<p>It wasn't like anything in the movies. The ride to the vocation was spent in the very back of a black Dodge Grand Caravan listening to chatter between the two men to accompany them. Kassandra chimed in occasionally, high out of her mind. Angela sat quietly staring at the floor in the same clothes from the night before. <br/> During the transportation, she learned their names were Sergio and Vincent, and that Sergio's mother was dying of an aggressive brain cancer meanwhile Vincent and his fiancée were splitting up. It wasn't a peachy exchange. Listening to them speak to each other only depressed Angela.<br/> It wasn't like it she wasn't in that state already. Prostitution was abnormal to her. Escorting was acceptable. Prostitution was an act of low life behaviour. Escorting was a job. The longer she thought about it the closer she got to paranoia. Which was pointless in her opinion, as she was about to confront her fears regardless if she wanted to. Besides, if they could keep Kassandra alive, why would they sacrifice her?<br/> The ride felt like it was hours long. As they crossed through more and more districts, Angela's stomach began to churn. She knew this wasn't going to an easy first day. Did she even have a choice to discern it? <br/> Pushing the thoughts out of her mind, she focused on Kassandra's demeanour. She couldn't tell if the woman was confident and accustomed or strung out. She needed to imitate the woman in some way or other to succeed; she could feel the hunger for rough unsolicited sex ranging through the streets.<br/> She was a fucking fool. Not an idiot, but ignorant. Deep down she knew escorting was a dishonourable job. Both prostitutes and women of her kind slept with men at the end of the day. The night before, she found out both risked their lives. <br/> She couldn't believe herself for not knowing better. She was nineteen, not fourteen. God, what would her<br/>mother have told her? The woman never provided any guidance.<br/> Esmeralda Whitley had quit working at thirty years of age and never looked back. Married a high school sweetheart who ended up becoming a successful entrepreneur. Simply put, her mother was a princess who had only reached Angela's brain when she was little. By the time her daughter was eleven, the woman was a severe alcoholic and divorced. She had lost custody of Angela, who agreed to still see her mother on Mondays. <br/> Sitting on her riches, Esmeralda languished rather lonely. She had only taught her daughter one thing: no one was obligated to love you unconditionally, not even your parents.<br/> Angela thought deeply for a second and concluded love didn't exist. It was a selfish act. A manipulative act. She had never been a parent a day in her life – perhaps oxytocin at childbirth was just a theory. <br/> The van stopped moving. Her attention was now on Kassandra, Sergio and Vincent, particularly Vincent as he pulled a 9mm out of his jacket. The driver looked in the mirror to watch the exchange.<br/> "You use this shit if they don't pay you. It's as simple as that." Vincent shoved the handgun into Angela's small hand. <br/> She had never owned a gun before, let alone shot one. She didn't know if she felt sick or intrigued. <br/> "One hundred fifty bucks. They don't got it, tell 'em to keep walking." <br/> Wonderful. She was expected to defend herself using a weapon she had never used before. On top of that, no one would be accompanying her as she risked her life.<br/> "Get outta here, I'll see you at dusk." Vincent said as he and Sergio shoved the women out onto the street.<br/> Angela could not fucking believe what she had been through in the past twelve hours. And it wasn't stopping from there, no.<br/> "They have arrived," a man said as he approached Kassandra, wrapping his arm around her as soon as he could. <br/> So her hand was a popular one. She prayed none of them would notice her and that "they" was a reference to the van, not her in particular.<br/> Angela was met with the opposite outcome of her hopes. A man grabbed her arm and began dragging her into the alley. She screamed. Should I use the firearm? She wondered as the rancid smelling profligate escorted her to his preferred venue.<br/> "I understan' it's your first day. Act professional, lady. Don't give me this shit." <br/> She knew right that second she needed an escape from this life. Sickened by the smell, the look on his face, the pasty skin belonging to the man, she had never been with someone so repulsive. And she knew it was only going to get worse from there.<br/><br/> She sucked. She swallowed. She choked. She cried all on the way home after sleeping with four more clients, getting together six hundred dollars and having it torn away from her as soon as she entered the van. <br/> She was raped and was now being robbed. No one on earth cared for her enough to issue a police report on her disappearance. She didn't work at a job. She didn't have loved ones who saw her on a weekly basis. She was flat-out fucked.<br/> She watched Kassandra sleep next to her. The woman snored loudly, disturbing Angela's peace. "For God's sake," she spoke up. "Will you ever shut up?"<br/> "Shut the fuck up," Vincent snapped.<br/> Angela did just that as she looked down at a tear in her dress. She felt sorry for herself. Her traumatized mind made her wonder if she was better off in this situation — that she did not deserve peace. <br/> Her aunt had told her once that joy was an illusion.<br/><br/> </p>
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