THE PROSTITUTE

I

The yellow light above me flickers as the cold water contact my skin. I gaze at the cranky bathroom. The walls are stained and dirty. There are concrete spaces between the tiles. The moans vibrating through the walls from the next room do not help the situation. I can't help but think how much sound does this poor old walls have to bear every day. I try to block out the voices and let myself forget in the shower. The scalding water touch my skin, spreading warmth to my stiff body. The water force slows down little by little.

Not Again.

I groan and try to turn the tap again to find any luck. The water system in the brother is far from good. It stops in the middle of every shower. After minutes of finding no luck, I accept the defeat and aim for my towel. I dry my hair thoroughly because catching a cold during the work days is not a good idea. If you take leave on your work days, then you will be required to work during your leaves. I can't beat to lose holidays.

I stare at the mirror and inspect the hickeys that adorned my neck. I press the tip of fingers to one of them and I slightly hiss at the pain. I will need to spend a lot of concealers on them. I put on my pink fluffy bathrobe and open the door.

"What do you think, Cathy?" The fifty-four-year-old naked man on my bed asks. "Should I get her favorite Boyband to perform or get her something expensive, say like a necklace?"

How about you stop sleeping with prostitutes and be an actual father for your daughter's 16th birthday?

"Depends on her." I say instead and sit down in front of the dressing table, picking up the concealer brush. "What will she like more? Her favorite Boyband performing for five minutes or something to keep forever?"

I start with the bigger ones, layering them up with the powder gently.

"She is crazy about those people. She is crazy about designer stuff too. She is putting me through a deleima. I really want to get her the best considering that I will be not there with her." He sighs and picks up his shirt. "You are nineteen, you can help me out."

I laugh out at his suggestion. Is he really comparing me to his daughter? He thinks we have the same life. How dump are you, gentleman.

"Trust me, I am the last person eligible to help you out." I turn towards him to see his puzzled face. "If it was my birthday, all I want will be to get leave for one week and spend them on my bed with no man company. Does your daughter want that?"

He stays silent for a minute and the ridiculousness of his question dawns to him along with a pinch of sympathy and pity for me. "You are right."

I resume my work and feel content wash over me as I finish the first one. I move on lower for the next one.

"But if your daughter is anything I imagine her to be, your sorry ass on her birthday would be enough."