𝓫𝓻𝓸𝓴𝓮𝓷 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽, 𝓪 𝓯𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓴 𝓸𝓯 𝓰𝓲𝓷. ~♡

𝖆 𝖍𝖔𝖔𝖐𝖊𝖗 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖆 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝖔𝖋 𝖇𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖐 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖈𝖔𝖆𝖑

𝓜𝓸𝓷𝓲𝓺𝓾𝓮 𝓖𝓲𝓫𝓮𝓪𝓾.

A hooker with a heart of Black Charcoal.

Or, so that's what everyone said. Like they say, Don't knock it 'til you've tried their life.

After a night of lips crashing together, tears mixed with mascara spiling down flushed cheeks, creaking and groaning mixed into one foul noise and clothes crumpling and being tossed without care onto the floor, Monique lit a cigarette.

She watched as smoke danced along the air. She held the rough blanket just above her chest, eventually, she got out of bed and stared at herself in the mirror. She stared at her dishevelled hair, her, now dried, mascara falling down her cheeks. She also snatched glances at her smudged lipstick. It took her a long while to notice her lack of clothing. Gibeau scrambled across the room, collecting her heels, her ripped stockings and her black slip dress, after she put them on, she managed to slip her pretty knife into her stocking.

The man paid what he owed her, and she walked out the door.

"𝓐𝓾 𝓡𝓮𝓿𝓸𝓲𝓻.."

Monique sighed, leaving the house.

¤ I'm sorry this is so short things will get longer I promise ¤