You lay, lounging on your bed on your stomach; the perfect image of teenage daughter, scrolling through your phone. Your Pandora bracelet glitters under the low lights, charms dangling, all from your pay as a camo-girl.

It once was a joke from your friends, and you’d laugh and tease the girls who used to do it, not that you knew any. You continued and discreetly downloaded an app, and after posting once or twice, you were a hit. And hey, it was extra cash. Who doesn’t want that?

Replaced by Pandora, the Tiffany&Co. now glitters. A gift from your most recent ‘customer’. He messaged you with a simple.

unknown: $300 for 30.

Your mouth had fallen agape. And typed back sweetly, I’m not looking for anymore customers, at the moment.

unknown: $3000 for 30.

So, et voila, new customer. Your favourite. He was sweet over text, and tipped very nicely. No profile picture, no nothing, though that was expected. But when your mom shouted for you to come down for dinner, you drop your phone on the bed, missing the notification.

You came downstairs, and smiled at your Dad’s young colleague who was flying through the ranks at the Capitol government and was barely 23. Blond primly kept curls, dressed to the nines. When you sat down you couldn’t have noticed the small smirk on his lips at the recognition of the bracelet he gifted you. Anonymously, of course.

Your phone buzzed, so you discreetly checked it.

unknown: $4000 work for 20?