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I hate my inner voice. Why does it always sound like Devlin?
With a bitten off sound, I storm inside. I run my fingers through my hair a few times, tucking everything into a tightly protected box. When I feel numb, I do what I have to.
It takes twenty minutes. I stop in front of the mirror I’ve been avoiding since I got dressed, rubbing my fingertips together. I’m afraid to look, but I do it anyway, forcing myself to face what I’m doing head on. It’s the only way to put my mental armor in place.
The makeup I applied is thicker than usual, my eyes rimmed in black winged liner to make them appear bigger. An unamused smile stretches my plump red lips. Devlin would say I finally fit the cat burglar vibe with the winged style.
My hair falls around my shoulders, partially covering the sheer mesh top with tiny dots. The black lace bra is visible beneath it. I picked out a short leather skirt and the only pair of tights I own—they’re sheer gray with a few holes, but they’ll keep me warmer from the chill in the air. None of my coats give off enough sex appeal, so I opt for a thick long cardigan.
As I stare at the new phoenix I’ve morphed into, I tuck away the idealistic little girl inside who cries for crossing this line.
Bracing my hands on either side of the mirror leaning against the wall, I give myself a pep talk. “Buck the hell up. Life’s not going your way. What the fuck else is new?”
I take the bus into town, too nervous I’ll give into temptation to hop back in my car if I have an easy exit. The bus driver gives me a sidelong glance full of pity when she takes in the ripped tights and the sheer top peeking out of the collar of the cardigan I grasp closed. A man that gets on at the next stop leers at me, taking his time dragging his disgustingly open gaze up my legs.
By the time I get off the bus, my heart thuds. All around me, Ridgeview is bursting with holiday cheer. I pass a shop window on the main street with painted holly leaves and a scene of snow on the mountains decorating the display. Early birds and planners mill up and down the block, weighed down by shopping bags and packages purchased in time for the holidays. It doesn’t click in my head that people can be so happy and festive when my entire world is crumbling.
Each step on the pavement clacks, echoing from the heels I snagged from Mom’s closet. It’s the soundtrack to my panicked plan.
I shiver as the breeze blows. It’s cold out. The tights and cardigan don’t do as much as I’d hoped to protect me from the wind.
“Damn it,” I mutter, jogging a little toward my destination to warm my body.
The problem with jogging is it brings me to where I’m going too quickly.
Ash and acid creep up my throat as I approach the dark corner on the outskirts of the main strip in the middle of Ridgeview. It’s known for sex workers, near enough to draw customers and secluded by the darkness enveloping the narrow, forbidden street.
I hesitate for a long moment a few feet before I reach the corner. There’s a bustling cafe to my left. It would be so easy to slip inside the warm shop and forget about this harebrained idea.
This is insane. I’m eighteen and a scholarship student. I tug the cardigan tighter, gritting my teeth.
I’m a scared girl with no other options.
Steeling myself for how excruciating this will be, I make my feet move, walking to the dark corner. Men like the one on the bus will come here. With any luck, after a night of this I can figure out how girls end up as Sugar Babies or an escort. This town is full of rich upper class residents. They have to pay better.
It’s hard to swallow past the lump in my throat as I pass two women near the entrance to the street. My skin crawls as I hear a faint moan further down, in the dark shadows. My limbs are jittery and stiff as I clomp along in my mom’s heels.
Other workers look at me with understanding, sympathy, solidarity in their gazes.
A sharp breath catches in my throat as I find an open spot. Surreptitiously, I peek at one of the women nearby for an idea of what to do, how to stand so I don’t scream newbie.
With monumental effort, I unclamp my clawed hands from my cardigan, allowing it to fall open and droop off one of my shoulders. The icy chill whips up my legs, moving over my belly. I smother a shiver and cant my hip to the side when a car turns down the street in a sedate roll. The other workers on the block prowl, some even calling out to the car.
Over here, honey.
Want a good time?
Right here, baby, I’ll give you what you need.
My stomach revolts. It’s all I can do to keep my sexy pout in place. Well, I hope it’s a sexy pout and not a hint at the riot going on inside me.
The car stops and a girl that doesn’t seem much older than me leans into the car with a smug smirk as she talks to the pudgy middle-aged man behind the wheel.
I twist my fingers in and out of the edge of the cardigan, wringing it into a stretched out shape. God, I wish I hadn’t fought with Devlin right now. The broken heart I’ve been nursing without any sign of recovery gives a sad thump in agreement, as if it’s saying ya think, dummy?
It never felt like I was selling my body to Devlin.
The money he exchanged to touch me was…different. Like it was his excuse to get close to me. Even if all of it was a lie, my feelings were real. They still are.
