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dreaming of away

ωαяиιиg: ¢σитαιиѕ α∂υℓт ¢σитєит!! νιєωєя ∂ιѕ¢яєтισи α∂νιѕє∂!!

Angel

I wake up from another flashback, tasting blood. Valentino's breathy voice echoes in my head. I own you, Angie boy. I grimace, shivering. I feel the same way I feel whenever I see him: disgusting. Dirty. Helpless. I hate it, but he's my boss and he has me in a contract. Not to mention he'd hunt me if I ran. Sinking back into my pillows, I take deep breaths. He's not here. You're safe. 

The last one is a lie, of course, I'll never be safe until he's gone. But it's a lie I continue to tell myself, hopeful it'll make me feel safe even though I'm not. 

I fall back into an uneasy sleep, praying to whoever would listen to me that someday, I'll finally be safe. 

He's not here. It's okay. You're safe. 

But I could still taste blood. 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

I leave the Hotel early the next morning, hoping I can get some liquor into my system without Charlie finding out. I'm staying at her "rehab" (called the happy hotel) for free in exchange for playing good. No alcohol, no drugs, no "bad language", you get the picture. 

Which, by the way, is ridiculous. We're in Hell. No one is here because they were "nice" and "good". But she's hellbent on this idea (ha, pun intended), so I'm going with it for the free room. I may be a rich porn star, but that don't mean I liked spending money on my teeny apartment that I wasn't there enough to clean.

After I moved Fat Nuggets (my pet mini-pig) to the hotel, there was no one to go there to care for anymore, so Cherri got her own place, and after that, I just stopped going back to the apartment. The landlord calls me every now and then to cuss me out, but mostly, I just ignore him.  

Anyways, it occurs to me halfway to the bar that I'll most likely be spotted and get in big trouble with Charlie. So, cursing that infernal demon princess, I head off to work, going as slow as possible.

But when I get there, I'm greeted by Lucille, one of the strippers that shares my misery under Val's dictatorship. "He's not here," she crows, poofy poison-green hair bouncing up and down as she jumps. My mouth drops. "Why not?" I ask. Please be dead please be dead please be dead please 

"He had a 'massive headache'" she says, air quoting him between laughs. I laugh. "More like he's drugging up and fucking a new whore of his," she cackles. I stiffen, going cold. 

She notices and stops. "Hey. I'm sorry," she offers. I turn away. "It's fine. I shouldn't be so sensitive about it still. It happened a long time ago," I say, forcing a smile. I walk off to my studio, in a gloomy mood again. 

I sit down in front of my mirror and do my makeup, lining my eyes and applying eyeshadow in a somewhat robotic manner, not really paying attention to what's going on outside my door. 

In the middle of my makeup, I hear a commotion outside my door. "I need to see him!" wails one voice. "You don't need to see SHIT, you cock sucking whore!!" screams another. Oh shit. These fights are frequent, and while it's well known that Valentino owns all of us here, the pettier girls still get into fights about fucking him (since that brings you closer to his side as a favorite, and being his favorite is highly desired).

"FUCK ALL OF YOU! STOP TRYING TO BE HIS FAVORITE WHEN IT'S CLEARLY ME AND ME ONLY!!" screams a third voice.

I want to march to my door, open it, and scream at them all. I want to say, "You want him? HAVE HIM! He's all over me! You wanna be his favorite? By all means, go for it. I promise you, you'll regret it. You don't know what he can do to a demon."