Love Like Woe

Skylar Fuentes lives two lives. Her father runs a local spanish church and her mother works personally with the queen. She was raised to be a well-mannered, classy lady but she decided to go in her own direction. Drugs, sex, and gangs seemed like the right thing to do at the time. She found herself addicted by the age of 16 her parents never knew and still think of her as the proper young woman they raised. What happens when she meets an extremely handsome boy with a lot of cash while walking the streets who happens to be Harry Styles of One Direction?

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2. I'll See You Near Fifth Avenue

                                                        Skylar's POV:

I entered my bedroom. Marrisa was sitting on the floor reading next to my volcom purse. Unfortunatley

"What's that I smell?" I raised an eyebrow. She pulled out a plastic bag filled with a moss like substance. "Someone's smoking weed."

"Put that away." I balled my fists. This is it, I'm dead.

"Gonna let me have some." She smirked, she opened the bag and took a whiff. "Mmm."

"Stop, Marrisa." I commanded, taking a few steps closer to the brunette.

"Why?" She closed the bag, "How do you think Mother and Father will react when they find out?"

"Marrisa!" I snapped, "This isn't a joke! I need that!"

"Need?" she questioned, "Are you serious?"

"I have to give-"

"Oh, so you're a dealer too?" she added.

Tears began to build up in my eyes. "Please!" I sobbed.

"Nah." She shrugged, and walked into our bathroom, another thing we were forced to share.

I heard the toilet flushing. No. No. No. No. 

Does she know how much that costs on the street?

She came out and wipped her hands on her denim skinny jeans. "Who knew you were such a sinner."

"You-!" I pounced on her.

"Skylar? Marrisa? What's going on up their?" Mum screamed from the bottom of the stairwell.

"She's-!" Marrisa yelled beack before I covered her mouth with my hand.

"Whatever.." I muttered.

I know what to do.

An idea came to mind. Prostitution. It's the only way I could earn enough money.

Rosa Rodriguez one of my friends told me about how much the to-do men pay for 'private shows.'

Fifth Avenue is the best place to go.

"You're crazy." Marrisa scoffed before leaving our room.

I ignored her and picked out a pair of clothes that I thought would get me some attention.

I slid on a denim mini-skirt and a chill bra with a black fishnet top over it.

Sexy but not me.

It's either sell yourelf or die. What would you choose?

 

 

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