Chapter 1— I Hate My Life!

Deven's POV:

Do you know what I always wondered? I always wondered how the stars feel. I bet they feel pretty liberated. They're just spilled freely across the sky. It's beautiful.

"Deven! Get your head out of the clouds! There are customers in there waiting for you!" my boss, Mrs. Bulgarie, says, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I turn around and face her. "Yes ma'am."

"Your favorite, Mr. Alcott is here," she winks, turning towards the door to head inside the club.

I visibly grimace— but I don't know if it's because of her insinuating words or the fact that she called Mr. Alcott my favorite. He is anything but my favorite, quite the opposite.

He's among the category of unfaithful men who come to these types of clubs, 'to feel something special,' his words not mine. Even though I think, he's old and needs to retire forever.

I sigh out all the fear and anxiety I'm feeling and look up once more at the stars for courage.

Walking back into the bar, the disturbingly loud music hits me, as well as the pungent smell of musky body odor, alcohol, and cigarette smoke. My hands clutch at the extremely skimpy outfit on my body, trying to make myself feel comfortable.

I honestly don't get how the girls here wear this outfit; it's disgusting; it covers close to nothing. Don't they feel disgusted with themselves? They prance around with confident, and smiley looks on their faces. Does that mean they're happy with it? Or are they faking it like I am? I wonder how many of them share the same sentiments that I do about this job.Then again, we don't have a choice. When you've had nowhere to go, and no one to call family your entire life, you start to seek comfort and affection in the most unlikely places. And I unfortunately sought mine at this club; more like it sought me.

"Hey Y-you—"Mr. Alcott hiccups, "ready?" He stumbles toward me. No. I never was.

"Of course." I plaster a seductive grin on my face. My skin crawls as he grabs my left arm and pulls me toward the last place I want to be this Friday night.

"How's your wife?" I coyly ask, reminding him that he indeed has a wife.

I just want to curl up and hurl. He gets up, and walks toward me, already undressing me with his eyes. I mean, there's nothing to undress, my nudity is hanging on by a couple of threads, literally.

An hour later. We were done. He'd done what he wanted, and as always, I couldn't do anything to stop it, but just lay down, and take it like a good little girl. I hate my life. I want to be free. I hate this lifestyle.

"Bye my sweet gem," he pecks my cheek, leaving a 100-dollar bill in my hand.

100 dollars?

I'm just worth a hundred bucks?

"Oh, come on. Don't you think I need a little more," I coax. He rolls his eyes and pulls out fifty dollars.

"Oh, come on?" I whine.

I have downgraded to nothing. I'm begging for money. What would my parents think of me?

"Take it or leave it, you money-sucking waste," he sneers while walking away. Oh, he did not just-

I walk toward him, ready to give him a piece of my mind. I've had enough.

"I don't think so Miss. Deven," Mrs. Bulgarie taunts. Where did she even come from?

I halt and just glare at his retrieving figure.

I turn around, walk back to my room, and flop on my bed. Letting out the tears of anger, sadness, and frustration that I'd been feeling all day. I really don't like my life!