we both know I’m not good at much,” she adds, jokingly.

  Irritated, I stand up. Why? I’m not really sure, but it makes me feel better. “This is not a joke.”

  Chrissy doesn’t back down, and joins me, hopping up onto her feet. “No shit!” she hollers back.

  With her standing in front of me I can’t help but notice just how beautiful she is. Even without makeup on, her face is flawless. Her blonde hair cascades around her face perfectly, while the slutty dress that she most likely had been wearing while pulling tricks at the brothel clings to her petite body. My heart breaks with sadness. Chrissy is too young and too beautiful for this life as well. It isn’t just about me—we both deserve more than this.

  “Let’s run away together,” I spit out nervously. It’s illogical, and dangerous, but for some reason it’s the only thing I can think of for us to do.

  She laughs and sits down again, taking my hand to pull me down with her.

  “It’s just a job, Presley. This time of our lives doesn’t have to define us.” It’s the first time I’ve ever heard Chrissy say anything poignant about not turning tricks for the rest of her days. “This is what we have to do now—not forever. It’s survival.”

  I nod.

  Leaning over the space between us, she grabs some makeup from my bag and smiles. “Now, let’s get you beautified. You look like death.”

  Chrissy has just finished curling my hair when the manager comes in

  “Presley, time to get out there. Chrissy you’re on stage in ten.” His voice reverberates through my head, sending shockwaves all the way down to my toes and goose bumps spread across my skin. My stomach flops.

  I’m lucky enough that I don’t actually have to dance on my first night. They’re thoughtful enough to break me in easily; wanting me to peruse the club in next to nothing, refilling drinks, and hoping that some men might want to have some VIP room treatments from me. I know what those VIP treatments are and I can’t stomach the thought of having to go through it. Private dances, hand jobs, blowjobs . . .

  I. Just. Can’t.

  Chrissy senses my panic and grabs my hand, grounding me.

  “I can’t do this,” I say in between shallow breaths, “I know I can’t.”

  Her mouth forms in a hard line, a pained yet sad look on her face. Her eyes drop from mine briefly as she contemplates my words for a moment, before looking back up to meet my gaze. “Lets do it together,” she says.

  I shake my head, confused. “What?” I ask.

  “You and I. We can be a team. You know guys are going to want you in VIP. I mean look at yourself, Presley. You’re sex on legs.” I glance at my face in the mirror. I barely recognize myself underneath the layers of thick make-up, but deep down I know Chrissy is right. I look beautiful. “Go through the motions,” she continues, “get them back there and part of your act will be blindfolding them. Once they are, I’ll come in and do the work for you.”

  “Chrissy—” I start to protest.

  She steps closer to me, quieting her voice as more girls come into the room. “Don’t argue with me.”

  “You can’t protect me anymore,” I whisper.

  “Maybe not, but I sure can try.”

  I’ve already lost my innocence and some of my dignity. Part of my life burnt to ashes when Big Earl tainted the only good thing in my life. School is over for me and Emerson is surely gone for good. This is my life now. I can’t be with him. He deserves more than I can offer.

  But Chrissy can help me keep a tiny piece of my humanity. Unable to put my gratitude into words, I throw my arms around her neck, pulling her close. The tight hug conveys enough that she knows what I want to say even before I manage to whisper, “Okay, but someday, you’re going to let me be your life line.”

  Chrissy kisses my cheek before breaking our embrace and smiling. “Deal.” She grabs my hand. “Now, get your ass out there and act like you don’t have a care in the world. Make the kiddies happy . . . and I’ll take care of the rest.”

  With my legs shaking in my platform heels, I walk out into the club. The strobe lights practically blind me at first, but once I adjust I’m able to see more clearly. The stage is occupied by a girl who looks vaguely familiar. It takes me a minute to place her, but eventually I recognize her as the girl who shot up in the kitchen.

  Peaches.

  She’s twirling around the pole center stage, topless. I stop watching and direct my attention to the crowded tables. Most of the clients are men, but there are a few women mixed in as well. All of them stare at the stage; some cat calling, some practically drooling. But all of them have one thing in common: they aren’t Emerson. It kills me to think that my future is no longer going to be filled with him, but with these pathetic patrons instead.

  Sighing, I emerge from the shadows, puffing my chest out to fake a little confidence. I don’t make eye contact as I walk toward the bar in the back and it doesn’t take long for me to get noticed.

  Feeling fingers pinching my ass, I jump, practically stumbling and I’m barely able to keep myself upright. I turn my head to the right, looking to where the pinch came from, and glare at the man who is smirking at me.

  “Hey, gorgeous,” he yells over the booming music.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Yeah, you can get me a drink and then come sit your pretty ass right here.” He pats his lap before grabbing his groin and yanking on it. The gesture is more than a little lewd and my muscles tense as if I’ve doused myself in cold water.

  My heart thunders in my chest and I swallow the lump in my throat. Forcing a smile I work myself up to speak again. “So what’ll it be?” I attempt to sound sexy, but instead my voice cracks. Surely he can tell I’m nervous as hell, and he’ll either see it as a turn on or a turn off. I’m hoping for the latter.

  “I’ll take a shot of Patron. Hurry back, sweetheart, I’m feeling rather cold.”

  His words send a shiver down my spine and it’s all I can do to walk to the bar, order his drink and walk back; all the while my heart yelling for me to run, to get as far away from here as I can. But my brain is telling me to stay. Reminding me that life will chew me up and spit me out if I try to leave.

  I set the shot glass down on his table and smile. “There you go, sir.”

  He sucks it back quickly and slams the glass down on the table. Laughing, he pats his lap for me to sit. I look around the room at all the other girls. They’re all mingling, laughing and generally making me look bad, so I bite down on my tongue and sit where he wants me to. Through the non-existent fabric of my skirt, I feel his hardness pressing against me. I attempt to shift myself onto his leg, but he wraps his arms around my naked waist and pulls me back. The music fades out and the current girl stops dancing.