I'm a stripper, doesn't mean I'm a slut

Ninja slash emo outfits

I used to be a massive bitch.

I was your typical, cookie cutter, snobby, too-up-her-own-ass-to-see-straight, spoilt little rich girl, once upon a time. Back when I was popular. At my old school, I mean.

I thought the sun shone out of my friggin' ass cheeks. I thought that I was better than everyone else at my totally boring prim and proper exclusive (and expensive) private school. I thought that my friends worshipped the ground I walked on, that they should be grateful I even called them friends because there were so many other people lining up just to be associated with me.

Turns out, I didn't have any friends - the only reason they even hung out with me was because I was loaded. Sad, but true. The instant things started to go haywire, the moment my life turned even more shit, when I needed someone's shoulder to lean on the most, they left me. Every single one of them. I had no one. I was alone.

In hindsight, I guess I should have realised they only put up with me because I had a heap of spare change - I was just too up my own ass to see it. I thought they actually liked me for me - well, so much for that. I guess I can sort of understand why Ashley's such a bitch - I've been down there, done that before.

I know her type all too well - designer clothes, the latest fashion in shoes and handbags and jewellery and a bright yellow (yeah, yellow - what was she thinking) convertible; all accumulating to the price of a small mansion. She walks around like she owns the place - which she practically does anyway.

I feel kind of responsible for Ashley in a way, like I should warn her or something. I used to be her - I'm afraid that someday she will end up like me. I should tell her before it's too late - don't take your life for granted, cherish every moment, find out who your real friends are, who'll have the guts to stick by you when times are tough, not just when you're rolling in wads of cash.

Urrgh, I sound so sentimental - like a long winded old woman. But it's true (I mean my whole speech about how Ashley's gonna end up like, not that I'm an old woman).

I sigh and turn onto my stomach so that I'm face down on my duvet. I glance at my phone. 5:24. Four hours and six minutes before I have to drag my butt down to the strip club, in which time I will have had to of 1) finished all my homework 2) socialised with Lois and Freddie, and of course Ollie 3) eaten dinner 4) wasted an adequate amount of time on social networking websites. Urrgh. I sink back into the bed.

Bbbbbzzzzzz. Bbbbbbzzzzzz. I groan. Just as I was getting comfortable, my phone has to go off. Typical. I fumble for my phone and clumsily put it to my ear and click the receiver button.

"Hello?" I mumble in it, traces of tiredness and irritability in my voice.

"Hey, Alexis," Shit. I'd know that voice anywhere, that annoying, nasal, piercing sound. James. Adam. Cooper. And yes, use of his middle name is mandatory for a situation as dire as this (plus, he used my stripper name - what other douche bag do I know who knows my code name?)

"Urrgh, it's you." I grumble into the phone, rubbing my temples.

"Wow, thank you. I just, I feel so loved, you know?"

I huff. "How'd you even get my number?"

"Uh uh uh." he says in a patronising voice. "A magician never reveals his secrets."

"Screw you."

He laughs. "Your place or mine?"

"Haha very funny. What do you want, Cooper?"

"No need to get all feisty, I'm just calling to see if you'll keep your side of the bargain. You do remember what the deal is, right? I don't blab, you'll be my slave yeah?"