I snort out a laugh as I pat my bag, the one holding the lingerie I’ll be wearing tonight at Second Circle. Because I won’t wear any of the lingerie provided to us, and I don’t trust any of the other women who work beside me. We’re all mired in depravity, but it’s gone to some of their heads.
Some of the women I work with never learned to compartmentalize. But I did. And it’s allowed me to keep hold of who I am instead of being influenced by how some of my clients treat me.
Those clients already get my body. I’m not giving them my mind too.
Even though I spent most of the day cleaning my apartment, it doesn’t look like it. The moldy smell permeating the building is still there. It’s within the walls and no amount of cleaning, or bleach, has done anything to combat it.
The sigh I let out is weary and bone deep as I lock the door behind me and hope no one breaks in while I’m gone. I don’t have much, but I have more than other people do.
Most of the people who live in my rat-infested building are just as desperate as I am. They’d fuck over anyone and everyone if they thought it was going to get them a little closer to climbing out of this hellhole. Little do they realize, nothing is going to get us out.
We’re stuck.
This is it.
It’s as good as it gets.
The only thing that would change it now is a miracle.
“Or maybe a Christmas miracle,” I mumble to myself as I crank up the piece of shit car that threatens to break down completely at least once a week. If it weren’t so late, I would just take public transportation, but I’d rather roll the dice with my rust bucket than rely on anyone else.
I’ve been the only one I can rely on for years. Why should it change now?
While it might be a shitty way to live, it’s all I’ve got and I’m not going to apologize for it.
There will be no Christmas miracle. The luster of the season wore off a long time ago.
I can remember a time when my mother tried. She tried to keep her addiction at bay. She tried to survive without the affection of men. She tried to give me what she never had.
It didn’t last long, and life sucked all of her holiday spirit and left me with a childhood where twinkly lights, ornaments, and dreams of Santa were sentiments I couldn’t afford. Thinking it would change did more harm than good.
Because it never changed.
And I was just more disappointed and resentful because of it.
The worst part?
At some point while growing up, I told myself that I would never become like my mom.
It’s a promise that I’ve kept in a lot of ways. I don’t allow men to rule my life, and I never touch any hard drugs. Still, I use my body as currency, which is something I saw her do time and time again. It disgusted me every time and I looked down on her because of it.
Now, I know you have to use what you have to stay alive.
And men love my body.
They’ll pay handsomely to use it. They’ll pay even more if they believe they’re in control of your mind the same way they’re in control of your body.
If they believe my performance, it’s because they’re desperate to believe their own lies. It has nothing to do with me.
By the time I make it to Second Circle, a brothel dressed up as a sex club where the rules are supposed to matter but rarely do, I’m exhausted. I’m not tired because I spent most of the day cleaning. I’m not tired because I’m starting a long shift. This isn’t tired.
It’s something else, something more. The exhaustion I feel is something that sleep won’t help go away. This feeling is wrapped up in my life and knowing I’ll never get far in this world, not with the way everything is stacked against me.
Hell, I stopped applying for a new job over a year ago because having Second Circle in your work history doesn’t exactly have reputable jobs rolling out the red carpet for you. And this job is the only consistent work I’ve ever had.
If that doesn’t show you where you stand in this world, I don’t know what does.
The moments when I’m getting dressed for the night are the last moments of relative peace I’ll have for hours. Because the last thing you want to do while working the brothel floor is to lose focus.
