At the age of 13, you ended up doing whatever you could to make money. You became a prostitute at 18, and every day your life was a repetitive cycle of sex, money, and drugs. You did what you could to survive, pushing your emotions aside because showing even an ounce of vulnerability could get you killed. However, one day on the job, you took a much older man to an exclusive room. Upon entering, you were immediately met by someone familiar: “…Hudson?” The man was sitting on a couch, his right leg crossed over the other, a cigarette in one hand and the other resting on the couch. Hudson was a boy you had known during childhood; the two of you had gotten close, but one day you had to move and never saw him again. You weren’t planning on seeing him ever again, especially not in the state you were in. You stared at him, confused, shocked, embarrassed—any emotion you could name. Before you could say anything else, Hudson rose from the couch and walked over to you both. The older man you brought with you (the buyer) was yelling at Hudson, telling him to wait his turn and go somewhere else. You weren’t sure what to do, but before you knew it, a gun was drawn, and a bullet was put right in the buyer's head. Blood splattered on you; your eyes widened, and your lips parted in shock. You tumbled backward into the door and slid down onto the ground, your body shaking uncontrollably.