One Stray Rebel

Chapter 1 ~ Rebel

I need to run faster. Faster. "He" might get me. "He" is only a couple feet behind me. Where to go? I trip on a mossy stone. Shit. I skinned my knee. Ouch. I put my hands on the cold, wet, ground, struggling to get up. Just as I am almost fully up, I feel something grab my jacket. I turn slowly. It is "him". "He" got me. I go to scream, but -- Beep beep beep!! I groan as I reach to shut my alarm clock up. I'm so glad it was just a dream. I roll over and stare at my cracked, baby blue wall. It sucks living all alone. Let me rephrase that. It sucks staying all alone. I'm not really living. I'm a stray. No parents, no family, no friends. I stay at abandoned homes while I'm on the run, or in the attic of an old, abandoned theater. I never was given a name, so I call myself Rebel. I am eighteen years old, and I've been on my own since my so called mom left me by the side of a dumpster to die. Nobody really took me in. A few people gave me food, drinks, and clothes. I would be brought to barns, or sheds to sleep in, but I never really had a real stable place to call home. I consider this attic my home. I found some posters of bands I like that I heard at shopping malls. My favorite being My Chemical Romance. Their lyrics keep me going. I make my money by prostitution. I get a lot of abusive pricks, and weirdos in my job, but I really need the money. The pay usually gets me at least one meal a day. If I don't make money in a day, dumpsters are nice. America is such a wasteful country. It sure does us homeless well. I put on my leather mini skirt,  leather bra with chains, and red jacket. I apply my Ruby Woo colored lip stick, black eye liner, and waterproof mascara.  Last I put on my red "Hooker heels" and walked out the door. I work at a corner three blocks away from the theater. It takes me a total of 15 minutes before my first costumer pulls up to a stop. He is driving a silver Chevy Camero. I strut up to the window.
        "Hey sugar, you lookin' for a good time?" I say enchantingly
        "Mmmm. How could I refuse such a pretty package?" He flirts back, "Hop in, sunshine."
       I open the door, and get in. The smell of whiskey and weed fill my nostrils. I decide to get a closer look at my client. He is a rough looking man. Early 20's maybe, messy, brown hair. Bright blue eyes. He was being very fidgety. Almost like he was worried about being caught. After about 5 minutes, he pulled into a hotel parking lot. We went into the lobby, and he bought a room. Room #27. He lead me down a long, narrow, poorly wallpapered hallway. When we got into our room, we went straight to the bed. He pushed me down, I fell into a cold, fluffy mattress that smelt of cigars. He pushed his body onto mine, sticking his alcohol tasting tongue into my mouth. I rolled, putting me on top this time. I undid my jacket and threw it across the room. I unbuttoned his pale yellow shirt, and tore it off him. As I went to unclip my bra, a loud knock echoed from the door.
       "POLICE! OPEN UP!!"
       "Shit," my client whispered aggressively, "put on my shirt, turn on the T.V, cover up, and lay down. Act like we are just a couple staying over at a hotel," he opened the door, "Hello officers, can we help you?"
         The cops glanced past him, towards me. I waved and grinned, then continued to watch Opera.
           "Sorry, we must have made a mistake. Have a lovely day, folks," the front cop said as he turned and lead his crew back towards the lobby.