Love With Abandon

Task One

I hated my life. I hated my job, my school, my car I call home. I hated having to stand up in front of horny men (and women) and have money thrown at me. I hated my social status at school, how no one tried to talk to me. I hated living as a homeless refugee.But it was better than the claustrophobic feeling I had at Accord.

Back at home, other people's wishes were superior to mine. I had no say in what I did. My life was my mother's. I was just another chance to set herself right, to make her feel better about herself. Life was like hell now, but I feel as if I was making my own decisions, living my own life, wrong or right.

Life in the strip club was horrible. It paid well, but standing in front of the stage as Sugar Dreamjuice, stripped down to a thong, shoving my ass into other people's faces. I hated the feeling that I was turning into Bryan's slut girlfriend.

Within a week, I was already the most paid stripper in the place, and that made the job more unbearable. Everytime my name came on, people would turn their heads like a moth drawn to flame. People would come rushing to the stage in an attempt to touch my areas, watch me humiliate myself in a push-up bra two sizes small, and the most revealing thong I've ever seen, dancing moves that were designed to make men horny. And the hardest part was, I had to pretend to enjoy it.

School wasn't much better. I wasn't the only one that had a fake I.D. to get into bars and strip-clubs; most of the school did. So as a result, I was classified as a slut. But due to my good grades and being a social outcast, I was also a nerd.

School was just another thing my parents rubbed off on me. I had a 4.9 GPA, with all AP or IB classes aside from PE. I was two years ahead in math, one year in science and Spanish. Despite all that, I had straight A's, and was valedictorian at our school. I guess doing good in school was just something that, after many years of having the same routine, was just something that was a habit. A habit I hated about myself.

My car wasn't much protection either. It wasn't uncommon that a man tried to rape me after a night in the club, but my beloved pepper spray can warded off those that tried, and by the time they got up, I was already on my way to a new parking garage. But nonetheless, it was the worst part of my new life, and every night I would wake up, drenched in sweat after having my virginity forced away from me.

But that was all about to end. Boot camp was in a week, and I would be headed to Dallas for it.

***

The stage was chaos. People were scrambling around, finding out who their mentors were. Some weird guys were making armpit noises, receiving glares from the stage managers ad judges. I just sat there, as I was days early, sitting and waiting it out in the car. I was the first to know that my mentor, if I passed, would be Taylor Swift.

I was, not even in the slightest, confident. I also wasn't nervous. I was nearly certain that I would not make it. Coming here was an obligation not hope, as I knew there was none.

As the crowd of young girls crowded around me, I knew that there was no hope of ever fitting in with them. Some seemed nice, but weren't themselves, the X-Factor turning them into pawns of fame and fortune. Most, however, were overdressed, cocky brats that were born to make you intimidated.

"May the girls under 30 please enter the stage, and form a circle," a woman with a bullhorn commanded.

My time on the X-Factor was drawing to a close.

***

"Hello ladies. Prepare yourselves for Boot Camp Task One. I hope you prepared your song. First up, Catherine Morgan." Taylor announced.

I sat through dozens of songs, what seemed like hundreds of comments. While most were trembling with agitation, alert with adrenaline, I was getting kind of bored. When they called my name, my head was between my knees, and I was starting to doze off. To others, it might of looked as if from nerves, until someone had to tap me awake.