Hey there, I'm back! And with a new story. I've always wanted to write something gritty and hopefully, this turns out to be it. I can't promise super fast updates, but I can promise that there will be updates. I'm very excited for this story since it's something I've always thought about writing and I finally think I can.

Shoutout to Emily for helping me out initially and for all the future help that I'm probably going to need.

Please review! This story is my baby and I really want to see the response that you all have to it. Let me know what you think, what ideas you might have... Anything!

DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything.

~Prologue~

The air in Brooklyn had an entirely different consistency than the air in Manhattan. They both were dirty – there was no question about that –, but when you took in some air in Manhattan, there was the promise of some possibility. In Brooklyn, the deep gritty part at least, there was nothing. Aria Montgomery had only been to Manhattan once when she was 10 years old. Her fifth grade class went on a rare field trip to the Museum of Natural History.

It's been twelve years since she's been in the heart of the city. Though only a short train ride away, Aria had always felt that taking a trip into Manhattan equaled being a masochist for the day. She didn't have promise nor did she have possibility. Aria Montgomery considered herself a depiction of slums of Brooklyn – she was nothing.

It was late October and the chill was just setting in. Aria tugged her thin coat around her body as she maneuvered her way through the streets. The material didn't offer much protection from the cold, but her body had gotten used to the frigid temperatures. When you grew up fighting against the wind and the rain, you eventually got used to being freezing. Her skin didn't turn blue anymore. The chill was almost like a second skin.

Aria barely registered the change in temperature as she pushed through the back door of her workplace; The Boudoir. For a place with such a classy name, the inside completely debased any first impressions one might have before walking inside. It was too dark, even for a strip club. Or as the owner deemed it; a gentleman's club. The men who walked in were far from gentlemen though; that Aria could attest to.

There was always a nausea inducing scent – a mixture of sweaty men and cheap alcohol. Fluorescent lights plagued the dancing area and gave whoever was on the pole a far from glowing complexion. The plush chairs were stained, the tablecloths never cleaned, and the candles reeked of a faux vanilla and lavender concoction.

In short, The Boudoir was a dump. But, it was the only place that Aria had ever known. One could say she grew up here, without actually growing up there. Her mother had been a stripper. But after she went off the deep end, Aria took her place. Someone had to make money.

When she was younger, Aria had often imagined her life playing out in Cinderella fashion. A handsome prince of sorts would come and sweep her feet and get her out of her life in the slums. She'd trade her in crappy winter coat for a fur one and her shoebox apartment would transform into a penthouse. It didn't take long for that dream to be shattered. There wouldn't be an escape – there never was for someone like her. Someone who submitted to the dark rather than fight her way out.

Aria plopped down at her dressing station and placed her head in her hands. She hadn't gotten much sleep the night before. Between her mother's screaming at her boyfriend of the week, the couple moaning upstairs, and the prostitutes that advertised themselves loudly on the streets below, slumber was near to none.

The ensemble she'd be wearing on the floor that night was laid over the back of her chair. As always, it was made of the itchy synthetic lace. They couldn't even afford a few pieces from Victoria's Secret. Aria typically tried to find ways to make it look less trashy – not as heavy makeup, snipping a few of the rhinestones off with a nail clipper. The filth never changed though. That too became a second skin.

"You look exhausted." Aria peeked up from her hands to see Spencer, a fellow stripper, waltz through the backstage entrance. Both girls had the same shift and it was the only thing Aria was grateful for, besides the money. Spencer was different than she was; that being that Spencer had confidence. She was a fighter. But, she had something to fight for.

Spencer's husband, Andrew, was laid off from a high profile job. The two together had over $100,000 debt in student loans and an infant to provide for. The job wasn't ideal, not for Spencer who went to school to be a lawyer, but she was doing what she could while Andrew looked for a job of his own.

Aria thought highly of her, more so than anyone in her life. Then again, between her alcoholic mother and her father who left when she was six, Aria didn't have very many people that inspired her. Her coworker was strong – she didn't taken shit from any man on the dance floor. Her number one rule was "look, but don't touch". If a guy copped a feel, they'd be out of the club within seconds out of sheer terror that Spencer would club them.

"More than you?" Aria smiled softly. Spencer often complained about how she barely got any sleep because of her daughter's wails.

The taller brunette nodded. "Emerson decided to be a good girl last night – the best sleep I've had in weeks. The best sex too," Spencer replied whilst winking.

Sex. Aria missed sex. She avoided it at all costs now simply because she was afraid of a man's intention behind it. Did they see her as an equal to the prostitutes that hollered on her street at night? A trophy? A potential murder victim? The what-if's outweighed the feeling of pure pleasure every time. Aria never let herself get close to a man. The ones in the past never seemed to stay and she didn't expect anyone to ever. She wasn't worth wasting affection on.

Pursing her lips, Aria nodded. There was no real reply to that. She couldn't relate and she didn't want to tell noble Spencer about how her mother had drank too much the night before and how her neighbors humped like rabbits. Instead, she let the conversation fall flat and began to put on her makeup. Along with her itchy white lace ensemble, Aria planned to make herself look like the picture of innocence. It would get her better tips.