Whore (Oliver Sykes Fanfic)

American Below-Average

What is rock bottom? It's the point where one cannot go any lower, desperation sets in, when one's life is in it's lowest forms. Assuming there's a 'rock bottom', that means there is an bottom. When you fall, are you more afraid of the fact you're falling, or that you're hurtling towards the unforgiving ground? On television, when people fall from buildings, or ships, or planes, are their screams of fear, or relief?

Who knows?

I begun to avoid having to move a lot. Wasting the days away under my fortress of warm and comforting blankets was far better than facing others. I couldn't tell if Ashley was still mad at me, and no one bothered checking on me, so I figured they didn't care. The only time my fortress became cold and lifeless was when I had a client. I'd gotten better at taking the verbal abuse some of my clients tossed down at me. The venomous words were now my detox shake. They rid my body of the toxin called confidence. But, in this place, confidence was worse than slapping Madame Gigi. Confidence could make you think you're worth something, and that's not how things work in this house.

You see, if you think you're worth something, then the clients are then forced to see you as something other than a sex toy, and that's not what they want to do. For my job is to pleasure, not to believe in myself. So I don't anymore. Not that I believed in myself very much when I'd first arrived here. So what was I worth? Sixty on weekends, and fifty-five on weekdays.

I'd returned into my room on shaky legs after having some politician plow into me roughly, to find a book on my bed. A note was taped to the top of it in cursive, loopy, scribble. The words legible, but very gender-less.

Oli with and H,

You were wrong. Read it.

-Oli

Well, I'd be damned. He'd remembered. It'd felt like it'd been so long since I'd made that ridiculous bet with Oli. I hadn't even spoken to him since that day. That made me wonder if he ever left the library downstairs. Well, he must have to drop the book and note off. Whatever. I was looking forward to leaving the harsh reality of my life for a few hours and crawled under the covers. I began to read, my eyes followed the black inked pages.

The book wasn't even about a nerdy girl. The prince was gay, and his parents had no idea. He was arranged to marry some girl he'd never met, but he'd already fallen in love with his second-cousin. It was a bit odd and kind of incestuous.

"What're you doing? Reading?" Missy asked, her tone condescending. I glanced at her above the book spine. "That's a waste of time. You won't get any smarter." She was completely naked. Her skin a tad pale and blue lines coasted beneath her skin like small rivers. Her back was to me as she got clothes out of the closet.

"I'm not trying to be smarter." I replied flatly. She scoffed.

"My ex used to do that too. He'd read to me all the time, but he claimed that he read for, get this, for fun." She laughed bitterly. I raised an eyebrow at the comment. Missy never mentioned her past life before she came to the whorehouse to anyone.

"Why's that so surprising though?" I asked her. She shrugged and slid on some jeans over her legs. "Reading can be fun."

"For people who're smart." She went over to the vanity and brushed out her wet hair. "English wasn't my best subject. I never really cared for reading though."

"Oh, well, what was your best subject?" I asked curiously, turning a page in my book.

"Sewing. I had wanted to be a model, but alas, that's not 'realistic'." She muttered. I chuckled, agreeing.