From Princess to Prostitute.

Chapter 11: The afterparty- where sh!t goes wrong.

The after party was held in an elite underground club where only the important people were granted access.

Dark hallways led the way to the party room, the only light coming from the small red chineese lanterns that paved the way to the bar. The scent of vanilla filled the air and the bass music made the ground thump to its beat.

I could feel each pulse of the rhythm in my body and the excitement in the atmosphere was palpable. The thought of what was waiting at the end of the corridor had me tingling with anticipation, and it was all I could do to keep my calm facade and not sprint down the hall like a school girl at her first party... Although techncally this was my

first party.

The corridor ended at a small door, that had a curtain of red beads covering the enterance. I made my way through the

beads, Immodesty close behind, her hand resting on the small of my back. Red appeared to be a reoccuring colour theme,

not that I minded. All the guests (myself included) donned various shades of red. My dress was simple and elegant.

A strapless red gown with a slit to the thigh and silver sequins along the neckline. My hair had been stripped back

to its natural black so it didn't clash with the dress and it had been decided that my own little signature to my

performace would be a different hair coulour each time to coinside with my outfit. I was more than a little giddy about

the possibilities this would present, but I didn't have too long to dwell on this as I was being slowly coached towards

the bar, by an impatient dance partner, that was muttering under her breath about daydreaming at inappropriate times.

I couldn't help but chuckle at that, and stepped up my pace.

"First round is on the daydreamer, darling" I drawled at her in a fake southern accent.

"You heard that, huh?" She laughed back at me.

"Yep. Now pick your poison".

"Absynth, 2 shots ... each". I couldn't resist the gleam in her eye, challenging me.

"Game on 'Mod'".

Mod was my own abbreviation of her name. Immodesty was a mouthful, especially after a few drinks.

The bartender was a young good looking guy (Or at least that's how he looked from the back - I had yet to see his face),

who was very quick at serving and had made his way around the incredibily large que in an impresivley short time.

I ordered the shots without looking up from my phone, which was currently going haywire with my Facebook page flooded

with friend requests and wall posts. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed the popularity and nice comments, but the constant

vibrations it was causing were driving me nuts, so I turned the device off.

Having run away from home and a life as a princess, it was probably a wise idea to keep a low profile, and here I was getting

famous! I had told Mod all about my past, and how I was still running from it, and so she had the make up and hair teams work

extra hard so I looked nothing like myself, both on stage and off. This is where the idea for the different hair colours stemmed

from. I'd been extra careful to use a stage name, and not allow anyone to get hint of my real identity. I'd even had

fake documents drawn up, and every last detial was covered down to the new Facebook page that was probably still being