My pulse is still racing when I enter my apartment at 1:30 a.m. A cloud of comfort tinged with the floral blossoms and citrus smell of my perfume and the nail polish I applied before work, encircles me like a security blanket.

My apartment is tiny, with low ceilings, mismatched furniture, and the old carpet smell that never goes away. But after a day at The Mirage, it’s my haven.

Traces of shock still course through my body, weakening me. My stomach rumbles but I’d never be able to keep food down. Pressing my back against the door, I place a hand over my heart, willing it to settle, but every time the image of Derrick’s face flickers in my mind, shame spirals through me, sending my heart rate skyrocketing.

I never thought I’d see him again after all these years, after everything that has happened since the last time we saw each other. My worst fear since starting work at The Mirage had always been that someone I know would find out my secret. Since it hadn’t happened in the last year, my fear had melted away. Until now. And it returns with the determination to splinter my heart. What if he had recognized me? A hot flush rises up my neck at the mere thought of that possibility.

No. It’s not possible. If he had recognized me, he would have chased after me. Besides, seven years have passed since we last saw each other and too much had happened to me both physically and emotionally to make me a completely different person. I’m far from being the girl I used to be in school. Back then, he would never have pegged me to be the kind of girl who would end up prostituting herself. And I never thought he would be the kind of guy who paid for sex. That surprises me because in high school, girls fell right into his lap. Including me.

My stomach twists as thoughts of Magnolia High School sweep through my mind. Memories I wish I could erase forever.

I have two choices. I could choose to allow the memories of when I was sixteen to overpower and weaken me, or to go on with my life and pretend he doesn’t even exist. Why should I be ashamed for being a prostitute?

I push my shoulders back and raise my chin. I don’t have time to get emotional. I’m doing what’s right for me at this point in my life. I’m selling my body for a reason. I have bills to pay and dreams to work toward. I can’t afford to let anything or anyone stand in the way.

Tonight, I’ll allow myself a few moments of weakness. In the morning, I’ll find the strength to take the next step toward my destiny. I’ll beg Hector for forgiveness. Derrick LaClaire will not ruin my life. Not again. If he does return to The Mirage, I hope he goes for another girl. My prayer is that I never have to see him again.

When my heartbeat slows down, I disappear into the bathroom and flick on the light. The bright amber eyes reflected in the mirror glitter with determination. This is who I am now, a survivor.

I plant a hand on top of my head and pull off my wig. My natural copper hair swings out, landing on my shoulders in soft waves. Since my hair is my most distinct feature, Derrick would have a hard time recognizing me with a wig on.

Breathing evenly now, I change into my peach silk pajamas and make myself a chicken salad, suddenly hungry. I take it with me to my desk, where I flip open my laptop. I eat my late dinner while reading my emails. There’s one from my step-sister, Laura.

I haven’t heard from her in two months. Although she lives in Australia with her husband, Jake, and their one-year-old daughter, it would be easy to pick up the phone now and again, but our relationship is complex. No matter how long my mother was married to her father, she never quite warmed to me as her sister. Our relationship had become even more strained when I left home at sixteen.

I was five when Clifford Rayner married my mother. Since I’d never met my biological father, Cliff was the only one I called Dad. Despite Laura’s bitterness at the new family arrangement, the first year was beautiful. I enjoyed being part of a complete family. Cliff seemed to worship the ground my mother walked on and showered me with affection. When the honeymoon phase ended, Mom’s depression handcuffed her again. From one day to the next, Cliff’s relationship with both me and her changed. We became a burden. Arguments and insults became the norm. When she took her life, he didn’t even shed a tear at her funeral. After Mom died, Cliff treated me like a stranger. Now that my mother was gone, he had no reason to remain a father to me. When the opportunity to push me out of their lives presented itself, he took it.

Laura’s email is short and to the point. The kind of message one would send to a stranger.

Dear Brooke,

It’s been a while since we talked. How are you? We are doing great. Still loving Australia. Anyway, just wanted to touch base. Take care.

Laura

How am I? As if she cares. Could it be she feels guilty for the way they had treated me over the years? As far as I’m concerned, we are no longer a family. She didn’t even invite me to her wedding three years ago. Instead she sent me photos by email. I never responded. What could I say?

Sometimes I wish we were close, that I had a sister to turn to when times are tough. But we don’t even share the same blood. All she is, is someone I used to know.

I shut down my laptop and pick up the phone to call the only person I trust, my best friend, the person I wish were my sister. Outside the window, it has started to rain and the drops tap dance on the windowpane. I’ve always found rain and the rumble of thunder to have a calming effect on me. Tonight is no different.

Allison Holt is five years older than me. We met two years ago, when she frequented a coffee shop I worked in at the time, as it was close to Boston University, where she was in her last year of pursuing her Master’s of Science in Elementary Education. She’s now employed at Drake Elementary School a few blocks from her apartment.

“Are you okay?” she asks, voice husky with sleep.

“I’ve been better.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I’m sorry for calling you so late. I needed to talk to someone.”

“Hey, sweety, you know I’m always here when you need to talk. What happened?” She yawns on the other end and guilt burns the back of my throat.

“Look, it’s not urgent.” I let out a stream of air. “Go back to bed. Let’s talk in the morning.”

“No chance. How can I think of sleep when you sound like that?” She coughs. “Go ahead, tell me what’s eating you.”

“I ran into Derrick LaClaire.” The words tumble out before I can stop them.

Allison knows everything there is to know about Derrick. We’ve discussed him so many times that she probably feels as if she knows him.

“Oh my God.” Her voice clears immediately. “How did that happen? I mean where?”

“At The Mirage.”

Allison is the only person in my life who knows what I do for a living. She had been shocked when I told her, three weeks after I got the job at The Mirage. When she realized she could not talk me out of it, she respected my decision. She understood why I was doing it. She never treated me any differently.

It made her feel better when I promised I would quit once I made enough money to pay off my debts and go back to school. When we’re together, we never discuss what I do after the sun goes down, unless it’s absolutely necessary, like now.

On several occasions, she offered to give me money to at least pay some of my bills but I refused.

She’s raising a child singlehandedly and needs every penny she makes. Even though Leon calls her mommy, he’s not Allison’s biological son. She got custody of him when his mother—her sister—died during childbirth four years ago. On her deathbed, Allison had promised to love and care for her sister’s son as if he were her own. She kept that promise by doing everything she could to provide for him. Even with a small child at home, Allison put herself through college and worked hard to support her nephew. Allison is my inspiration. She’s the one inspiring me to never give up on my dreams.

“That must have been a shock. Are you okay?”

“Now I am.” I pick up my salad bowl and put it in the kitchen sink. “But when I saw his face . . . It was terrible, Allison. I thought I’d faint.”

“Do you think he knew who you are?”

I shrug, even though I know she can’t see me. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. I left as soon as I saw his face.”

“You walked out on him? What did Hector say?”

“He wasn’t happy, of course. I hope I still have a job tomorrow. He said we need to talk.”

“I’m so sorry, sweety.” She lowers her voice. “Do you want to come over, to sleep here?”

Allison lives only a few blocks from me, but I’ve already taken up too much of her time. “No, I’ll be fine. To tell you the truth, I kind of knew something like this would happen one day, that I’d bump into someone I know. I just never expected it to be him.”

“I can only imagine how hard seeing him again must have been for you.” She lets out a breath. “What will you do if he comes back? Will you reveal your identity?”

I drop onto the edge of the bed. “No. He’s no longer a part of my life. I don’t owe him a thing.”

“What if . . . he could have changed?”

“I don’t care.” I form a fist with my free hand. “It’s a little too late for that.”

“I know it is,” Allison allows a few seconds of silence to pass before speaking again. “I think the best thing for you to do now is get some rest. You’ll feel better in the morning. I’ll give you a call before work.”

“Thanks. You’re the best. Kiss Leon for me.”

Even though I dread the conversation, the next person I call is Hector. I can’t wait until tomorrow to find out if I’m still working for him. Better to get the talk out of the way.

“As much as I’d like to fire your ass, you made quite an impression on Mr. Black. He wants to see you again in two weeks. You better not mess up again.”

“But—”

“No buts. He wants only you and you’re going to be a professional about it.” He clears his throat. “By the way, he left behind a generous tip for you.”

“What tip?”

“Three hundred dollars. He said it’s for the time you took to walk to the white room.”

“That’s—”

“Crazy, I know. But the man is clearly loaded.” He chuckles. “You better get over your fear of being discovered and give the man what he wants.”

When the call ends, I fall back onto my lumpy mattress and find my Christmas music playlist on my phone. I have a habit of turning to Christmas carols when I’m upset, no matter the time of year. But tonight, as I let the music wash over me, tears squeeze through the corners of my eyes.