Niall Horan's Escort

one

When I was sixteen, a man stopped me in the streets and told me I was a 'pretty girl'. If I had been six I would have smiled and thanked him. But in ten years the shit I've seen and been through... How would you picture a pretty girl? Smiling, right? Probably innocent, in a way. A vibrant, bubbly gaze. No. I wasn't a pretty girl. I knew what he meant, and I walked away from that man. But what he said never left me. Wasn't it that simple? I had full, straight teeth. My nose was small and sloppey. My eyebrows kept a nice arched shape without me ever grooming them. I always wore my long blond hair down in case I felt insecure and needed a few strands hiding my face. I didn't want to go home after that, and I've never been home since. 

I can sell a pretty girl. 

I sat up on the bed, enjoying the feeling of silk sheets against my bare legs. I pulled my hair into a ponytail, and he came back out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. 

"This is like our sixth time. Aren't you going to tell me a little about yourself? Is Riley even your real name?" He sat down next to me, and I couldn't help but cringe. I hate men like him. I hate when they care about their performance, or want to chit chat, or even worse: pity me. I don't care for any of those things. I just want to do my job, get paid, and get the hell out. 

"I have another client..." I said, avoiding eye contact. I wanted to pull the sheets up to hide my body, but a client hit me for doing that last week. 

"Alright. Here's your money." He handed me an envelope. I opened it immediately, and frowned at the amount inside. 

"There's 3000 dollars in here. That's triple the amount-"

"Remember that good friend of mine, who is famous? He's throwing a party at a club around here. I'm not saying you should come with me... I'm saying you should go. Meet people." I placed the envelope on my lap in silence. I didn't know if I should spit at his face, or actually consider it. I don't have to do anything I don't want to... And I've never really been out. 

"If I hate it I leave." I said. 

Tonight I could escape everything that I had become. No hair extensions. No fake lashes. I could be myself. Actually, I could be anyone. All I did for this party was buy an outfit. I would wear a nude crop top and matching lace skirt, as well as nude pumps and a clutch. I wore my hair straight into a high ponytail. I did the very minimum makeup-wise. I enjoyed getting ready so effortlessly. It was nice. 

I took a cab to the address, and John, my client, was at the entrance of the club. He helped me get inside. 

The club was insane. There was fire, smoke, lights of all sorts, insane house music, and drunk people everywhere. The people there seemed really weird. Their outfits looked really out of norm, but they all looked rich. I recognized no one, nor was I expecting to. I don't follow celebrities, or even artists for that matter.

Most people there ignored me. I sat down on a couch that wasn't too crowded. 

"Hey," someone sat beside me. "Mind if I sit?" I shook my head as I sipped my drink, looking around the club. I thought he'd join me in my silence, but instead he thought the conversation was worthwhile. "Girls like you are rarely seated alone." He said. 

"You can't impress me." I replied, still not bothering to look at him. I heard him chuckle. It sounded quite cute.

"Shouldn't I even try?" He asked, cheekily. He had a really nice accent. I wondered where he was from. 

"I wouldn't." 

"Alright, then." 

I turned my head, and only got to see his back as he walked away. He had on a tight fitted polo, and tight pants. The light illuminated his blond hair. To be honest, he sounded like just another conceited prick. 

"Having fun?" John appeared behind me as I stood at the bar. I was tipsy, and getting tired. 

"I think I'm going to leave." I put my glass down. 

"No you're not." 

"What?"

"Hey, remember that extra cash earlier? Strings attached, baby." 

My heart started racing. 

"But you said-"

"Nothing to do with me. It's for a friend of a friend. He specifically requested you." 

"I'm not your slave, John! I'm tired. I'm going home." I pushed past him, heading towards the exit. He grabbed my arm.

"You won't want to walk out on this guy. Trust me." He whispered. 

"Who is he?" 

"Ever heard of Niall Horan?"