momma please don't cry, i will be alright | trevor philips

Chapter VI

This House Is a Circus - Arctic Monkeys

Before my hooker days, I was completely broke. I had just got evicted out of my apartment because I hadn't paid rent. I was laid off from my job, I had zero money in my pockets. It's expensive living in Los Santos.

     After I'd gotten evicted I slept on the streets for a long time. I smelled horrible. I was hungry all the time. I lost some weight, around fifteen pounds. My structure was so boney. But then a man in a black tux met me, his name was Jason. He said he had a deal for me that would change my life forever. And it's true. It did change my life forever and in the worst way possible. He promised me lots of money, which I did end up earning, but I spent it like crazy because I was so thirsty for a new and better life.

     He took me to a club. We didn't go there to dance, though. I was taken to a private VIP section of the club. He locked the door behind me and said I would have the time of my life right then and there. He fucked me. I was so weak and limp it didn't even feel good, but at least it got me some money. He became my pimp. He bought me new clothes. I wanted to fall in love with him but he didn't want me. Like at all. The sex was just the exchange I had to take in order to get money. So every night, weekdays and weekends, I'd have to dress myself in a skin-tight miniskirt and a crop top or a bra. Something to get the men's attention to me. There were also females. I'm not lesbian, and I hated it so much.

     But there was one certain man I fell into a deep love hole with.

     I remember my exact outfit that night. Leopard printed high waisted shorts, with the tightest black belt. A black bra with dollar signs on the breasts. White platform boots with a thick black sole and red laces. I had just gotten fucked by a man in his thirties. He requested some dirty things. My hair was messed up, tangled. There were dried tears on my face. It wasn't from the pleasure, it was from the depression. The utter pain. But then a man with his rusted red truck pulled up next to me and hollered at me. Instantly I knew he was the one for me.

     "C'mon and make Uncle T happy," he said as I climbed in his truck. My hips hurt a bit. I sat down on the seat and looked at him, doing my thing. Fake smiling, arching my back to get a more sensual look. He looked beat up just a bit. I'm sure there was dried blood on his hands and clothes. A hard-working criminal always needs something to please him once he is done with his work.

     He took me to a back alley and things escalated from there.

     "What would you like?" I asked him. My voice was not the same as it usually was when I'd ask that. There definitely was a hint of sadness, brokenness. He noticed right away that this wasn't a typical hooker, I think.

     "You do whatever you want, darling. Make us happy," he grinned. In fact, I was not happy at all.

     We had sex. It was great, actually. Compared to all of the other men I'd fucked. But I knew even after the good sex, I was still depressed. I knew how my face looked. It looked emotionless.

     "How was that?" I wondered, sitting up straighter. My back hurt. "I hate myself," Trevor chuckled, zipping his jeans up. I bit my lip and looked around.

     "Me, too," I said. He didn't expect me to say that. "I guess prostitution isn't the way to go?" He wrapped his hand around the steering wheel. "It's killed me. Emotionally. My body count, I-I don't even know what it is anymore," I procrastinated.

     "Well, you're just lucky. I know mine, and uh, it ain't good, sweetheart," Trevor smiled. "I'm sure you aren't embarrassed about it," I rolled my eyes. "Nope, Uncle T gets the work done and it's like magic to me. I don't even care. As long as I'm satisfied," he went on.