Mr. Miller motions for me to approach. I close the distance between us and stand between his legs, trying to detach myself from what will follow. It was much easier with the pills.
“Pretty,” he says and places his palm on my thigh just below the hem of my short white dress. Seems like it’s the favorite color of every client. “How old are you?”
“I’m eighteen, Mr. Miller.”
“So young.” His hand travels upward, pulling my dress. “Call me Jonny.”
“Yes, Jonny,” I mutter.
“Dolly said your name is Daisy. Small and sweet. Fitting.” A shiver passes over my body upon hearing the name they gave me because they found my own too unusual. I despise it. Just hearing it makes me want to throw up.
Mr. Miller lifts my dress over my head and throws it onto the floor. It falls as a small white bund
