Man gets used to everything. And to the unexpected "loss" of people like me. Just in our basement one girl became smaller. Just her bed is already a draw. It is better not to ask questions, after the second "garden" and you will not. Life is like an effigy, between two "gardens".

All that life now seems like a black and white film with up to vomiting repetitive "frames." They brought, pushed into the door. Licked, fumbled, raped, beaten.

The worst thing for dessert is “talk”. I had to listen to an endless series of drunken males in different masks - from a tough businessman to a gangster, what are we, women, all whores, bitches, thieves and in general.

They need to nod, agree, but the best to cry. Quiet and covering his face with his hands.

Leaving - let the guards of themselves check that they have not “taken anything”. They can lose something themselves and instead of searching under their ass, call the Boss.

- Your bitch ...

* * *

They brought a call to a city. The driver with a hangover frightenedly wanted a beer, literally ran me to a high house and dialed the apartment number, but someone came out, shoved me through the open door and ran away, showing two fingers to the clock.

I got up. The door was ajar. I went. A client with his mouth open was lying on the bed with a bloodied syringe in his hand. Podstava available. They will write that a prostitute made an overdose. There will be nothing to prove.

Quickly changed into his jeans, sneakers, put on his shirt and jacket, pulled on a baseball cap, took another gym bag and glasses. Cash fraera was not, some bank cards.

Just ran onto the landing, as the elevator rises. I run up the stairs, I look - there is something that says security with a walkie-talkie in hand to the door that I just shut.

I quietly go down to the first floor, the men at the concierge stand, look at the documents, go down the stairs and go out through the open service passage from the garbage chute into the street.

I see at the entrance of our "blyadovozku." The driver had drunk beer and poured over the rear wheel.

Out in the city. I rummaged in my pockets. Found a lot to eat. But we must go to another city and “surrender” there as missing. Local already all long ago “bought.”

Out on the track. Just let her hair down ... The man was not greedy ...

For a day I sat in a section of my hometown and described my adventures for several months. Finally, they found me in the “missing persons” database.

For a long time she couldn’t leave the house for fear. I lost my friends for an understandable reason - the city is small and everyone quickly learned everything about me, especially about the semi-annual work experience as a “call girl”. Moved to another city.

Our beloved old apartment burned to the ground at the new owners, as did our entire former home. We cried, it was our grief.

Now I am lying on a bed with an ipad in a new apartment in another city and even another country. Only one thing doesn’t fit in my head - and if all of this had not happened, would our whole family also be burned alive? Some kind of invisible fate of fate ...

Invited to Germany to "continue." And I am ashamed. My views have changed a lot, if I get badly hit with my past ...

* * *

Mom's older. I became too mature. My father said that he had a feeling that I served in the army in a hot spot. As for my personal hot spots, he is right))).

I look with pity at the street "workers" with legs "cross", who want either money, or extreme, or all at once, but still this is the shortest road to hell ...