Myocardium

Part 1

 "Geez, Silver. Wait up!" I can hear Crystal's hoarse, tired voice speak up behind me as I am about to leave the changing rooms. The lady dressed in a lot of pink, yet with minimal clothing on her body turns me by my shoulders and uses her thumb to wipe away the remains of the white powder right below my nose.

"Thanks babe," I tell her and leave the small room with a total of seven people in it – each of them equally messed up and high. Once again, I question why I'm doing all of this. It is pure torture, every single second of it! The mere thought of it makes my lungs tighten until I almost suffocate.

"Come on, Elijah, you're doing it for them!" I tell myself, bite my tongue and put on my invisible mask that lasts for as long as I am around clients.

When I'm with them, I'm Silver, the cute, cocky 21-year-old with a pretty face and fit body, longing to be their sex doll. Dressed in short, uncomfortable leather clothes, chokers, thigh-highs, iridescent tops, and sometimes even high heels. Whether or not I wear makeup depends on my mood and outfit, the latter seemingly more important than the former.
When I'm at home, I'm Eli - Sasha and Daisy's older brother, playing both their father's and mother's role all at once at only 19 years of age. No makeup, no high heels, only hoodies and sweatpants to hide myself behind the comfort of soft fabric.

At night, I'm being used and abused by businessmen, widows, dominatrices, managers, virgins, politicians, self proclaimed sugar-daddies and all other imaginable forms these animals come in, usually all above the age of 45. To them, I'm a toy, a cute, interesting doll to do whatever they desire to with.

During the day, I'm a student, a brother, just a regular someone. The guy living across the street. Maybe even the handsome guy at the coffee shop or the hallway crush you'd never ask out. My days are usually busy, so are my nights. Therefore, spending time with my siblings is always my number one priority during the weekends, while still somehow trying to manage college and work.

I do manage, but not without constant struggles to keep up. However, I consider myself lucky - my siblings are both understanding and responsible. They don't know what their big bro does at night, all they know is that I'm doing it for their well-being, so we can afford all the things their little hearts spark for.

Sasha and I have many talks about responsibility, and he knows exactly that, when I'm at work, he is the one in charge of looking after our little sister. Daisy knows that too. She is a quiet, but strong-minded girl – must have gotten that trait from me. Like myself, they both had to grow up fast, forcefully.

I was 13 when our parents died, when they were ripped out of our lives forever. The world is a dark, cold place – I learned that the hard way. Sasha was 6 when it happened, Daisy barely two. They were too young to understand what happened, I wasn't. From then on, I had to take care of all three of us.

For about a year, we lived with a foster family, but only at the bare minimum. They despised us, never took care of us. Nowadays, I think this is what made us stronger as a team of three as we stuck together through it all. The problem with my overprotective sense of sibling-hood is that the judge eventually noticed, and declared me to be 'responsible' enough to look after us under the "supervision" of our distant aunt (who, might I say, hasn't shown her coward fucking face since the very day the court granted her sole custody of us) and soon, we didn't have a roof over our head any longer and were left having nowhere to go.

A year of living on and off the streets followed and while Sasha and Daisy went begging for money and food, I began working for a dealer I had gotten to know the year prior. It sickens me that we were at such a low point that I had no other choice than to make the decision of sending a toddler of only 4 years of age and a kid of 8 onto the streets alone to beg and make money. And I hate to admit it, but it worked. For some godforsaken reason, it worked. Just have the kids smile and pretend to be all joyful and have fun and not a single soul in this foul, careless fucking city will bat an eye at this scene that should have been a clear indication that something is very off and that these homeless kids need help more than anything.