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I continued mulling over my life and convinced myself, what was not true, was. I was a bitch, whore, worthless, good only for sexing and believed it.I'm no different than the Asian bar girls dancing naked on a stage, selected by number. My stage is different but like them, I'm called by a number, my phone number. No, they dance for survival, facing the horror of what they must do to survive. Me, I dance because I want on the stage. That's who I am, a dancing whore on the meat market stage.Convincing myself I was just a sex object, my esteem plummeted to my late teenage years. At least then I had innocence. My esteem reached its nadir.William’s love is right; I’m a bitch whore, used for screwing then dumped. No man loves me, none ever did.I sobbed my revised history alone and drank to numb the pain of her virulent, poisoned dart. I got a prescription for sleep, another for anxiety. I drifted into the numbness of drugs.After a week of wallowing in worthlessness, Paul called at the. Marris was very enthusiastic about his subject.Next was Trigonometry, a class I kinda enjoyed, at least compared to Algebra. Mrs. Leeds had me work on a packet of problems to figure out exactly where I was, due next class. It was only a few pages thick, so I wasn't too worried.The snow was quickly turning everything white as I was escorted to the cafeteria, and the wind echoed eerily through the complex. It wasn't until we'd crowded in at the end of a full table, looking around for the cause since we had breathing room yesterday, that I saw them.There were five of them sitting at one end of the table across the room and no one else within ten seats on either side. Nobody looked afraid; in fact, there were no eyes peering over at them that I could see, no signs of tension, no obvious cause for the space."Who are they?" I whispered to Allison, nodding in the strange group's general direction, never taking my eyes away. There was something about them that fascinated me, even though they.
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