RockStars Corner

By MsKittyCullen

Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns everything Twilight.

Inside summary: Bella was another runaway - just like the rest of the girls who lived in the house. And, just like the rest of them, she unwillingly stumbled into the prostitute lifestyle. As she became pinned down with friendships and the junk that came with them, the hopes of escaping gradually narrowed until the thought became nothing more than a dream. When she meets Edward, she's too ashamed to tell him who she really is in fear of him casting her away like all men do. Can he save her from her nightmare, or will he just disappoint her like she expects?

WARNING: Contains strong language, violence, graphic drug abuse and lemons - Don't say I didn't warn you.

A/N:Special thanks to my go-to girl: Ohgeekyone. She's wonderful, she always makes me feel better about my work and she is ever so supportive. Cheers me dears! :D

Also, CapriciousC and Kaydee1005. Thank you so much, especially with all the American phrases! You really helped out a lot!

These girls made this chapter what it is.

Chapter One - Welcome to RockStars

I fell into the street,

Poison in my veins,

Clambered to my feet

and into the night again.

Laura Marling.

"Thanks, I had a real nice time..." Mr. Yorkie told me - bashfully - before we entered the main room of the house where the payment would take place.

I just nodded; I never liked making conversation with the customers.

I'd been used once again.

As I sat down on the cold wooden floor, I noticed there was another run in my stockings. I sighed, shit, not again. This meant I would have to buy some more soon - I didn't want to mend them again. Jesus, I didn't know what the point was. He would come back again, it'd be one strong wave of déjà vu, and afterwards I would think the exact same words: new stockings.

I looked up in the ill-lighted room. It held a strong stale smell of smoke with a hint of marijuana. It wasn't the most welcoming of smells but after a while you got used to it. Besides, if you were in my position, you really had no other choice.

I lifted my leg up and rested my chin on my right kneecap. I watched every move that Mr. Yorkie made. He seemed a lot more relaxed as he walked out of the dark living room towards Sam to pay the price. He didn't look at me once since the mumbling earlier - not many of them do. I always thought that if I did something like that I would feel ashamed, disgusted and angry with myself. But I doubted they felt any of that, except maybe ashamed. And that's a huge maybe. This was Mr. Yorkie's third time with me, and I had begun to learn what he liked and how he worked; but that was all I needed to know.

I could hear his hushed voice in the doorway and Sam's gruff laughter - it reeked of subtle repugnance.

"That's so generous of you!" Sam's voice boomed. I couldn't quite make out Mr. Yorkie's response. The man seemed shy. Most newcomers were like that in Sam's presence as he is a tall, hefty man with broad shoulders and had a distinct look about him that could intimidate a person to the core. At first, I thought his features were mildly attractive but now, I found most things about him nauseating.

I heard the door slam and I relished in the slight draft of the outside world that had blown into this stuffy house. We never got to go out for long as work usually ended in the mid hours of the morning. I hoped Mr. Yorkie would be my last client.

Mr. Yorkie must have been a businessman. I could tell because he always wore a suit and he was usually clean-shaven. I also knew he was married - he thought I didn't know, but it wouldn't have mattered if I knew anyway. I stumbled onto this fact simply because the second time I saw him, I caught him surreptitiously sliding his golden band off of his finger and placing it into his pocket. Bastard. I suppose that piece of information shocked me the most because he didn't seem like the rest of the men; the rest of them were relatively lonely men.

Every time I had tended to him, he stunk of some brand of whisky. It wasn't a surprise occurrence and it happened with most of our customers. What was odd was the funny feeling I had. I felt that he shouldn't have been here. He seemed too quiet, too harmless - nothing like the rest. Sam even thought he was a cop in disguise at one point and had to make sure he was legit - don't ask me how.

I watched as Sam casually strolled his way back into the room and sat down on the old leather chair in the corner. He rummaged through his pocket and took out his roll ups, tobacco, filters and a small bag of grass.

Sam chuckled to himself, "That man's such a pussy. You should have seen his face when I smacked him on the back. Anyone would have thought I had a meat cleaver in my hand." He started to ensemble his joint. I remained impassive to his comment. He knew I hated him but he didn't really care. "Good work, Swan. You can really make a guy come back for more." To accompany this he sent me a creepy wink which maybe I found to be comforting at one time.

I gave him a scornful glare to which he laughed lightly again.

"Love you too babe." He stared at me with his mucky brown eyes, and they swept over my body.

"Just fuck off Sam," I told him through gritted teeth.

He callously laughed once more and started to roll up the joint between his forefingers and thumbs. My eyes drifted over to the Scarface poster on the wall - the house was plastered with movie posters. I figured Sam just wanted to show that he was cultivated so it made him look somewhat intelligent. Bullshit.

"Do you want one?" Sam asked me. I just shook my head. Sam was always pushing drugs on us.

I got up and I padded over to the old mirror that was screwed into the wall. I had nothing else to do. I combed my fingers through my brown locks and straightened out my sheer black dress; I hated the fact you could see my bright green-laced underwear beneath the fabric. It screamed cheapness, but that was exactly what we were and we supported every cliché that went with our profession.

My eyes caught some movement in the back of the room. My heart welled up with guilt like it always did when I saw her. She was the reminder of everything about us that we hated. It was Jessica - clearly fucked up. She leaned on the filthy wall behind her and her head swayed about. Her pupils were dilated, and it was like she was high up in her own world where there were no reminders of what she really was. Jessica was so quiet, and she was the youngest. Her innocence oozed out from every cell of her too thin body and her mousy brown hair made her look younger than she really was.

I heard the click of Sam's lighter, and the flame collaborated with the end of his joint.

"For fuck's sake," I breathed and clenched my eyelids together. I could feel Sam's attention move back to me.

"What's wrong now?" He gruffly said. He didn't care what was wrong, he just felt obliged to ask.

I opened my eyes and they stamped onto Sam and his oblivious, careless expression. "Jesus Christ Sam, you've got her on smack, already?"

"Look, kid," I scowled when he called me that, "it's her life - if she wants to do it, she can do."

"She's too young."

"Iz," I hated when he called me that, too, "you started out the exact same age as her, and look at you now: balling out all the abuse and glares that you want. So I think she'll be just fine." I pursed my lips at his stupidity. This was Sam all over; he only cared about one thing - Sam.

"She'll be fine. Now shut the fuck up because I don't need this when I'm having a break." I furrowed my eyebrows together and stared at him. He just simply dismissed me and turned around to the old record player we had to create an 'atmosphere'. He put Tainted Love on; I believed it was the Gloria Jones version. The girls and I always joked about his gay taste in music, and if it wasn't for his harsh looks and the things he had done, I was sure any of us would have thought he was. He liked to put either 70s/80s music on or electro/techno. It depended upon what mood he was in.

I slouched back onto the floor and had a cigarette. I hated it around here; it was the same thing day in and day out. My eyes only lifted off the floor when Jessica stumbled to get a glass of water. Christ, she looked awful.

The sound of footsteps down the stairs obtained everybody's attention and my stare lifted to the door of the room, expecting somebody to open it.

Rosalie busted in, wearing a silky royal blue slip. One of her spaghetti straps was hanging over her shoulder adding to her dishevelled appearance. I stood straight up and walked beside her. She clasped her hand with mine and we leant on the substandard, fold up table that was against the wall as her client walked through the room - once again, no eye contact.

"You okay?" I whispered, bringing my face closer to hers.

"Sure," she replied, with a small smile. "Although, this one was a bit rough. You know how I bruise like a peach, and I definitely know tomorrow I'll look like crap."

"Ugh, these men are fucking disgusting," I sighed.

"How was yours?"

I thought back to half an hour ago, his hands scraping over my body and the scent of cologne and whisky - the thought made me shudder. If only you saw his beady eyes; he stared at my bare skin like I was an all-you-can-eat buffet.

"Just bearable," I replied. Rosalie squeezed my hand, and I felt the guilt traveling up my veins once again - I shouldn't be claiming Rose's sympathy. She was the favorite, we all knew it, and Rosalie and I both had the same feelings toward our jobs.

"Two-fifty," Sam stated. Our attention moved swiftly toward Rosalie's client who was stood in front of Sam, who was still nonchalantly sitting in the old leather chair. I let my gaze shrink to the ground because I hated listening to the business deals, especially about Rosalie.

"But, Sam, you said it was gonna be two hundred," Rose's client moaned. I heard Rosalie exhale an irritated breath - she hated being haggled in front of.

"Was she good?" Sam casually asked.

"Well, yeah, she was amazin-"

"Two-fifty." He stamped the words down.

A pregnant pause lingered in the air. It felt uncomfortable just to be stood there, listening to the exchange.

"Sam, you told me two hundred and that's what I'm paying." Rose's client was sticking to his guns. He was a lanky guy, dark hair but graying around the sides, he had a long nose and obvious wrinkles around the eyes. No wedding ring. No shock there. He had a slimy aura about him which made you want to run for a shower and scrub yourself ten times over with the world's finest soaps.

Sam lightly sighed and a wry smile claimed his face. He left his joint on an ashtray and stood up to slowly walk over to Rosalie's client.

"...Look, Sam...it's just you said two hundred, man, and you know...I was ready to pay two hundred..." Sam was nearly nose-to-nose with this client. We all knew what was going to happen. Jessica was sat in an enclosed position, trying to ignore what was going on and Rosalie just huffed; she had seen this one too many times.

"Sam, can't we negotiate?" The client suggested. The smile which hung so tightly on Sam's face just seemed to glow in excitement as those words came from this man's mouth.

"Sure we can negotiate." His eyes amplified at the end of this sentence.

I held my breath because I knew what was coming. Sam sniffed the stuffy air and struck his right leg back a step. My eyes flinched when he banged his forehead into the tender end of the man's nose.

One swift action.

Just like that.

Rose cringed at the action the same way I did, and when we looked up we saw blood gushing in narrow trails down his face.

"Shit, Sam," the man loudly said. We could almost feel his pain just by the pitch of his voice.

"Just pay him," Rosalie snapped. I looked up at her, watching as she twisted the ends of her golden waves around her fingers nervously. Sam just seemed as relaxed as he did before he hit him.

He picked up his joint again and took another drag, "I'm sorry, bro. I just don't know what came over me." His deep laughter bellowed out. "But I'm afraid you're going to have to pay up now, and there's another downside, brother." I felt my eyes squint at the tone of his voice, the sick bullshitting kind that had sugar thrown on the top. "You see, I hate losing my temper." Sam took another drag. "So, it's gone up to three hundred bro. I really hate to do this to you but you need to understand when to shut that fucking trap of yours." Rosalie sashayed over to Sam and he hung his arm around her whilst he drove the joint to her perfect pink lips. She inhaled the smoke deep into her lungs and she gently closed her eyes, holding it there for a few seconds and then exhaling with a lazy smile stuck on her face.

The man was holding onto his nose, trying to wipe away the blood.

"Take this as a lesson. Don't try and mess around with me or you'll...look like shit." He chuckled once again by the end of the sentence and pointed to the blood dripping down onto the man's shirt. "See? Lesson learned."

"Fuck, Sam. Fine, two-fifty." The client hastily took his brown wallet out and started to take out green notes.

Sam smirked once again. "Brother, are you fucking deaf?" He loudly said and the man looked up, nerves overwhelming his eyes.

"When I say three hundred, I mean three hundred. Do you think I'm kidding around?" Sam asked. I sighed - I hated being in these situations. I knew that Sam could be an absolute jerk...actually that was putting it extremely lightly. He was a lot more than a jerk. But this man was a clueless asshole who was walking on a fine line, but the way he acted it was as if he was walking on stable concrete. He stared at Sam and I could have sworn if he stared a moment longer we would have been burying a body that night.

It was not like it would have been the first time.

"Stop being an asshole and give him the money," I sighed. All eyes stared at me but I successfully kept my feet planted firmly on the ground.

The man looked back at his wallet and finally caved into giving him the extra fifty.

"It's nice doing business," Sam said whilst receiving the money. "But I have some handy advice for you, bro." We all watched Sam as he intensely stared back at the client with the frightening glare that so many people had been on the receiving end of. "If you ever try that on me again, I will pin you down and cut your kneecaps off."

I rolled my eyes at this threat because I doubted he would follow through, but he certainly shook the customer up and Rosalie's client left without another word.

Laughter erupted from Sam again and after a few seconds everyone seemed to act like the little incident didn't happen.

"Hey, Sam, we got anymore smack?" Rose asked him whilst she was grooming herself in front of the mirror. I squinted at her plea; why did she need some again?

"C'mon Rose, you'll be fine until tomorrow," I told her, trying to persuade her but I knew it was hopeless.

"Uh, Bells, I admire how easy it is for you, but I'm gonna be honest. I need another hit. Now." In her reflection I saw her lick her lips in desperation.

Sam already had the key to the tiny chest that he had left underneath the table.

"We're just about out of it, baby," Sam replied. Rose's blue eyes widened.

"We're out?" she repeated and turned around to look at him with a distraught expression as though her whole world had crashed around her.

"Afraid so, kid," he answered, and then looked up at her. "Hey, baby, don't look so pissed." He finally opened up the chest.

"Well, Sam, what the fuck am I gonna do? You saw that skanky bastard who just left. He was fucking rough - really rough."

"He ain't fucking coming back Rosie baby, I can assure you," Sam gently said.

"He was a dick..." I sighed. "Sam, I really am getting sick of that type of customer."

"Iz, what the hell am I meant to do about it? I'm not asking how they fuck, that's for sure. Anyway, that's your job." He brought out a packet of something from the chest and started to arrange it on the table.

"I hate my job..." I muttered under my breath, but Sam heard.

"Yes, Swan, we know you do. That's all we ever hear from you." He turned around and looked at me with a patronizing grin. "Now, be a good little girl and take your medicine." I glared at him and then at the table, which had white rows on a mat.

"Sam, can we stop talking about all this bullshit - what am I gonna do without my hit?" Rose asked, sounding generally concerned which was worrying. Jesus, she was stuck in a rut.

"Rosie, baby, hold your horses. Bill's coming around tomorrow." He made another row.

"Tomorrow isn't good enough Sam!" Rose was starting to get aggravated as she took a couple of steps towards Sam.

"Rose, calm down, you'll cope. I know you, you're strong," I told her, trying to help. She just looked at me like she didn't know what to do with herself.

More footsteps were heard banging down the stairs. The last girl was about to walk through the door and I wondered what greasy client she would bring with her. The door soon swung open and Lauren appeared, wearing the shortest denim skirt I had ever seen, with a tiny scarlet top that showed her cleavage and her horse shoe tattoo on her midriff. But it seemed like she hadn't been entertaining.

"What's all the noise about?" Lauren snapped at the two. Lauren liked to think she was top dog because she was the oldest. Rose and I tried to ignore her but sometimes her curt comments could cross the line.

"Shortage on gear," I answered bluntly. Lauren cocked one eyebrow up and turned to Rosalie, not looking at all impressed.

"Shit, Rose, you're the bitch who takes most of it. That's what you get."

My eyes flickered back to Rose - the term, if looks could kill, came to mind.

"I'm not the only one, Lauren, and you know it. Look at the newbie, she's royally fucked. And don't you say for one moment you haven't taken any in the past week," Rosalie retorted.

Lauren put her hands on her hips. "Well, sure, Hale. I'll admit to taking a couple of hits throughout the week, but c'mon, you're the true addict in this place. Jesus, look how desperate you are, you'll take it from anyone, anywhere. You'll be AIDs ridden in no time." Lauren said nonchalantly.

"Fuck you Lauren!" Rose spat out. I felt my lips purse together. I hated seeing Rose getting shit for the amount of smack she took, even if it was obscene.

"C'mon girls. Calm down," Sam said, trying to defuse the tension. "Why don't you have some of this, Rose, you'll feel better." He gestured with his hand to the substance. Rose looked down at it and sighed; it was obvious that she would take the substitute.

"You up for it, Bells?" Rose asked me. I looked down and hesitated.

"Yes, she is." Sam answered for me.

"This stuff fucks with your head," I complained.

"So?" Sam said. "You get fucked every night and you're complaining because of this?" He stared at me with his belittling eyes. I hated it when he did that.

"Shut up Sam. I'm fine without it."

"Yeah, and what a trooper you are, but sooner or later I'll be getting complaints that you're too cold for the customers and you'll be out of clients in no time." He said it like he was warning me, but he didn't give a shit about warnings. I knew that.

I sighed once more, showing my white flag. I bent my head down and hovered over the mat. I pressed my forefinger on my right nostril, picked up the straw and snorted the powder. It felt like it had been a few minutes but it must have been more, and my head was still drifting over the table letting the first effects roll upon me.

I breathed in the stuffy air that surrounded me, and I felt the euphoric rush which sent me on a one way ticket to cloud nine. All my senses went to marshmallow and a silly grin that came from nowhere took over my face. It seemed like the best place to be in the world was in that room. I didn't have to listen to anyone; I didn't really have to be there. Because the real me, who was filled with worry, angst and mood swings was drifting off out of the window having a vacation somewhere. This was an entirely different being occupying my body and it soothed every memory and concern.

When I finally lifted my head up to collide my eyes with Rosalie's, I caught my exact feelings mirrored on her face. I knew what I did was wrong, but it didn't seem to matter because sniffing that white line of ego made me feel like the best of the best.

After five more minutes of just standing there, taking in everything, Sam finally broke the silence and addressed Rose. "Feeling better now?"

"Much," she concurred. "I'm on the express train to Rockstar's Corner."

Rosalie always came out with lines like this, sometimes meaningful, sometimes just a few words strung together when she was high. I didn't mind because at least she was still talking. As corny as it sounded - she was the best thing in my life and without her I wouldn't have been able to function. But at that time, I knew one thing: while she was still here I would be, and it was crystal clear that we were two girls whose lives were stuck in a lost property box and nobody could claim us. We were unwanted.

Thank you for reading.

I'd be interested to know what you think about fics that have a prostitute Bella. Do you like them or are you not fussed?