Chances

Gemma

"Life is full of second chances."

Bullshit.
I crumpled up the poster I ripped off a shop window and threw it down on the the heap of snow.

I lifted my foot and pressed most of my weight on it.
My foot sunk a bit into the snow and I lifted it, scowling as I watched the wrinkled ball of paper soak up the water in the snow.

I wiped a hot tear off my cheek and continued on.

"You good for nothing harlot!"

I shuddered at the flashback of the shout that threatened to bring more tears to my eyes.

"N-not now Gem," I whispered to myself as I stuffed her hands deeper into my pockets, the knuckle of my left pinkie finger sticking out through one of the many holes I had been trying to patch up for a while. "E-Everyone's going through it."

I looked around with squinted eyes, taking slight mental notes of the people around.

"Everyone."

Just an hour ago, I was kicked out of my apartment by my roommate of two months, Jodie.

"This is where your money comes from?"
Jodie said as she looked at me through squinted eyes that sized me up.
"I was going to tell you Jo. I swear. I just didn't know how."
"You good for nothing harlot! That's what you are. Someone's father is in there paying to have a good time with good for nothing women like you and you have quite some nerve coming to sleep in the same room as me every night."
"Jodie listen."
"And you can say goodbye to that thot money of yours."
I shuddered.
I turned to open the drawer I kept my clothes in and frantically threw them all over the place.
"Jodie where's the money?" I was crying.
"Where it should be. In the hands of the less fortunate."
"J-Jodie you don't understand! That's all I had!"
"It was the same as keeping slugs and snakes in a jar. Now pack up."
"Jodie"-
"Pack!"

"Not now Gemma," I hissed to myself as my face was overcome with the warmness of the tears rolling down.

The sound of the screams made my ears ring for a bit.

I quickly wiped my face dry as I stopped by a large building.

I inhaled the cold air deeply and ran thoughts of assurance through my head.

Suitcase in hand, I made a quick sprint for the back of the building.

...

"Ah! If it isn't my little Diamond!"

I flinched as I felt a sharp smack on my thighs.

I turned to face the drunk middle aged woman who swayed from side to side, carelessly holding a wine glass that splashed the deep red liquid around.

Her name was Cher. Not by birth, but because she thought she had quite the resemblance with iconic Hollywood mogul.

We all agreed with her to keep our jobs.

I straightened the black masquerade mask that complimented my dress that barely covered anything from the waist down.

"Ready to shine?" Cher said rather loudly enough to be heard through the noise of the room full of different women dressed like me.

"Always," I squeaked.

"That's a good girl," the woman said as she stroked my cheek.
Her hand smelt like earwax.
"Now get in there and give these suckers a reason blow up city hall and sign divorce papers."

Logically speaking, my outfit wasn't  the best choice for the season.
But the place was packed with sweaty women and men, providing an uncomfortable warmth that wrapped around all of us.

Apart from having a warm and moist atmosphere, the nightclub smelled of three things.

Cigarette smoke.

Alcohol.

Perfume.

But this perfume was no ordinary perfume. It was the scent deluxe. A perfume that I would only be able to afford if I were to sell my soul.

That was, if my soul happened to be worth quarter a million dollars.

The men with scent deluxe made up a third of the club and all the girls kept their hawkeyes open for them.

They paid extra.

And that's what we all wanted.

That's what I needed.

Extra.

"You're one fine peacock," a man shouted as he smacked me from behind.

I didn't dare to look back. It makes them feel acknowledged. It makes you look triggered.

There's nothing the predators enjoy more than seeing the prey acknowledge them enough to fear them.

I simply tugged at my dress a little as though it would make any difference.

"Hey Gem?"

I paused on my way to the stage of strip poles, turning to face who the sharp whisper came from.

Only one person there knew me by my real name and called me by it.

Sapphire.

"Skinny guy's looking for you. VIP section. Hear he's paying double the amount. Go get it tiger."

With a wink, my tipsy brunette friend made her way to a group of men in suits, a tray of shots in hand.

Despite the hustle and bustle of the men and drugs and alcohol and sex, Sapphire was a breath of fresh air.

A weed smoking breath of fresh air.

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