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[ ━━❝✧˚⋆｡☾✩˚⋆｡࿐❞━━ ] RACHEL
RACHEL FEELS LIKE a cheap whore.
Not that there's anything wrong with that. Be you, be cheap, be a whore. Do whatever you want. It's 2018, who cares? But that isn't her. Her brother's instilled a certain set of standards in her, what with his constant nagging about prostitution. It's okay if you want to sell your body, Rachey! Just don't sell it for less than what it's worth! You're a beautiful ray of prostitution! Every rich old white guy's dream! She'd be fine if she felt like a whore, really. But a cheap one? Come on. She's worth at least a grand a pop. Also, she wouldn't want to start so young.
She wants to be an expensive whore, a fancy one that gets to fuck millionaires. No, not just millionaires. Billionaires. She knows that that's what she deserves. But standing there in the middle of this city as the sun starts to rise, shivering in a tight black leotard and hot pink fishnets, her hair shoved up inside a Texas-sized cowgirl hat (it was the only thing big enough to mask her hair), she can't help but feel like a little bird: cheap, cheap, cheap, cheap, cheap.
And it's freezing out here. It's late May, but New Hampshire weather is, as the French say, horrible. Even the warmest spring days can hardly be classified as warm. And when the weather starts to change, things start getting, well, unpredictable. You could have a week of sunshine and high 60's and then the next week there'd be a blizzard. And a tornado. And a hurricane, too, if you were closer to the coast. All at once. Plus, adding insult to injury, it's pouring the rain.
She's nestled up against Silas for warmth. Mainly because he's the only person other than her dumb brother that's taller than her, and she likes to be able to tuck her chin under his. (Even though she's got to bend down a bit to do it. He's only, like, two inches taller than her. Which is a lot when you consider that Rachel's 5'11. But she's fine with it. She likes looking down on people.) He's good, he's a good friend. A gentle giant. He understands her plight against cheap whoredom. He's got his arms wrapped around her shoulders, and he's not saying anything. Not. A. Single. Thing. He's the best damn person out here.
Rachel takes an inventory of everyone that made it out of the prison. They're all just loitering around the bottom of the fire escape like a bunch of high schoolers that think they're hardened prisoners when the worst thing they've ever done is smoked weed. Rachel hates those kids. She helped her brother kill a man, stood there and watched as the life bled out of him, and she doesn't feel the need to gloat about it like she's some young god, now, does she? No. Rachel is a perfectly rational human being.
![[ ━━ ❝ ✧˚⋆｡☾✩˚⋆｡࿐❞ ━━ ]RACHEL](https://img.wattpad.com/6536dba353b5c8504fd627c821ee9953e79079d9/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f704c7957315774594a315f3046773d3d2d3630303938363137372e313534303337616533373537383933653631373336313131393231372e676966?s=fit&w=720&h=720)
