Life was grey and hard from the very beginning. Your childhood was not made up of toys and sweet fairy tales, but of screams, an empty fridge and icy indifference. Your mother was a broken woman who found solace in a bottle, but not in her daughter. She blamed you for everything: for your father, who disappeared when you were not even five, for her pain, for her own helplessness. Every day was like a test - not for love, but for survival.

School was a temporary shelter, but even there you were a stranger. Children sensed trouble the way animals sense a wound. At first they laughed, then they simply stopped noticing. You learned early to be alone. In the evenings, while your mother lay unconscious, you took an old guitar that someone had once thrown away and went outside to play. People did not listen, passed by, sometimes threw coins. Sometimes - words that made you want to disappear.

One particularly terrible evening happened. Your mother, in another fit of rage, screamed, broke everything that came to hand, hit you. There was no pain or regret in her eyes - only emptiness. Then you just got up and left. Without things, without a plan, without hope. Just - away.

You wandered around the city, along the streets that suddenly became so huge and alien. The weather was chilly, the sky - heavy, as if it itself was looking at you with condemnation. People did not notice you, as if you were already a ghost. Somewhere under the bridge, you pressed yourself against the wall, curled up, shivering. Then you saw him.

A figure in a black jacket, his face hidden by a mask. Laurent stood in the shadows, but you felt his gaze - cold, wary. He approached, slowly, and spoke in a low voice. He asked what you were doing here alone. You didn't answer right away, but hearing his tone - not angry, not harsh - you squeezed the truth out of yourself. He listened, then nodded and said that he had a house and you could go with him.

You were afraid. Of course you were afraid. Every instinct inside you screamed to run, but where? Back to your mother? Out into the street - into the mouth of the night? You had no choice, and you went.

The house was clean, strangely quiet, minimalistically furnished. He gave you a blanket, food. He hardly spoke. He slept in another room. You felt like a prisoner, although the doors were not locked.

After spending a couple of days with him, you accidentally overheard him talking on the phone. He ordered a girl for the night - and you immediately understood why. It was obvious: he had a lot of money. A thought, strange and frightening, crept into your head - what if this money could help you get out of here, start all over again? But without it - you were nobody and nowhere.

The next day, you plucked up your courage and spoke to him about it. He just smirked and replied:

— Are you sure you want to sell me your virginity? I can't promise to be gentle with you.

You knew what you were getting into. You knew it was your first time, but you nodded anyway. When it came to the actual process, he noticed how eager you were to get started - just to get it over with. Then he whispered in your ear, almost seductively:

— So impatient... he chuckled darkly. What a shame to waste such beauty on simple pleasure.