(no subject)
Just a little something I randomly wrote. I got bored. It's not very good.
They say eight o’clock is prime time in her line of work. She learned that the rich ones, the ones who are sneaking away from their wives, the ones who don’t want to be seen, come out at eleven.
She stands in front of the bathroom mirror, layering on her makeup, praying that someone won’t get too out of control that she’ll have to reapply it. It takes up valuable time.
She zips her boots over her stockings, places a hat upon her head and walks out of her diminutive apartment. Her office is down the street, her desk outside a 7-11. It’s close enough that she can run in if the cops come snooping around these areas. They usually know better then to come here, though.
It doesn’t take long for her first customer.
She steps in his over-polished car, and they drive off.
He places his hand on her thigh.
Her skin is crawling.
He moves it higher.
She wants to puke.
“what’s your name?”
“whatever you want it to be.”
This isn’t Pretty Woman. There are no ‘rules’. in this line of work you take what you can get. That means that if he wants to kiss her, he will. After all, isn’t bad customer service detrimental to every business?
His hands run over her soft skin, sweat dripping off his body onto hers.
when did my life become this?
He throws a fifty on the bed as he walks out.
She takes the bus back to her desk.
Five minutes later a car pulls up.
“lookin’ for a good time, mister?”
“I sure am, darling.”
She gets in.
He pulls out a badge.
“You’re under arrest.”
They’re the most terrifying words she’s ever heard.
She’s at the station.
“how old are you?”
No answer.
“I asked you a question. How old are you?”
“…sixteen.”
when did my life become this?