six inch heels (a.t.) (ON HOLD)

01.

lexi's pov

~

I wasn't an average girl.

I was a pessimistic, anti-social, unfriendly, careless, heartless, and unbothered college girl. I didn't party nor did I go out. the only time I left my small loft was when I needed to go to school, work, or shopping. I would rarely go out for any other purpose.

my life consisted of morning classes, but not a typical nine to five job. at night, I'd become a wild animal.

I'm a stripper.

yeah, yeah. I know what you're thinking. this girl is desperate for money and attention, and is most likely a hoe. well, the money part is true, but the rest isn't. I still have respect for myself even though I'm a stripper.

it was my last resort; I needed fast money to make it in this world. and now, it's become an addiction. I couldn't stop even if I tried. the money's gotten to my head.

although I strip, I make sure to keep it anonymous, like I do in real life. I keep a low profile because the last thing I need is my father finding me. he'd take me back to toronto and beat my ass endlessly for running away from home.

he never wanted me to go to school. he wanted me to get married to a nice, wealthy man and stay dependent of that man all my life. he wanted me to be a housewife, but yet, his wife is a successful lawyer. he even set up dates for me and chose the men I had to be around.

he always kept me locked up in that prison we call a house. he'd never let me be a normal kid for once, which robbed me of any chance I'd get of having a childhood. this has molded me in to the anti-social, pessimist that I am today.

I fucking hate that man so much. I'm glad I escaped his abusive ass. not once have I looked back at the past; all I did was hold my head high and hope for the best.

nobody knew who I was. I didn't fuck with anybody. I didn't have friends or any family. I didn't even talk to any of the other strippers. the reason why? my face was practically all over the news, saying that I was missing. my birth giver and sperm donor had the nerve to put on a whole sob story about this, and all I did was sit back and roll my eyes. I even have a fake name--it's the only name that I let people address me by.

now, lets get back in to reality and out of my mind.

it was around one-thirty p.m. and I just finished my third and final class of the day. usually what I'd do is get lunch and get enough sleep I can until ten-thirty p.m. that's when I go to the club for work.

I'm heading to starbucks right now to get some lunch and the medium roast blend for me to make at home.

as I enter, I notice the same cashier that takes my order nearly everyday is here today. when I approach him, I smile. I can be nice if I want, but only to strangers.

"you're back here again, lexi?" chris jokes.

lexi is my fake name as well as my stripper name. my real name is aria jackson, but no one knows that.

"of course." I laugh.

"let me guess, you want a chicken and bean salad, caramel macchiato with light sugar, and an ethiopia medium roast coffee pack." he grins.