Pov Camila I was just a whore. I was just a whore and I knew that. I knew this because customers, many customers would not let me forget that detail. And as time passed, the more I knew I could not just stop being just a whore. I could not live a normal life because my past would always condemn me. It would always be my private ghost, and it would always be a source of shame. I knew that. I knew I was just a whore, and I never thought I could be a little more than that. I knew my place, knew what I was doing, and knew it was just that. I've never tried to be more than I was for any customer. Unfortunately, it was just what I was. A bitch, like so many others. So why did she think I wanted to be more than that? Why did you think I was trying to seduce you or have some kind of control over her? Why did you think I would think I had that right? Why did she say that? I did not want to, never wanted to have control of anything. Of feeling. If it were possible for me to consider any utopia, it would simply be a Lauren returning the feelings I had for her, but I had already discarded this possibility, so I was satisfied with our friendship. With our closeness, with the little of her company, with the little of it that I had. When he had. Why had she said those words? I knew I was just a whore, but hearing that statement from her mouth, with such anger, so much hurt, it hurt more than I could imagine. It hurt too much. The fact of seeing her as a different client from other people weighed. The fact that he admired her and thought of her as a protection, an "even strange" friendship, also weighed heavily. But it was the fact that she was completely in love with her that made her words tear me apart. They reduced me to almost dust, almost nothing. It made me feel so filthy and insignificant, so disposable. It should not hurt so much. It was not because I knew that was exactly the truth, but it hurt because, somehow-miracle perhaps-I expected her to see in me something more than a prostitute. Someone worth it, that could be cool and make her laugh at silly jokes. Someone she could see not as an object but as a person. A person who could be part of her life, anyway, and who left her mark. But I had not.She saw me as a whore, and it hurt to know that. It hurt because I fucking fucked her. Now, the last memory I had of her were those words screamed, as if I'd defied her. Those words, which still repeated in my head like a blinker. Those words that perhaps no one else in that room had taken so seriously, especially for being true, but who burned me like fire. That was the last memory I had of her. Of a Lauren both protective and vindictive. And I wanted to be able to answer all his words, I wanted to be able to curse her with strange names, I wanted to try to prove to her that she was wrong and that I was worth something. But she had become yet another customer, and once she'd reached her goal, she'd leave without even looking back. - Mila? Scarlet pushed the door gingerly, giving me time to pretend I was doing something normal or compose myself in case I was crying. I did not answer or move a single muscle, still lying on my bed, looking forward as one watches a movie. The difference was that there was nothing there but a white wall. "Ah ... It's not yet tidy. What time should it be? "You abe like Chloe is. She told me to come and see if you were ready for tonight. She already gave you time yesterday, then ... what happened. It was true. Chloe had allowed me to go back to the room and not get any more clients for that night. But that was enough, so I imagined that today she would not be so generous. - It's already 7:30. You know the place is starting to fill up soon ... "Scarlet spoke like someone asking an asthmatic man to make little puppets. I could tell from the tone of her voice that she was sorry to be reminding me of those things. It was not her who was charging me, it was Chloe, but she was the one who was bringing the bad news. The news that I should come back to reality and do my job, forgetting whatever happened. I kept staring at the wall for a while, considering my options. I realized I had none. - Mila ... I'm so sorry ... - I know. I smiled sadly at her as she tried to accept the facts. I would have to get back to reality today. I would have to stop thinking about what had happened. I would have to pretend I was not dying inside. Scarlet looked at me like someone who wanted to say a lot of things, but I did not know where to start, nor should I start. Talking about what happened yesterday would result in having to mention her, touch her name, and that was something I knew all the girls had vowed not to do anymore. At least not while I was around. - I'll get ready. I'll meet you down there. Saying this, I managed to get out of bed and lifeless, I rushed to the bathroom. Fifteen minutes later, I went downstairs where some customers were already looking for their companies. Some were already accompanied, and others drank while enjoying the early evening. I did not know what to do there. That seemed pathetic, because I should be doing the same thing I always did: stand in the window waiting while someone decided to rent me for thirty minutes.Still, for some reason I now felt completely out of place, as out of place as a fish out of water. If there was something in the world I did not want to do, it was that: Waiting for my next client. I looked around and saw different faces of different men and women. I was already accustomed to the great turnover of the place, but it was observing this detail that I began to think. In the week I had spent, the week of my birthday, every time I returned from a program from my bedroom to the main hall, I felt full of hope of seeing her. Throughout the week, every night I expected to find her leaning against the bar while she drank her dose of Whiskey and emanated her aura of power. Every day I waited to see her, and every day I was disappointed. My mother used to say that hope could kill a person slowly, because that was the feeling that made us vulnerable to failures. When we had hope, we ran the risk of being disappointed, and there were situations where disappointment was almost as painful as death. She was right. I had felt the strength of a disappointment recently, and could say that few things in life could ever be as painful as that. But hope was also the feeling that made us believe, that made us believe, and now I felt the gravity of having no hope. She would not come back. I knew, she would never come back. It was such a great certainty and so overwhelming that there was no question of it. I could not even let myself down because there was not the least hope of seeing her again. I would not see her again. Night after night, she would not be there. Of the dozens of people who would enter that place, there was not the slightest possibility that one of these people was her. There was no hope. I was overwhelmed by a growing and suffocating despair. I tried not to lose control, going straight to the bar and ordering anything alcoholic, as I struggled to stop thinking about it. She would not come back. She would not come back. Why did she leave? She said she'd be around. Why did she say that? Why did you do that? - Camila! I turned faster than I should have, which almost resulted in a tumble. I leaned against the bar and searched for the voice that called me. It was Chloe, bringing with her a woman with a hard, indifferent posture. "Alessia wants to meet you." I'm sure you'll get along. - Good night, Camila. You have a beautiful name. I still had a little shortness of breath and a sore throat, but I forced myself to talk back. - Thanks. - Are you alright? Your face is not very good. I was not well. He was far from being well. I was beginning to sweat cold, I trembled slightly and made incredible force so as not to let the panic that came in my veins did not take over me. It was a terrible time to have a crisis, especially as Chloe was staring at me like I was spoiling her Christmas dinner. But I could not do that. He simply could not. I choked on the sudden urge to cry. I tried to control the tightness that preceded the cry, but I could not. "I ... I can not ..." The torrent of tears came at once, and I was now weeping in front of a client. It could not be worse. "Honey ..." Chloe began as she tried to sound calm. "Camila does not seem to be feeling well. I think I'd better introduce you to someone else. You will not regret. Saying that, he walked arm in arm with her. I watched the two of them walk away from me as I tried to wipe away the cloud of tears that disturbed my vision, but I noticed that Chloe looked a few times in my direction with a very bad face. I knew I would hear a sermon for it, but that was not the time to worry about it. The sadness that now gripped me was so intense, so overpowering, that I could not calm myself even with the fact that I had just lost a client. As fast as the idea came, I ran up the stairs again, and coming to my room, I dropped heavily on the bed as I tried to breathe right. I could not. I could not do that. Do not be stupid. You always did, why could not you now? Nothing has changed. I had to, because it was simply the only thing I did.And if I could not do the one thing that was best for it, then I became immediately more disposable than I already was. Why did you do this to me, you idiot? Why did you leave me? She lied to me. Said he'd be around, said he liked me. She lied to me. He humiliated me, abandoned me, forgot me. "We'll talk about this later." I turned to the door for surprise and I saw Chloe standing there, staring at me with a furious expression, her arms folded. "I-I'm sorry ..." "I knew this would happen ... I should have been firmer than the two of you. She knew. I knew the reason for my despair. She knew I was in love with Lauren. Was it that obvious? "We're going to have a definite conversation about this, Camila. You work here, and your personal problems do not interest me. You will have to do your job if you want to continue here. With that, he turned and left, slamming the door shut behind him. I knew she was right, but I could not. God ... I could not. *** I woke up the next day with knocks on the bedroom door. By the forces of the beats, I knew who it was. "I'll go ..." I said, trying to recover quickly, as I ran into the bathroom and poured some water on my face. I made up the bed a little, folded the crumpled sheets of the night past, and finally opened the door so that Chloe could enter. - Good Morning. - She said, very serious. - Good Morning. I said, motioning for her to come in and sit down. Chloe immediately dragged one of the chairs from the desk and sat down in front of the bed. "I'll get to the point, because you know why I'm here." "Yes ..." I started, my head bowed. - Great. You're a smart girl, and you know what keeps you here, right? I nodded, saying nothing. It was clear that I knew. "So you know that if you start refusing clients, you will not be able to stay here, since what makes you stay in this place is the money from your programs. "I know ..." "Besides, that would bring a bad fame to the establishment, would you agree?" I do not want The Hills to get fame for having girls who refuse customers, if you understand me. I nodded again. "So, Mila, I think you know what I mean. I know you're not going through one of the best moments of your life, after what Lauren did. Pain. I felt a sharp pain in my chest at the sound of his name again. No one else ever talked about her, and I was policing myself for not thinking about her name. To hear him so, so naturally, brought back the pain that I tried to hide from myself. "Even so," Chloe continued, "we all have our responsibilities. I have problems too, but that's not why I'm going to fail with my obligations. You're a responsible girl, so I guess it's fair to expect that you will not miss yours too. She was right, of course. But how could I explain to her that I could not do that? What reason would I give her, since I did not even know it myself? I could tell how I felt. I could say that after what happened, I felt much more out of place and low than before. He could explain to her the panic, the nausea he felt when he thought he should stay with a client now. I could tell her that it all got worse because Lauren just did not get out of my head, that her image chased after me, that the longing I felt for her weighed in my chest like lead, that the pain of seeing her leave had left me in a deplorable state. But she would not, because she was right. "Chloe ... I only ask you for a little time ..." "You know I can not give it to you." I can not keep her maid if you can not work. - I'll pay for my hours. Chloe looked at me with a little doubt. - What you mean? - I pay for my programs. I pay for eight hours, sixteen programs a day. I just need a little time ... Time to forget it. "And what would I gain from it?" "You know I never get sixteen programs in one night. I pay for them all, as long as you let me stay here. If you give me some time ... I'll go back to doing what I have to do. She pondered for some time. For too long. I was afraid that Chloe would simply deny and put me up against the wall. If she did, I knew she would end up on the street. "I know you're off the mark ... But please ... I need your help." I was being absolutely honest, and I could see she understood that. Chloe looked at me for a while, as if analyzing the situation, and for a second I could see in her eyes a little sympathy with me. "I knew it was not going to work ... Please do not touch her name again." Please."You could not have let it go." "I know ... I'm sorry ..." I felt my eyes suddenly bursting with tears before I could stop myself. Again, she was right. I could not have done it, could not have simply accepted the fact of falling in love. What the hell was I thinking, anyway? Did I really imagine that this story could have a happy ending? That ended minimally well? I was a prostitute, and she was interesting, intelligent, funny, rich and beautiful. She could just have the woman she wanted, whatever time she wanted, so why the hell did I really think she was not going to suffer in the end? Chloe sighed. "I hope you're well, Mila. I hope you can forget it. She was always just a customer. It was not what I used to think. She was different from others in every way possible. It had been exactly why I had fallen so fucking fast on her, when I thought I could never fall in love with someone who saw me that way. But deep down, it was true. She was always a customer. A client who paid for my services, and who saw me as I should see, as I was. It was not her fault to be so charming, it was not her fault I allowed myself to indulge her charms. It was all my fault. Chloe got up, heading for the door. - I'll give you some time. You pay your hours, and I set you free. But start thinking about what you're going to do from now on. Without another word, she left the room, closing the door behind her, leaving me completely alone and desolate again. I stayed in the same place for some time, thinking about what I would do. Where that decision would take me. Finally I broke the silence of the room, talking to myself. - It's all right. You've taken the time to forget it. Now, try to forget it. Try to forget her. For your own good. *** I should have thought that if a client was so important as to make me fall in love, it should be equally difficult to forget. I could not forget her. No matter what I did, how much I hated or tried to hate her, how hard I tried not to think about her. As the days passed, I was always forced to accept that I needed to stop thinking about her, but every day the longing also increased, making the task of forgetting it impossible. It was impossible to forget her. Impossible because I had never felt that for anyone. He had never thought of a woman that way, even though she was different, she was the first. The first one to show me that this could be so good, but also painful. It was simple. I could not stop thinking about her. Nor with the threat of having to, at any moment, return to practice my profession, or would be expelled from here. Not even with the anger I felt for her, for she humiliated me and yelled at me in front of so many people. Not with my friends giving me support or with Chloe helping me. The memory of her brought more despair and pain than I could bear, and her ghostly presence in my routine was making me so exhausted that I no longer had the strength to try to forget her. Because the more I fought against it, the less I could do it. I just could not stop thinking about her, and she always caught me remembering any time we spent together. When that happened, my mind would drift away and I plunged deep into memories that brought back her scent, her touch, her gaze.Everyday. Every damn day. I could not stop thinking about her, and that might even be acceptable if I were in this dilemma for a few days. But now, two months had passed, and I was exhausted from fighting myself. I was exhausted from dreaming about her and feeling such disappointment when she woke up. Exhausted from asking me where she should be at any moment. Exhausted from wanting her so, so hard, so desperately. I was exhausted, torn, and completely alone. She had to thank Chloe for her actions. She allowed me to pay only ten shows a day, since it was rare for any girl in here to get more than that every night. In addition, she kept taking back only the percentage of her profits, which made me not go bankrupt immediately. I owed it all to her, but nothing could get me out of the state I was in now. A deplorable state of deep depression, where few things besides thirst, hunger, and a full bladder made me get out of bed. I would certainly be many more leaner pounds if Selena, Samantha, Scarlet and even Hanna did not insist so much for me to eat more than my stomach could accept. It was obvious that almost all the girls were starting to get really worried about me. They all told me that I should try to improve, but they should know that when you are in depression, the last thing you can do is have the willpower to get out of it. It was being so much harder than I imagined it would be. Now, after so much time away from my work, I simply saw no possibility of doing it again. Things had gotten so much worse, and I did not know how to fix them. I was lost, and the only thing I could count on was Chloe's patience. But I should have thought that, like everything good in my life, that would not last forever. - Camila? "Yes. It was Saturday, early afternoon. I was lying on the bed, trying to sleep over the last few nights of course. Chloe was now coming into my room, with a serious and slightly sad expression. - How are you? That was a question I was constantly being asked, and with the same frequency, I did not know how to respond. - Improving. - I lied. - Mila ... It's been over two months ... - I know ... - You think you can get back? I could not. Only the image of myself with other people, any client other than her, already caused all that horrible sensation inside me: Disgust, sadness, despair, dread. I could not. I did not want. He could not do that. "No." My voice came out steady, in a way I did not expect her to leave, taking me completely by surprise and by all accounts, surprising Chloe as well. - Not? "No. I can not, Chloe ... I'm sorry ..." She stared at me blankly as she saw tears stream down my face. The same tears that came down all those days, always for the same reason. The tears with which I had already become accustomed, and which were now the mark of my state of mind. Those tears symbolized the little bit of everything I had been feeling for all that time, but now, they also carried the pain for what I knew would follow. It was a matter of time. "I also apologize, Mila. But I can not accept you here any longer. That was the last suitcase I wore in the back seat of the cab. I did not even know where I had taken the strength to get everything I owned into the travel bags and backpacks, anticipating the time of departure. I did not have many things. The bedding, furniture, and decorating in my room did not belong to me, so there were only a few clothes, shoes, books, and other smaller belongings to take with me. Altogether, I had four big bags where everything was mixed. A lot of that I did not even remember having. In fact, I did not need many of those things. The vast majority of clothes were fit for what I was doing, and on rare occasions I had worn them. Lingeries, tight dresses and tight skirts, all forgotten pieces in the bottom of some drawers, when, in an act of rebellion, I decided to dress in a casual and comfortable way to receive clients in The Hills. That place, which was now no longer my home.My stay here had been quick, but it was enough that I could make friends. I would miss Samantha and Scarlet, especially. They were on my side at important times, and now I did not know what it would be like without them. But I did not have much more to do, so I opted for a quick and objective farewell. In the state I was in, more sensitive than usual, I could not hold back the tears as I spoke to each of the girls who kept me company for this short period of time, but I managed to make the drama not last long. - I'll miss you. Scarlet said in tears as she hugged me in the kitchen. I chose not to respond, fearing that the attempt to emit sound would end the little control I had and make me, too, thrash me in tears. - Do you know what I think? Samantha started, smiling hopefully as she pressed harder so she would not cry than she wanted to admit. "I think you'll be fine." You're strong, you know how to take care. I could answer no, I did not know. I was too lost, too sad and too lonely to know what to do with my life, how I would turn from now on, what the plans were, and when to start tracing them. I was lost, but I did not want to talk. This would bring unnecessary concern on their part, and although I needed someone, I could not give that burden to people who were not responsible for me. "When you know where you're staying, will you let us know?" I just nodded, still avoiding to speak so that the crying, now aching in the throat, would remain trapped. I had lied when I said I did not know where to go. I would go to the place where Chloe had found me. It was possible that I could find somewhere to stay while trying to fix my life. The neighborhood was not pleasant, but the rents were not expensive, which was good because I was not looking for anything luxurious and was in cost containment, since I had lost a fair amount of money by paying my own programs for Chloe. But nobody needed to know that. Wanting to hurry things up, I gave Samantha one last hug and walked out the back doors where the taxi was waiting for me. It was another farewell. Another sad farewell, like so many others in my life. But what goodbye is not sad? Without looking back, I got in the car and left. I paid the amount the taximeter indicated and jumped, packing my bags and backpacks on my shoulders. I walked inside with a little difficulty, noting that that place had not changed in practically anything. The walls were still grimy, the paint a nasty dark yellow. The woman who was looking at me from the last step at the door of the building had an unpleasant expression on her face, almost indifferent to me. Arriving on the last step, I put the heavy bags on the floor and looked at it. - You know where I can find the person in charge ... - It's me.I only have two vacant apartments. - It's all right. Which is the cheapest? Two minutes later, I was already arranging my suitcases in a way that would give the apartment a little more space, which consisted of a large room-kitchen with bench and a smaller bathroom. All I could think of was a brown sofa-bed, a small, worn piece of furniture, with a TV that I doubted it would work and an old refrigerator. I remembered that there was no bureaucracy in that place, so the whole agreement between the parties consisted of the guest paying the rent on the day to the owner, otherwise he would be automatically expelled. At that moment, it was what I could have. I remembered that I had to start looking for something to do, before my life ended collapsing. I lay down on the couch and stared at the ceiling for a while. I had to start taking action and knew it, but my will power was almost as great as that of a wooden stump. I did not want to do anything, I did not feel like anything, and I wished so deeply that I could live like a plant, feeding only on light. But life was not perfect, so I needed to do something, and fast. I had to start looking for a job as fast as I could, and pray that I could get something, anything that could keep me in that place. I had no long-term plans. I had no plans for anything, and it made me notice how life came in deep shit. There was simply no waiting, there was no purpose. My only goal, day after day from now, would be to stay alive. I have always believed that all people come to the world with a purpose. I'd find mine, sooner or later. Until then, the only thing I had to do was keep living. Continue to survive. Suddenly, I missed the time that it seemed easy ... I remembered the last time I had gone out to look for a job. With professional education interrupted by the tragedies of my life, there were not many options. The chances of a woman without a high school completed were lower than those of men, because men almost always had the wild card of a manual employment. But I was a woman. A woman who had never worked on anything that did not require my body as part of the arrangement, then things were more difficult. Either that, or my state of mind insisted on telling me that absolutely everything I tried was impossible to achieve. *** For some time, I searched in snack bars and bars vacant for waitress. I looked for positions of attendant in stores, clerks or sellers. Employers typically required a resume or letter of recommendation for professions such as secretaries, even small offices or a veterinary assistant. In the meantime, I tried to reconcile the money I kept in my bank account, in constant decay, with my daily life. I chose not to pay excess drivers and spend only what I needed. As my conditions demanded, it was not feasible to seek employment in many distant places, as this would bring me spending beyond what I could have, so my search area was restricted to that part of town, where ironically there was almost nothing. I kept looking for small tasks that could give me some financial return, even if they were unstable or temporary, but that also seemed hard to find. Added to that, came the charge of the first rent, which I would have easily forgotten had I not been rudely reminded.As a summary of my days, I had mornings and afternoons occupied by failed attempts at employment, while the evening served me a plate full of nothing to do, which gave me too much time to think about too many things. Thinking about bad things, whining about past things, not believing in future improvements. In fact, my depression was taking on larger proportions every day, and my complete apathy for life was visible. I had no reason to do anything, no people I could count on, no enemies to hate. Nothing was really important, and I feared I was entering an irreversible vegetative state. This was especially noticeable by employers who refused me any proposal. Many were sincere in saying that they simply did not see in me any desire to do anything, and that "this was not the profile sought. "But although it was understandable, I just did not have the strength to change. Basically, I had no reason to change, and even if the reason was '' get a job, '' ultimately that did not have a why either. I was going through spirals of negative thoughts, and I wondered when it was the exact moment my life stopped making sense, but the worst of it all was that I had no one to convince me otherwise.The biggest of my problems was having too much time to think It would probably not do much harm to someone with a normal life, but unfortunately that was not my case.Then, in empty moments of my day, I found myself thinking of things I should not think about.Think of them memories, dreams impossible or random thoughts, all ended up causing me to go out of my way, and perhaps the most pathetic part of all was the fact that I had no control over my own head. they were rare times when I knew I should not be remembering certain things, but still keep thinking about them. And worst of all, to miss. There was no longer any way to deny it: I no longer made any effort to stop thinking about it, and I knew how ridiculous it was because there were too many problems in my life, more urgent things that I should worry about. But the memory of her simply insisted on taking care of me as a superior force, and I could not deny it, even in thought. So, my moments of reflection consisted basically in thinking about her, remembering her and even after all, still wanting her. Even though it was impossible. Even though I knew that desiring her only made me weaker and unhappier every day. Time and again the reason was in me, so I used what little faith I had to ask that I might forget it. But it was not that easy. So beyond a completely meaningless life, I also had to deal with her ghost haunting me every day and every night, leaving me dangerously vulnerable to a mere memory. My most recent nights had been clear, the result of my worries or my near-chronic depression. When my body yielded to exhaustion, most of the time my head did not have the strength to dream, but eventually flashes of it wandered through my mind, making my dreams a little more pleasurable.Ironically, this only made my reality, by contrast, much worse. I wanted to forget her, but a small, somewhat masochistic part wanted to keep some of it with me, because it was there that some of the simpler moments of my life were, and one way or another, happy. It was a pity that everything had ended in such a sad and bitter way, but still, it was one day sweet. It was all that was left. A bitter strong that tempered every day, every attempt and every failure. And it was with this taste that I woke up every morning when I could sleep. - A new day, Camila. I had developed the mania of talking to myself, no longer had a pet or a volleyball to keep me company. It was important to stay clear, and besides, I could check if my vocal chords were not gradually atrophying with the lack of use. "Guess what you're doing today?" Same thing I did every day lately. - Exactly. And today you will do well, because it is your lucky day. Today would be my lucky day, and with that thought in my head, it was a good way to start the day. That's it. Nothing like the power of induction. Lately, most of my morning hours were wasted because of my unwillingness to get up. So, my days were starting later than they should have for an unemployed person. So I thought it was a good sign that morning was different. I woke up more willingly and more confident than normal, which could be a sign of good changes in my life. But I should have kept my skepticism about matters of sorts and such. Not because it's now about 6:00 PM and I have not gotten anything. This was what happened every day, so it was not a sign of bad luck, but a constant irritant. The problem was in what was to come. "You see, I'm not the owner here, I'm just the manager. "But you can not help me?" There were few people in the place. The cafeteria was bright and cheerful, which contrasted sharply with the ugly, sad air of that dark street. The neighborhood was close to mine, and even though I was poor, it already looked considerably better. If I could get anything there, it would be a good place because, aside from not being far, it was a lot nicer. "You said you had no experience." It was true, I had no experience at all. Nothing but what I tried to escape. "But I promise I will."We do not need another waitress, lass. I was about to kneel right there and beg him so I could have a chance. That had been my best opportunity so far. "Please let me try for a while." The man now looked at me with a little pity. I was desperate and spoke with all sincerity of soul, so I hoped he would believe in my commitment and could help me in some way. "Look, the owner must be here by now. He always comes in the late afternoon to see how the swing of the day was, so you can talk to him. I'm not very fond of it, but I'll try to convince you, okay? That cheered me up. It was the first time I had a real opportunity, so I nodded and thanked exaggeratedly as I sat in the back room the man had taken me to. I felt a little nervous about that because it would be something like an interview. I could put everything to waste, so I tried to focus and think of good answers to random questions when my prospective employer came and decided to do them. I must have stood there for some time, trying to concentrate and remain as calm as I was optimistic, and did not notice when I was no longer alone in the room. - Good night. - Said the man. - Good night. - I answered, getting up - My name is Camila. I noticed that he looked at me strangely, then a slight chill ran down the spine. His eyes were focused on me as a half-mocking smile played on his lips. - Hello, Camila. He continued with a strange smile, staring at me like a predator. I could even say I knew him from somewhere. Maybe I'd seen it before, but where? - Sit down. I obeyed, sitting back in the chair next to me, and I saw him drag another chair close, imitating my act soon after. I noticed that he was facing me, leaning in my direction as he looked me up and down. He was too close. Uncomfortably close. "So, what do you want here?" My employee said he wanted to talk to me about a job. "It's ..." I started, looking away from him and looking at my hands now. "I have no experience as a waitress, but I can promise you that I will strive to do everything right. He leaned closer in my direction, and the same moment his mouth fell into my ear, I felt one of his hands on my left thigh. "I know you have experience, Camila. I staggered in shock as I struggled to assimilate his words. He knew me. He knew what I was."The last time I saw you, you were not that skinny, but I still remember you. It was one of the best nights I spent in that place, you know? He had been my client. I did not exactly remember him, did not know his name, but I had the impression that I had seen him somewhere. And where else would it be? "I ..." I started, but I was not sure what to say. I wanted him to get away from me, I wanted him to stop saying things to my ear as I unceremoniously climbed his hands up my legs, but I could not move. I was in a panic, and as much as I wanted to, taking action was impossible. "I did not ... I just wanted to ..." "You know what I think?" I think it's a waste. You're so good at what you do ... Why did he have to remember me? Why did he have to know me? "You can not throw such good talent away, my dear. Where did you find such a clever girl to put that aside? - I will not ... more ... Will you give me the job? I smirked at his neck, and I shuddered. "I can not let a bitch work in my diner, passion. Try to understand. But if you want to offer other services ... "With that, he gripped my hand roughly and tightly pressed her against his erection. That was the trigger for my nervous system to do something and allow me to have some reaction. I got up extremely fast, which made me knock over the chair I was sitting on. He continued to stare at me with a grin on his face as he looked me up and down again. Before I could realize it, I ran out of the room, bumping into the man who had treated me before. He noticed my state of despair, but obviously he did not understand what was happening. "I'm sorry, I hope you get the job elsewhere." I was already at the door leading into the street, and I did not pause for a second to look back as I drifted away from some unconcerned people. Suddenly I felt my face colder, so I realized he was wet. I did not notice when the tears had started to come down, but it did not matter. - Shit! Shit of chance! Why can not anything go right in my fucking life? I said to myself, still walking fast, without a certain destination. Some people looked at me as if I were some circus animal, and the desire I had was to send them all to shit. Stigma. Disgrace. My past would always be a disgrace in my life, and I would always have to run away from him, sneaking around from corner to corner so he would not follow me wherever I went. The question was whether I could run away from him forever, whether I could always count on luck, or whether I would have to accept that things like the ones that just happened could happen again. I could not contain the tears that kept falling, but it was not like I was really trying. I just did not care about anything else, because nothing really mattered at all. *** After a long time and probably a long walk, I looked around and noticed that I did not know where I was. Okay, that was just one of the bad things that always happened to me, and I was getting used to that damn bad luck. I sat on a bench and tried to calm myself down, because I could not find my way back if I was not thinking straight.Unfortunately, the attempt to focus only caused intense anger to seize me, and with it, an indignation greater than the one I had been feeling all this time. I was angry, unhappy and miserably unhappy. It was over, I was tired of trying to be someone else. Tired of failing, of trying and never getting anything. Tired of not having a chance, tired of being humiliated and diminished. But in the end, it was just what I was. A whore. And a whore could not be anything but a whore. I should know that. I stood up. I dried my tears and decided it did not matter anymore. I would be what it had to be, because that was all I was good for, if that was all I could do, then it would be that way. I knew that I now had a hard, empty expression, and if my expression mirrored the emptiness I felt, I should be frighteningly neutral and lifeless. But it did not matter. Nothing mattered. It took me some time to locate myself. I got the wrong bus, which left me away from home, but I did not complain. From now on, I would not accept or fail to accept whatever happened to me. Things would just happen, and I'd just be aware of them. I would get on autopilot. The one who would not let me have emotions or think about her. It would be irreversible. I got home about 8pm. I headed to the shower mechanically as I made my decision, thinking as little as possible about it and about the consequences it would bring. I did not know how long the bath had lasted. I simply acted without thinking of anything, and possibly a few minutes later I would open my bag, taking out the first piece of ordinary and flashy clothing in plain sight. A short and fair blue dress. A piece I had never had the guts to use. Perfect. Dressed him quickly, I looked for a pair of high shoes that would complete the look "cheap piranha. '' Without looking at me in the mirror, I sought out my makeup kit, something else rarely used by me. I went back to the bathroom and brushed my hair, still on autopilot, without looking at my own face in the mirror. After the stage of the hairstyle, I chose the darker shadows and outlined my eyes with them. When the production in both eyes looked the same, I chose the darker lipstick and a live blush. Not knowing what the smell was, I splashed the scent of the golden bottle over my body, so I finally paid attention to my reflection. I did not know who she was. She was a stranger, but she looked at me as if she had known me for so long. The woman in the mirror was not me, but maybe inside the brown eyes, a remnant of what I was still existed. Perhaps. But now there was no one there. No one but a whore.** I walked slowly down the street as I tried to remember the way I was going. In the old days I would have prayed that no one saw me leave the building or that the sidewalks were deserted at that time, but today I did not care. I simply did not think of anything, and as I walked unconcernedly down the sidewalk, my head seemed strangely empty. It was empty in a way that I had never felt, as if my brain had suddenly stopped wanting to think and act automatically. On the one hand, it was good. Not thinking made me regret and not suffer. Some time later, God only could say how much I finally got to the street I knew. That place was where I'd spent a lot of time working before Chloe found me and led me to The Hills. Nothing had changed. The sidewalks were still dirty, fruit of the end of a tumultuous day and full. That way carried crowds during the day, that ran from one side to the other and left their marks there. The walls were dark, and all the small shops were now locked with iron doors. Open, just a few cheap and tight brothels, which blinked an irritating red light. In the open doors, one could see some couples without any modesty or class. The street was not very busy, but time and time again, customers would arrive in their cars and choose their companions, while those who were standing enjoyed the night there. Scattered along the sidewalks, along the length of the street, could be seen woman and of the most varied types. Some of them talked to each other while they drank and laughed at anything. Others waited alone, smoking one cigarette after another. They all wore ordinary, tight clothing, and some even dared on the transparencies. That panorama shook a little the structures of my newly acquired wall of indifference. Remembering that place was one thing, but seeing it again under the same conditions and being about to relive it all over again was something else. Something I might not be able to handle. I leaned against one of the walls with breathlessness, trying more than anything to think of nothing. I tried to inhale and exhale slowly and slowly, to oxygenate the brain well and calm myself. I looked in the small bag that carried some sedative, but there was nothing useful there. I tried to ignore the two women who laughed at me a little over ten feet as I walked to a nearby pilaster. When I arrived, I leaned my body against it and closed my eyes in a desperate attempt not to panic. I could feel the urge to cry take me slowly, and I knew that if I allowed myself to shed the first tear, the others would be impossible to hold. So the only thing I was in control of was the Herculean force I was doing to break the previous knot in the throat, talking to myself about things like "do not be so ridiculous" or " that is cleared. "In fact, my concentration was so heavy that I almost did not notice the car that was now approaching very slowly. The driver was obviously picking who he would take for a romantic ride that night, and suddenly I found myself wishing he did not pick me. It was ridiculous, I knew it, since I was there for that. But if I were to remember all the moments like this that existed in my life, I could see that in all I had acted in the same way: my will always ran against my goal.But I had forgotten that God seemed to be taking revenge on me for some reason, so the vehicle obviously stopped right where I was, so that I could only see the hitchhiking by the open window. What were my other options? I had no other options. I simply had to do that. Finally, after a little more time than a woman in my position would take, I swallowed and took a deep breath, stepping forward and leaning against the car window. To my surprise, it was not a man but a woman and she did not look at me with lust and did not have on her face the expression of amusement and abuse of power that all the customers who passed by used to bring. She looked at me with an expression that bore the mixture of many things, which few could be identified: Anger. Sadness. Confusion. It was the few reactions I could see in those green familiar eyes. Humiliating. Nothing in the world could be more humiliating than that moment. The moment I finally found the woman I'd been dreaming about for months, for which I was ridiculously in love. The woman who had yelled at me saying horrible things in front of other people. The woman who turned my life into hell as fast as a blink of an eye. The only woman who stood out from the others without even having to force herself to do so, and who now made me feel worse than ever. It was humiliating. The irrational urge it took me was to punch anything in front of me. Releasing a little of all the anger and hurt that was strangled inside me might be good for me, but I was very focused on those eyes. Those eyes held me, they had a strange power over me. Maybe that power was affected by the longing I felt for her, but the fact was that I was standing idiotic, staring at her, not knowing what to say, as she stared back at me. Why did I have to find her under these conditions? Why today? Why just now, shit? Why could not it have been a few hours ago? A few months ago ... But I should have done something very bad in another incarnation, and now I was paying for my sins. Then of course she would find me at the moment when I would be playing my humiliating role as a corner whore, practically transfigured with all that makeup, at the risk of an impending crisis of panic and crying. I was now torn apart with several bits of sensation. A part of me wanted to die, because everything would turn out quickly and I would not have to endure all that bad feeling. Another part wanted to pull the woman who was still staring at me and punch her with all her strength, everywhere she could have left me when she said she would stay by my side. A third wanted to throw herself in her arms and curl up like a cat in her chest until all the pain, suffering, and hurt were simply forgotten. A fourth party wanted nothing more than to remain there. It would be nice if I said something. It would be nice if she said something. But we both remained in our positions, made statues, and I was sure that she would end up with a torticoll and me with a pain in the spine probably unbearable. Then I remembered that she was there for a purpose. It was not fair with her or me to force ourselves into that situation.She had chosen me for some unknown reason. Maybe I did not recognize myself, since lately I've been looking much more like a zombie than anything else, besides my lost pounds and the dark makeup she'd never seen me wear. She was there for a reason, and she had chosen me. The reason did not matter, either because she recognized me or because she thought I was a whore. But that was the undeniable truth, she was there to choose his company for the night. I took a deep breath, trying to control my voice, my crying and my desire to vomit, before breaking the silence. That's what she wanted, that's what she would have. - One hundred U.S. dollars. Her expression, now indecipherable, passed immediately into a shock so real that I could almost smile at the effect it had on her. It would be such a funny expression if the situation were not so disgusting. I saw that she was going to respond. I do not know if I would utter a curse or say something that would hurt me even more, but whatever your thoughts might have been, you could never have said it. I saw a woman suddenly appear in the other window next to her, and I could identify her as one of the prostitutes who laughed at me while I tried to breathe a few minutes ago. - Hi, handsome. It seems that the negotiation is complicated, right? Time is money, so I'll give you more options. My program costs half of what she charged. Clear. The situation is not bad enough. It was not enough for me to dress as a suburban girl, or wear a cheap perfume, or wear a tight, short mini dress that showed more than my body than acceptable. It was not enough for me to charge to have sex with the woman for whom I was in love and who only saw me as a prostitute. That was not enough. Now I'd have to fight some other bitch on her night. Again, it was divided into parts that each wanted different things. Part of me wanted to dash in on that Porsche and squeeze the throttle so it would get us out of that place as fast as possible. Another part wanted to rub that bitch's face on the asphalt. A third party wanted to turn away and leave, leaving it with a single option, which was not me. She turned to her own window, still reluctant to look away from me and still with that look of shock and horror on her face, now facing the woman who was leaning, like me, in the open window. - You, shut up! She stood up quickly, looking extremely offended by the harsh tone of his voice, and I knew she was going to start cursing her. But this time, she interrupted her, turning to me with the same angry expression she'd used with that bitch. - And you, get in the car! I wish I had had a little time to think about it. Should I do that? Would I bear the consequences? Would not she hurt more than she already was? But all these questions were asked with the vehicle already in motion, because it was obvious that I had entered the car immediately after hearing her say those words without even blinking. It was obvious, because I only had two options: stay away or stay close to her. And there was no need to think about it for a moment. Although my pride should raise a minimum of resistance against her, it was simply impossible to deny being with her when I had the chance. But now, inside that car, feeling the awkward silence weigh a few tons over my head, feeling the waves of electricity emanating from the woman's body beside me clash brutally against my own body, leaving me quite aware of its presence there, I wondered: What the hell were you doing? It was a question I could not answer. I wanted to know what would happen from now on, and that was something only she could tell me.And to ask her something, simply to speak, was out of the question. It was still too early to pretend everything was normal. She drove fast. I knew this because the only place I could look at was the streets ahead of us. She flashed some red signals, overpowered many cars without power, made sharp turns, and once or not sang tires. The reason I could handle all this information was that my head was so strangely empty that I had all that free time. The minutes passed, and the quiet comfortable day beside her became so unbearable and uncomfortable now that I was almost leaning forward and turning on the car radio. Not knowing what to say having so much to say was a horrible feeling. I paid more attention to the streets around me, and suddenly I realized where I was. I did not know how long she'd been driving - measured by the endless silence, perhaps a few decades - but now I was aware that the Porsche's mileage was considerably higher because there were quite a few streets to go from the place where I lived to the place that she lived. I looked at her out of the corner of my eye, for fear of turning my head toward her. I noticed that she maintained a firm and dignified posture, imposed and controlled, as if she had just had nothing but a small annoyance. She also did not look away from the street for a second, staying rigid even in the few signs she had been forced to stop so as not to cause crossings. I envied her for her strength and her safety, and I immediately felt more pathetic and ridiculous for drawing this comparison between us and noticing that my state was now close to panic. It's all right. She's calm, so should you. It's not like you do not know what you're about to do. The car entered an enclosed space, and I suddenly noticed that it was in the garage of the building where she lived. We stopped abruptly, then heard the soft sound of the engine, already very quiet, turned off and the key pulled from the ignition. A few fractions of seconds later, she was getting out of her car, unceremoniously opening the driver's door and beating her hard. She was furious. With what, I did not know. Nor should it be any of my business. I do not know what made me do it more immediately. I followed her out of the car, slamming the door a little less forcefully and hurrying to reach her as she walked steadily through the spacious driveway, heading for the elevator . Maybe I should have been bothered by the fact that she did not look at me once, or that it seemed as if my presence there was as important as a dead cockroach, but my latent fear made me welcome this absence of attention. I knew that by the time she looked at me again, many things could happen. She would demand something from me. I would lose some of the control I had left. We'd end up hitting each other or I'd end up crying in her arms, like the perfect pathetic dead fly that I was. For now, being ignored was good. It was easier than having to face it and having to deal with demands. Besides, I would also have to deal with the sadness that I knew it would take me when our eyes met again. I knew I should not be making it personal. That was just the first program of my night, the first of many that I would have now. Besides, I remembered clearly and sharply how emphatic she had been when she screamed in my face that I was just a whore. I knew it, and letting that encounter bring me back so many sensations was dangerous. I did not know where I was getting myself, but I kept going. Near the drive, the time it took for the elevator to climb all those floors and reach the roof had been pretty quick, but the silence that kept us hovering in the air between us remained extremely unpleasant.Even so, I was convinced that it would be good to get used to it, since maybe that silence could be the best thing of that night. She left the elevator without hesitation, the keys already in her hands. Moments later the door was already open, showing a large, airy apartment in a clean, minimalist style. The few furniture mixed in contrasts, some whites black. Everything was very clean and tasteful. The opposite wall of the room was nothing but glass, stretched from top to bottom, with sliding doors of the same material that opened onto the large balcony. Even in crisis, I could not help noticing that his apartment was the kind of place that you only see in magazines. Would that be the page I would mark as? Dream apartment? I came back to reality when I felt him bump into me, when he finished locking the door again and headed for the narrow hallway. I followed her without question, entering the door that she had also entered, and I could see that we were now in her room. Just as in the room, the side wall carried thick plates of glass. I noticed that one of them was little open, realizing that they were mirrored. So perfectly mirrored that I doubted that anything inside that room could be seen by anyone outside. The floor had a dark carpet that matched the black duvet that lined the bed. The walls were extremely white and the closet that wrapped the bedside, ivory. The way the colors contrasted with, apparently, every part of the house, was enviable elegance, and I was sure that I would be admiring the surroundings more if I could. But the truth was that, at that moment, I could hardly stand. I stared at her back as she looked out the glass wall at the city outside. I could hear her breathing heavier than usual, and I realized that she should not be very well either. Great. It was good to know that I was not the only one who was distressed in that place. I wondered what I should do. Not that I had forgotten how to act in such situations, but that case was an exception because she was not a normal customer. She was her, and I just did not know how to proceed. If I was in a program with any client, I knew I would have to have taken an initiative of rapprochement and seduction, because most of the clients paid to feel the sensation of not having to run behind. It was obvious that anyone who had to start anything would be me, but how? It was not all right. Besides, I would not be quite sure what she wanted. It was difficult, but I had to do it. I had to play my role because, first of all, that was why she chose me. It was no use remembering the past. It was no use seeing her as more than a client. There was no point in making that personal, because it would only increase my suffering after everything happened. But it was impossible not to feel it. I could fake it for her, but not for me. For her it would be a program, for me it would be a little more than that. It was only when she turned, purposely avoiding my gaze, that I realized that I had taken a few steps toward her. His movement stopped me immediately, so as I did not know what to do, I waited. His expression was hard and cold. It was the same expression I remembered seeing last time, months ago. An expression charged with anger, rancor and almost imperceptibly, a little confusion. But I had experience with that expression, so I knew what to expect. I knew that nothing good could come from there. She took a deep breath, visibly trying not to explode, and finally broke the silence. -Take a bath. Take off those ordinary clothes and that scum of cheap whore. Wash your face so I do not feel disgusted to talk to you. Right. It was a bit of what I expected, after all. But it's when you hear all the words that the real pain hits you, so even waiting for that, your words hit me like a whip again. Just like last time. I could send her to shit and get out of there immediately. I could refuse to take orders from her, or else ignore her and demand an explanation for all this time that she was absent. But I was so hurt, overwhelmed by a mental exhaustion so great, so intense that I accepted. I moved toward the door to my left, using the rest of my willpower to keep myself on my feet. On entering, I locked the door immediately and took off the clothes and shoes I wore. Seconds later, I was under a shower of lukewarm water, which was wetting me while my head finely chose to stop thinking. Now the euphoria to find her was gone, all that was left empty was that Lauren was now a woman who made a point of forgetting that she once knew me and seemed to care about me. The weeping came too fast so I could hold it back, so tears mingled with the water running down my face. I let them leave, as if they were some of the sadness that I felt leaving inside me. I closed my eyes and felt the force of the water hit my skin, as if it could make me stronger and more alive. I reached for the soap and rubbed all the parts of my body tightly. I felt almost physical pain in my chest, and I fought the crying so it would not reach higher levels that made me sob. I dried myself with the white towel beside the stall and without thinking if I could do it or if it would be adequate, I reached the white coat hanging behind the door and dressed him. The garment was huge on me, covering all the necessary parts. The sweatshirt smelled of her, and I felt a deep anger of myself for allowing myself to like that perfume. I looked in the mirror and noticed my current state. It was not good. There were smudged dark makeup stains reminiscent of the bath that now dipped down the cheekbones, giving me a gothic-suicidal appearance. My nose and eyes were incredibly red and marked by the recent crying crisis, and my hair was tousled. I wiped off all the blurred makeup and combed my hair with my fingers. I grabbed the clothes I wore and hung where it was just the sweatshirt now on me. I did not know if the perfume was still embedded in my skin as before, but I did not care.
