Pretending

    The note on the fridge told her that he was out (again) with business partners (at a club). She held back a sigh and crumpled the note. Shrugging off her coat, she rummaged through the fridge for an apple before heading to her room.

    Her homework was as easy as it had always been. Sometimes she wondered if the teachers were being serious or not, but then she’d check the grade ranking at school and, from the jealous looks everyone gave her, decided that it was for real. Everyone else was just stupid. That didn’t change much for her, other than continuing the trend of her significant lack of friends. She didn’t mind much. It wasn’t as though she knew what she was missing out on.

    She finished her work, had dinner, and started to get ready for the rest of the night. She dug into the back of her closet, where she kept the clothes she used for this sort of thing - her father didn’t dare go into her room, not ever, but it was always worth it to be safe. Besides, she liked the organization of it all.

    As she dressed, she thought back to the day’s tortures: the usual name-calling and giggling behind her back, people putting tacks in her school shoes, and cruel notes stuck in her desk. She didn’t care about petty things like that. Grades were all that really mattered, anyways.

    There was one thing, though, that really got to her. Even as she applied her eyeshadow and mascara, she had to hold back a few tears at the memory.

    “You’ll never get a boyfriend, you ugly bitch!”

    She didn’t like that she cared so much about one stupid, meaningless sentence. She hated herself for letting it affect her the way it did. It really didn’t matter. Nothing really mattered except for what happened at night, and it stayed where it belonged - in the dark recesses of her memory.

    Finally satisfied with her outfit and makeup, she stood and took one last look in the mirror. The skirt was just short enough, the top was just low-cut enough. The shoes made her legs look long and graceful, and her makeup gave her the appearance of a woman who was only a few years older than her. She had all the confidence she would need.

    After all, she might have been lacking a boyfriend at school, but at night she could have anyone she chose.

    She grabbed her jacket and locked the door behind her before making her way out into the street, shivering only a little at how cold her knees were. She was fine. She was beautiful.

    The people on the roadside that day were familiar to her; she knew where they kept their corners and where she should keep hers. The unwritten laws of this world had tricked her at first, given her false hope and more nail marks than she would have liked, but as the days passed she quickly learned her place. Now she watched as the newcomers received bruises and ego-beatings, but she wasn’t quite at the level to administer them herself. Instead she waited and watched, getting a feel for the environment that would be her evening home.

    It wasn’t permanent by any means - sometimes there would be invasions or someone would go missing, and new territory would open up. She had switched streets several times already, in the short months that she had been there, but no matter where she went she seemed to be able to avoid trouble. It helped that her ego wasn’t as big as the others’; she was used to staying quiet.

    A few mutters reached her ears when she finally settled in for the night, but she knew that, unlike school, they weren’t directed towards her. A glance at the sky made her join in the curses; it was beginning to rain, and, by the look of the clouds, there was a major storm brewing.

    The streets suddenly came to life. Those smart enough to bring some sort of protection shook it out, while the remainders did their best to assume poses and postures that would assure their safety for the night. Witty banter flew back and forth, but it quickly grew tired and weary-sounding. A few girls left, either with rides or by themselves, giving in and giving up.

    She was getting soaked. Her makeup was waterproof but the packaging always lied, and her cheeks had become home to trails of liquid powder. If she didn’t get someone soon, she was going home.

    Then, with headlights cutting through the grey sky, a car approached her. She shifted, squinting, trying to make out what sort of car it was. Sometimes you could see a man without ever laying eyes on him, just by looking at his possessions. This was one such case - the car was something she couldn’t recognize but knew instinctively that it cost twice as much as what her father made in a year. It was black, windows tinted, and it stopped just a few feet away from her.

    She began to grow nervous. There was one other woman sharing the street with her, an older lady who had managed to retain her youthful appearance even on these streets. They often courted the same customers, but tonight it would determine who went home and who went to a luxury hotel on the other side of the city.

    A man stepped out, shook open an umbrella, and began to walk. His steps echoed out over the raindrops, and as he approached she felt her heart jump into her throat.

    He was by no means gorgeous, but he was younger than the middle-aged men she’d seen lately, and he seemed to take care of himself; his face was devoid of bristles and his hair shone, even beneath the shadow of his umbrella. The look in her eyes told her that, tonight, she would win.

    He stood next to her, shielding her with his umbrella, and grinned. He was missing a tooth, but that was okay. She smiled back, pushing a hip out slightly, and they said a few quick words before he escorted her back into his car. She caught a glance at the other woman before the door closed; she was frowning and walking away.

    There was no mercy and no guilt on the streets. Not for her or anyone else.

    As the car sped away into the night, she thought back to her day at school. The girls who told her she would be alone forever really had no idea how the world worked.

    The car stopped, she saw a red blur of light against the window, and the press of his lips on her neck made her remember that, now, she wasn’t herself any longer. The book-smart girl without friends had disappeared long with the sun; now, she was a lady of the night, and this man had pressed his heart into her palm.

    At the end of the night, she looked at herself in the mirror, her face now devoid of the makeup and masks it had worn so confidently just hours ago. The wad of bills in her hand reminded her of her own lack of substance, her own frailty, and she let out a tiny, bitter laugh.

    She was nothing but a paper vessel, waiting to be filled up by someone with paper money to spare.