"And you will never feel this pretty
And you will never feel this beautiful
When I make it there
Oh when I make it there..."
~ Pretty, The Weeknd

Two Years Ago.

"I look like a whore."

I tugged on the hem of my black dress as I impatiently waited for the elevator to reach the penthouse. Once my dress was adjusted, I retuned my grip onto the metal bars. Besides how uncomfortable I felt in the skin tight, too short piece of fabric Milan had thrown at me from her closet, I hated elevators. All I wanted was to get off. Or even better, go home. Being in this very large, very expensive looking elevator only made me feel smaller and insignificant. I was insignificant, in the grand scheme of things.

People like me, we don't get to be important. We're looked down upon. We don't have money, we don't have family (and if we do, they suck), we don't have any real connection to this world. We are not people who get to be remembered. We don't go down in history books. Our names are not plastered on television, our faces are not previewed in magazines.

We're the untouchables of this world. The lowest of low. We are the ones people scoff at. The ones women sneer at and mutter skank under their breath when we pass. We're the ones men love to use and abuse because we don't matter. Not to them, not to anyone.

Not even to ourselves.

We have lost ourselves, our identity. We've been forced to conform. To change. To become someone who doesn't care. Someone who doesn't feel. We pretend to have connections. Every man who pulls up to the corner becomes our husband. Just for a moment. We listen to their sob stories and we ignite every freaky desire they have. We embrace their wants and needs and fetishes. We give them our bodies in exchange for currency and we pretend it means something. Just for a split second, we pretend that they are ours, that we have them. We do this because we know we never will.

There is no connection. No love. No...relationship.

There is nothing but the exchange of goods. Sex for money, money for sex. It's simple.

It's disgusting.

But it's what keeps us fed and housed and alive.

"Relax," Milan muttered, cutting her eyes to me. "You look fine."

"I look like a whore," I repeated with a sigh. Icould see my reflection in the elevator and I knew without a doubt that once we stepped off, there'd be no denying what we were here for.

"You are a whore." She pulled a tube of lipstick from her purse and quickly applied it to her lips. When she finished, she puckered her lips and glanced in the mirror. Satisfied with her look, she turned back to me. Her voice was a whisper when she spoke. "That's the only reason why we're here tonight."

I shook my head. "I'm not a whore."

"You have sex for money. That makes you a prostitute." She chuckled. "Prostitute, whore, however you want to put it. You may not do it as much as I do, but—"

I turn to face her. "I do what I have to."

"We're all doing what we have to," she hissed, eyes narrowing. I knew it was the wrong thing to say, but I couldn't help it. I didn't want to be classified with the rest of them. But Milan has a temper and a no bullshit attitude, and she certainly didn't take well to lies. And we both knew that me pretending I wasn't in the same boat as her was as big a lie as anything."I know you'd like to think you're better than me and the rest of us, but you're not. You're just like us. You're just like me, girl."

The elevator dings and the doors opened. She casted me one last look, relaxing her shoulders. "Now come on. You could make good money tonight, if you don't act stuck up."

She stepped out and I followed quickly suit. Before we could split up, she gripped my wrist and leaned close so her lips were by my ear. "Here. Take this. Should help you loosen up."

She slipped a small plastic baggie in my hand and then curled her hand around mine so I made a fist. After pulling away, I uncurled my hand and looked at what she'd given me.

"No, I don't do drugs."

I'd smoked weed before, but that was a plant.

"Seriously, Neila, it's for your own good. You need it. Go to the bathroom, snort it now, and then come back out for some fun." She pulled down the dress to show off more cleavage and looked around. She paused when her eyes latched onto a man across the room. "I'm going now. Don't waste my shit."

I watch as she strutted over to the man, her hips swaying with every step. Jealousy swirled inside me. I wished I had her confidence. She fit into every place, every scenario. She was like a chameleon, able to adapt in any situation with no faults. I, on the other hand, was nervous as hell. Clearing my throat, I turned and made my way through the suite in search of the bathroom. I found it easily enough. I opened the door quickly, stopping when I saw that someone was already inside.

She was tall and beautiful, dressed to the nines in a short red dress and high-as-hell heels. I eyed her shoes. I know cheap knockoffs when I see them. Guess Milan and I weren't the only girls here for work. She paused applying mascara and her blue eyes locked on mine through the mirror.

"Sorry," I murmured, taking a step back, ready to walk back out.

"No, I'm almost done." She glanced at my hand. I was still clutching the baggie. "Do whatever it is you were going to."

I hesitated.

She smiled. "Okay, I get it. I'm leaving."

She finished up and then walked past me. With one last smile, she left, closing the door behind her. I locked it. In less than three minutes, I had the white powder set in two fine lines on the perfect porcelain counter. I'd only smoked a little pot before—certainly nothing hardcore like heroin or cocaine, but I'd seen people do it and I got the gist. I leaned down and pressed a finger against my left nostril. Closing my eyes, I snorted the line quickly. Ignoring the burning sensation, I did it again with the second line. My nasal dripped and I sniffed it back, rubbing my nose in attempt to alleviate the strange feeling.

"Mm," I moaned as the drug took effect. My lashes fluttered and I wiped my nose as a tickling sensation built up.

The jiggling of the doorknob pulled me from my momentary trance. "Hello? Are you finished in there? I have to pee!"

"Uh — j-just a minute!" I scrambled to dust off the remaining powder from the countertop and my nose. I felt like I was moving in slow motion. "I'll be out in a sec!"

I straightened my dress, ran my fingers through my dark hair a few times, and let out a breath. Then I opened the door. The girl who'd been waiting just out the door practically shoved me out the way and went straight to the toilet, pulling up her dress and crouching over it. I looked away uncomfortably and left, closing the door behind me.

"Ah, there you are, Cherry." I looked up to see David, one of Milan's regulars, walking toward me. I plastered on a relaxed smile and waved leisurely. "I'd been looking for you."

"Here I am. What's up?"

"I have someone who's interested in meeting you."

"In me?"

He smirked. David wasn't all that attractive—to me, at least. He had a too-big-for-his-face nose and a square-ish jaw. Plus he was a little on the heavier side, but that seems to be recent. He's been gaining weight. The only positive thing worth pointing out is his hair, which is thick and soft. "Great for running your fingers through," Milan had told me. 

"Come." He juts out his elbow and I looped my arm through his.

He led me across the room to a small group of men. They were all pretty young looking, maybe in their mid to late twenties, early thirties. When we were close enough, one of them stepped away from the group and turned to look at us. I eyed him. He was good looking. Tan, lean, tall. His suit looked expensive, but then again so did everyone else's. The room was full of rich men looking to have a great time and blow off some steam.

That's why so many girls like me were here. We were the party gifts.

"Chris," David says, extending his arm toward the man.

Chris smiled, flashing white teeth, and shook David's hand. His eyes drifted to me, and I watched him as he looked me over.

"Chris, this is Cherry." David introduced us and stepped back. "Cherry, this is a business associate of mine. Chris."

I stuck out my hand and Chris took it, his large hand enveloping mine. "Hello."

"Nice to meet you, Cherry."

"Cherry is Milan's friend."

My eyebrows furrowed. I'd been under the assumption she'd given him a fake one like I had when we first met him. She must really like him. He must be paying her well.

"Oh?" Chris looked me over again, this time a peculiar expression on his face. The look vanished before I could really dwell on it and he was smiling again. "Have a drink with me?"

My uneasiness was slowly fading, and the tingling sensation returned, this time throughout my whole body. I felt warm and light. I nodded and stepped forward. Chris took my hand and led me to the open bar. He poured me a drink and handed it to me before making his own.

"You're very beautiful, Cherry," he says, swirling the drink around.

"Thank you." I took a slow sip.

"What's your real name?"

I looked up. My eyes met his and he raised an eyebrow, his lips curled upwards in amusement.

"Just Cherry," I replied smoothly, bowing my head and taking another sip of the drink.

"Well, Cherry, I'd like to take care of you." His finger brushed my cleavage before he gripped my waist and pulled me closer. "Will you let me take care of you?"

"How do you plan on doing that?" I asked, my tone low and playful.

He smiled.