Twenty Dollars

He said he’d help. He said he’s give her the support she needed. But, just like all men, he lied. He got what he wanted and left. Just like the little voice inside of her head had told her he would.

Now she sits in an old, abandoned house, on a disgusting, torn mattress, squeezing the worth out of the twenty dollars he’d shoved in her face after he released and pulled out -- he never even used a condom. “That’s all you’re worth, bitch. Take it or leave it.” She cries now, wishing that she’d just stayed home that night. That night two weeks ago when she ran away from home, her family, her loving parents, when they told her she couldn’t always have what she wanted.

Now she was dirty, homeless, and wet with some stranger’s sperm and probably pregnant too. And she didn’t even have enough money for a bus ride all the way home.

Twenty Dollars. Only enough to pay for another cheep dress to get fucked up in.