LIFE AS A WHORE

SWACK!

The dollar bill cut across my cheek like a razor. My head snapped to the side, and I tasted blood where my teeth bit into my lip. The club's neon lights blurred through my tears, but I couldn't let them fall. Not here. Not in front of him.

"That's what you get for being slow, bitch," the man snarled like a dog, his breath reeking of whiskey and cigarettes. His fat fingers grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him. "I paid good money for a show, not some dead fish act."

The music pounded in my ears, mixing with the sound of my racing heart. Around us, other girls kept dancing like nothing happened. They'd learned the same lesson I was learning now, keep your head down, keep moving, keep surviving.

My cheek burned where the bill had hit me. The sting reminded me of the last time Dad hit me, right before he threw me out. "You're nothing but a disappointment," he'd said. "Just like your mother." But this hurt worse because I chose to be here. I chose this hell.

I wanted to run. I wanted to scream. But all I could think about was Violet at home, probably crying for me right now. My baby girl needed medicine. She needed food. She needed her mama to be strong, even when I felt like breaking into a million pieces.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, the words scraping my throat raw. "I'll do better."

The man's laugh was ugly, like broken glass grinding together. "Damn right you will. You think you're special? You think you deserve respect?" He grabbed a handful of my hair, yanking my head back. "Girls like you are a dime a dozen. Remember that."

I bit my tongue to keep from crying out. The pain shot through my scalp, but I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me break. Not completely.

"Marcus!" he shouted over the music.

My boss appeared like a shadow, his gold teeth shining as he smiled. That smile never meant anything good for me. Marcus was the kind of man who fed on other people's pain, who got rich off girls like me who had nowhere else to go.

"Take this one to the back room," the man said, tossing another crumpled bill at Marcus's feet. "She needs to learn some manners."

"No, please," I started, but Marcus's hand was already on my arm, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. I'd have finger-shaped marks tomorrow, adding to the collection already decorating my skin. "I can dance better, I promise. Just give me another chance…"

"Move." Marcus shoved me toward the hallway that led to the private rooms. The same hallway I'd walked down too many times before. Each step felt like walking to my own grave.

The other girls watched me go. Some looked sorry, others looked grateful it wasn't them. That's what this place did to us, turned us into animals, fighting over scraps, stepping on each other just to survive another day.

The room was small and dark, smelling of cheap perfume and shame. Stains covered the carpet that I didn't want to think about. The man followed us in, already loosening his belt. Marcus stood by the door like a guard dog, making sure I couldn't run. I'd tried once before, and he'd made sure I couldn't sit for a week.

"Please," I tried one more time, my voice breaking. "I have a baby at home. She's sick. I just need to get back to her."

The man's face twisted with sick pleasure. "Should've thought about that before you had the kid, sweetheart. Maybe next time you'll keep your legs closed."

His words hit harder than his hands ever could. Because part of me believed him. Part of me thought this was all my fault, getting pregnant, trusting Louis, ending up here in this nightmare.

What happened next... I tried to leave my body. Tried to think about Violet's laugh, the way she clapped her tiny hands when I sang to her. Tried to remember the smell of her hair after a bath, how she felt in my arms when she finally fell asleep. Tried to remember anything good while this monster stole pieces of my soul I'd never get back.

I thought about Louis, how he'd whispered promises in my ear. "I'll take care of you," he'd said. "We'll be a family." Then the pregnancy test showed two lines, and suddenly he couldn't even look at me. His phone went straight to voicemail. His apartment was empty when I went looking for him.

When it was over, he threw a hundred-dollar bill at me like I was trash. It landed on my bare stomach, and I wanted to vomit. My whole body shook, but not from the cold.

"Next time, smile more," he said, zipping up his pants. "Men like happy whores."

Marcus snatched the bill before I could even sit up. He counted out seventy dollars for himself and threw three crumpled tens back at me.

"House takes its cut," he said with that gold-toothed grin. "You know the rules, Emily."

Thirty dollars. For everything he'd just put me through. For letting that animal hurt me. Thirty dollars that wouldn't even cover Violet's medicine.

I got dressed with shaking hands. My whole body hurt, but the worst pain was in my chest, where my heart used to be. Sometimes I wondered if I even had one anymore, or if this place had killed it piece by piece.

I stumbled back to the main floor, trying to fix my hair, trying to hide the mess I'd become. The music was still pounding, the lights still flashing. Nothing had changed. For everyone else, it was just another night. For me, it was another piece of myself I'd never get back.

"Back to work," Marcus said, not even looking at me. "You got three more customers waiting."

Three more. Three more men who wanted to touch me, hurt me, use me up and throw me away. I thought about Violet's fever from last week, how scared I'd been when she wouldn't stop crying. The medicine had cost forty dollars. Forty dollars that might as well have been a million.

The night dragged on forever. More men. More hands grabbing at me like I was a piece of meat. More dollar bills thrown like I was a beggar on the street. Each customer was the same - they wanted to own me for a few minutes, to feel powerful by making me feel small.

One man had a wedding ring with tan lines. Another showed me pictures of his daughter, who looked about my age. "She's in college," he said proudly, right before asking me to do things I couldn't even repeat to myself.

By the time the club closed, I had eighty-three dollars total. After rent, after food, after everything Violet needed, it still wouldn't be enough. It was never enough.

I walked home through empty streets, my heels clicking on broken pavement. The cold bit through my thin jacket, but I barely felt it. My whole body was numb, like I was walking underwater. Street lights flickered overhead, casting long shadows that looked like monsters reaching for me.

This part of town was where dreams came to die. Broken windows, broken people, broken promises everywhere you looked. But it was all I could afford, even splitting costs with Sarah.

The apartment building looked ready to fall down. Half the windows were boarded up, and the stairs creaked like they might collapse under my weight. But it was all I could afford, even splitting the rent with Sarah.

I climbed to the third floor, my legs heavy as lead. Every step hurts. My ribs ached where one customer had grabbed me too hard. My wrists had red marks where another had held me down. But the worst wounds were the ones nobody could see.

All I wanted was to hold my baby, to remember why I kept doing this to myself every night. Violet was the only good thing in my life, the only reason I hadn't given up completely.

I opened the apartment door as quietly as I could, expecting to find both of them asleep. But Sarah was awake on the couch, rocking back and forth with something in her arms. Even in the dim light, I could see the worry written all over her face.

"Sarah," I whispered, rushing over. "What's wrong?"

She looked up at me with wide, scared eyes. "Emily, thank God you're home. It's Violet. She's been crying for hours, and then she just... stopped. Her fever is so high."

My heart dropped into my stomach. Violet was in Sarah's arms, her little face flushed bright red with fever. She looked so small, so fragile, like a broken doll.

"How long has she been like this?" I asked, pressing my hand to Violet's burning forehead. She was so hot it scared me. This wasn't like the little fevers she'd had before. This was different. Dangerous.

"She started crying around midnight," Sarah said, her voice shaking. "I tried everything, the baby medicine, cool clothes, everything you showed me. But she just kept getting worse. Emily, I tried calling you, but..."

But I'd been in that room. Unable to answer. Unable to help my daughter when she needed me most.

"She kept asking for you," Sarah continued, tears in her eyes. "She kept saying 'Mama, mama' over and over, and I didn't know what to do. Then about an hour ago, she got really quiet, and her fever spiked. Emily, I think... I think she needs a doctor. Like, right now."

My knees went weak. A doctor meant money I didn't have. A hospital meant bills that would bury us both. But looking at my baby, seeing how sick she was, I knew I didn't have a choice.

Violet opened her eyes, looking at me with those trusting eyes that broke my heart every day. "Mama," she whispered, her voice barely there.

"I'm here, baby," I said, lifting her into my arms. She was burning up, her little body trembling. "Mama's here."

But as I held her, feeling how fragile she was, how sick, I realized something that made my blood turn to ice.

Eighty-three dollars wouldn't save her. And I had no idea what I was going to do…