A GENTLEMAN'S LOVE.

Nicky's pov. There is nothing special about today; it's cursed like all other days I have had since I was fifteen. Snatched brutally from my mother's embrace and sold to a wolf in a human's skin. He saved me, only to destroy my soul. Break me into pieces and feed me to the wolves. My eyes feel heavy with sleep. The green color in my eyes is fading. It doesn't pop out anymore like it used to. My eyes feel heavy with sleep. I haven't slept for days. I feel weak, tired, and worn out. I am in my room. It's cold, it's always cold, and silent like a cemetery. And the dark negative energy in the room is suffocating and heavier than before, pressing me down like I am carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders. The walls are thick and soundproof, isolating me from the rest of the world. Killing me slowly. I am drying my wet hair for the tenth time today, beautifying myself again for the next client. I apply the usual cheap makeup: blush cheeks, dark shaded lashes, and red lips. It's a normal routine, but my heart sinks, and the void feels like it has grown an inch bigger, like cancer; it keeps growing. After a dozen beatings, I agreed to wear makeup, and I even got skilled at it. I have applied it so many times, but it always feels foreign. Like I am on the outside, staring into the reflection of someone else. The image staring back at me looks like someone else, someone lost, someone rid of shame, but that's not me. But when I don't wear any, I feel more lost and confused. I can't recognize the image of the boy looking back at me. The innocence in his eyes. But then, why do we look so alike? The room is well-decorated with expensive, bright decorations and nude lights. The decor helped disguise the lies about the room being a VIP to bring in more money for the club and attract the rich who think themselves important and more deserving to be VIPs. Truth, there is nothing of worth in my room, only flashy toys to deceive their eyes and the cheap scents. Burned continuously every day in the cold, stuffy rooms with no ventilators, not good for our health. Which didn't matter. Here, a pet chicken lived more grandly than us. You die, they throw you back into the sea, like garbage. Luckily, I am bringing in more money for the club. Hence, I only serve the rich; privilege, they call it. The others say," I am lucky, a vixen with top skills," but there is no luck in such a life when you don't have a soul. Everything is earned from pain and blood. I would give anything to walk away and forget. I couldn't make peace or accept what they had turned me into. I couldn't accept that this is all I was meant to be in this lifetime. There has to be another story for me, a new destiny. And if I don't have one, I will carve one myself with my own hands. I earned the favor; I deserved it. I wasn't born with such skills. Years of pain and suffering, along with adaptations, brought them along. They just chose to ignore the scars and the broken soul, not that it mattered; we all had scars. Beatings, fighting for favor, but mostly from the clients who enjoyed or got a release from inflicting pain. It doesn't matter that our job is considered filthy, dirty, and disgraceful. We still have competition, just like any other job. We hate each other just as much as our pimps. Some suffer more than others, some never see the next day break, some lose their lives in the act, or some choose to end everything themselves as they can't live with it. The shame, isolation, darkness, and deep scars that are imprinted on our souls. Vile, sinful creatures who are not considered humans anymore. But I survived through it all. I am still here, aren't I? It's raining again today. The clients from this morning had wet hair, and their clothing was partially wet. This is the only way I get to know what's happening outside, after the cold, small rooms, the smoky, dark, long corridors, then beyond the high walls. They never let us out. We are imprisoned, zero grazed like cows back in the village. I miss the sun, its warmth. I can not count or dare to remember how many years I have been here. It feels like a century since I have been lost in these dark rooms, but my first time was hell. It still haunts me, and I live with it every day. Flashback. I had just arrived with Jack, the man who rescued me from the clutches of my greedy family, or so I thought. There wasn't much to see as it was already dark, but when I entered the magnificent tall building, I didn't know that it was going to be my last time outside for a very long time. I knocked on the door and entered the silent room. I sneeze as the thick scents attack my nostrils. My hand instinctively covered my nose. It's warm and staffy. There are no windows, just a ten-square room with thick walls. The small red desk lamp in the corner of the room can't brighten the darkness in the room. The shadows on the walls remind me of late evenings sitting with my family, telling stories and laughing at their jokes. I didn't miss them. I hated them. They betrayed my family. They gave me away like a stray dog, but my mother? Will they keep her alive? Will I be able to see her again? Countless questions ran through my mind. "Or maybe she is dead," I finally said out loud. It's been stuck in my mind ever since I left home. There was no way to confirm if they let her live or die. I gently put down the basin of hot water. My curious eyes linger around the room, amazed at the weird, exquisite luxuries in the room, straight from the village, clueless about the world and the evil in the hearts of people. I walked into the room, admiring the wickedness of the world. A luminous pink object caught my attention, and I stretched my hands out to touch it when suddenly his cold voice thundered from across the room. His voice was cold and deep, heavy with maliciousness, but I couldn't tell. Or maybe I just didn't want to let myself think of the worst. I used to only see the good in people; now I only expect and see the evil in their hearts reflected in their eyes. ''Do you like it?'' he asked loudly, and I shook my head repeatedly. I didn't want to be accused of stealing. The man inside the room smiled at me, and I smiled back politely. I was too young to see the wolfish lust that hid behind the man's facade smile. The fear was there, but I chose to dismiss it. There was nowhere to run to anyway. I was sent there to serve him. ''I was told to bring in hot water for your feet,'' I said innocently, pointing at the basin. I was too innocent to know why I was sent into that room in the middle of the night to bring hot water to some man. I had agreed innocently, but Enzo knew, so he had tried but failed. He couldn't save me. ''I will go, I will bring the water to the client,'' Enzo had said courageously. He'd rushed to Anton quickly, hoping to snatch the basin from him, but he drew it back. ''Not you," he scowled. ''Too bad he hasn't asked for you; he specifically asked for him, a virgin... hhahaha.'' He sarcastically said and smiled wickedly. "Not for long." He handed me the basin of hot water, turned, and walked out. "Make sure you satisfy the client, do you understand?" he ordered strictly, and I nodded in agreement. On his way out, his eyes were on Enzo. He mumbled to him, "You won't always be there to save him. Better sooner than later'' before he walked out. Anton was an evil man, but until now, I really couldn't bring myself to hate him, as he was one of us. He had gotten his share of all the evilness and had scars, deep scars with heartbreaking stories to tell. ''It's okay, I will go'' I agreed innocently. Enzo was the only friend I had made since I got here. He was older than me, and he said I looked a lot like his younger brother. I had been there for hours, and he was the only one willing to talk to me. I was too pure, or maybe just naive, and the others hated me for it. The genuine, pure energy I emitted reminded them of what they had lost. ''Oh really,'' the man laughed sarcastically, his loud voice cutting through the darkness. He made me nervous. His skin was white with blemishes, like all the clients I have seen before. Here is where they came to find the colored slaves for their satisfaction. Beating the life out of us didn't count as murder; it would only cost them a few pennies as compensation for damaging the goods. He was bulky and huge. Back home, I would have laughed at his bold, disfigured head, but not here; it could cost me my life. I couldn't tell the color of his eyes; it was too dark, but they appeared black, glazed from alcohol. He was drunk.