Love for Angela

Status: Finished

Love for Angela

Status: Finished

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Love for Angela Love for Angela

Book by: Writingyourlife

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Genre: Romance

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Summary

Can an eighteen year old prostitute find love? Or is it too late?

Summary

Can an eighteen year old prostitute find love? Or is it too late?

Author Chapter Note

Can an eighteen year old prostitute find love? Or is it too late?

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: July 05, 2012

Reads: 91

Comments: 1

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: July 05, 2012

A A A

A A A

~Angela~

\"Here you go. Here's five-hundred fifty dollars. Take it, now scram,\" a sixty-something year old man says, pulling up his jeans and buttoning the top. \"Get outta here!\" he yells at me, as I scramble away. Before you judge me, I nerd to tell you first a little about me. I'm eighteen my name is Angela, and I prostitute. I know what your thinking, \"she's just a worthless little whore,\" or, \"what a slut!\" but I'm not. Well, I wish I wasn't. Both of my parents died a little less than a year ago in a fire. My grandparents took care of me and my little sister for awhile, but then they had enough of us, and made us leave. I live with my sister in a dumpy old apartment in the bad part of town now. For awhile, I had enough money saved up to take care of the two of us, but I began to run out. I looked for jobs everywhere- the local bookstore, Target, McDonald's, and many other places, but nobody would hire me- a girl just out of highschool that has never worked a day in her life. My sister and I just couldn't survive without much money anymore, so I turned to prostitution. I would do anything to be able to stop selling my body, but I just can't. I've been doing this for about four months, and it has got us by. It is very dangerous though. Every time I do anything for someone, there is a risk I might get killed, or fatally injured. I've gotten bruises, scratches, black eyes, and a broken wrist, but nothing fatal. I'm just always scared that someday - somehow - I will never come home to my sister.

I walk down the road, wrapped up in my cheap, thrift store coat, covering my skimpy little black dress, and finally reach my apartment building. I reach in my pocket to grab my keys, then open my apartment's door. \"Angela,\" I hear a groggy little voice calling,\"is that you?\" \"Yes Annie, it's me. Go back to sleep. You've got school tomorrow.\" After I say that to her, she doesn't mutter another sound. I quietly peace in to the bathroom and slip my coat and dress off. I reach on top of the toilet seat & put on what Annie left out for me - she always leaves me something to change in to for when I get home. She left me short plaid shorts, and an old grey sweatshirt that was my moms. Even though she Passed on ten months ago, I spray the perfume she used on the sweatshirt every single morning. It smelled sweet - just like roses. I just wish she was here now, so I could smell it on her and not some old sweatshirt. I miss her so much.

I rinse off my face with some cool water, then hop in the bed next to Annie. She is fast asleep. I would give anything to be her - 10 years old, innocent, sweet, kind, forgiving, smart - she is perfect. I really hope she doesn't turn out like me. I want her to have a good life. I want her to be able to go to college, fall in love, get married, have kids, a good job, and just a good life.


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