Eight Years Later
Beatrice’s P.O.V.
I felt the desire to rip that piece of black lace away from my face and toss it onto the floor.
It was intended to shield my face from curious looks, to prevent that anyone would see my tears - but why bother? I had no tears left, and even if I had, why not let everyone see?
My life was ruined, ruined before it even began. Ruined once again.
I had just recently recovered from Edward’s death, the man who had been my brother and dearest friend - only to suffer two more losses; my parents were claimed by the same illness that already took Edward.
At age 15, I was an orphan, and a penniless orphan at that.
I felt anger well up inside of me as I stared at the open graves of my parents. Why did they have to leave me? What was I supposed to do now, all alone with no relatives left at all?
Had Edward not died, I would have known who to turn to... tears formed in my eyes and I hastily wiped them away. My tears for him I had shed long ago, yet the wound was as fresh as ever.
If only that illness had claimed me, too.
But it hadn’t, which left the problem of me being alive.
Which could be difficult if your father had debts that by far exceeded his possibilities of paying them; now that he was dead, every single creditor appeared and claimed his money.
The house was empty, everything was sold and yet there was no money for me.
When everything is sold, and a young girl has the will to survive, but has no education and no references, what do you figure she does?
Exactly. Sell herself.
"How old are you, girl?" The stout woman scrutinized me.
"18." I lied smoothly, for once being grateful for my physical maturity.
"Hm." She mumbled gruffly. "Blonde curls, big blue eyes, voluptuous lips, clear skin, big tits and a nice ass. You’ll do."
I had to swallow down the anger I felt at being treated like cattle and the woman’s vulgar words. This was the only chance I had at ever having a future... I would have to endure a lot, yes. But if I saved all the money, then maybe one day, I could have a future...
"Name?"
"Beatrice."
The woman shook her head. "Not catchy enough. You’ll have to change that. Joyce is better."
So now I’m not only throwing away my principles, I’m also becoming another person... which might be closer to the truth than I wanted. This was not me. Yet it was my decision...
I took a deep breath, inwardly said goodbye to my former self and nodded. "Joyce." I said emotionlessly.
"Any experience?"
I shook my head.
"You’ll learn. Just entertain the guests and do everything a special customer may ask of you." Her voice turned businesslike. "So, your job will be practically the same of a waitress, only that if a gentleman asks you to accompany him to his room, you will. We’re a hotel with certain advantages."
In other words, a brothel disguised as a hotel.
"You may leave now."
"I will, but first I have some conditions."
"It’s not up to you to make conditions, girl."
I ignored her. "I’m a virgin, and I therefore expect a bonus for the first time."
"How dare you..."
"I can go to any other "bar with certain advantages" who will gladly accept me and grant me that bonus. Your decision." I was bluffing, of course, but I believed I just had to pull it off audaciously enough for it to work the way I intended. And it did.
"Alright. Double the price."
My eyes narrowed. "What about the risk of pregnancy?"
She grimaced, apparently unhappy I had mentioned that issue. "There are ways of preventing it..."
"Good. I expect those to be made use of. Because otherwise I will not work here." I knew very well what I was worth to them.
The woman looked at me as if I were a nuisance, apparently she had hoped she wouldn’t be forced to grant me that "privilege" of protection, then she nodded curtly.
When she sent me up to my room, I was glad that all my friends and relatives were dead. Because would they be alive, they would now die of shame for me.