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I don't own Glee. I wish I had a say in it but alas, I do not.

This is a birthday gift for my dear friend DylanDahl. I love you, babe.

Prologue is in the second person but the rest will be in the third.

You Know…..This Isn't Pretty Woman

Prologue-

You never would have thought in a million years that this would be your life. You were supposed to be a rising star on the Broadway scene by now, not on your knees feeling the jaggedness of gravel scraping over them and some random man tugging on your light locks like he owns you. You figure he does though, at least for the remaining few minutes or so. He didn't even spring for some sleazy no-tell motel and apparently his car was two good to have the likes of you blowing him from the passenger's seat.

You didn't make it into NYADA like you had planned. It was hard to understand why because you'd had an amazing audition and even though Rachel was one of your best friends and you were truly rooting for her, she blew it. She blew it and still made it in. So you were the one stuck trying to figure out a plan B. It wasn't fair.

You'd decided to take a year or two to experience life. Maybe work on some designs and then immerse yourself in a design school later on. At the end of the summer after graduation you said goodbye to your equally talented boyfriend whom promptly dumped you after a month apart for another kid who had just come out and was still stuck back at McKinley with him, because according to Blaine, "the long distance thing was just too hard." You bitterly wonder why everyone decided to come out of the closet now, when you spent your first three years there being constantly chastised and bullied for it all alone.

Other than your family you only really kept in contact with Mercedes and occasionally Rachel because even if you were a little bitter about her success, you're still proud of her and you honestly do care for her. Mercedes was so busy with school and performing, along with a budding romance with a fellow artist that you didn't get a chance to talk to her nearly as much as you wanted to.

Finn had joined the Army which you thought was crazy. Less crazy than him marrying Rachel and ruining both of their futures, but crazy none the less. When he finally broke it off with the Jewish diva you weren't surprised. You never really thought they were meant to be together much longer than high school and something told you that Rachel was latching on to the first person that showed any interest in her and once she was out of Lima she would see that she had other opportunities than her high school sweetheart and some guy that made an omelet on her face.

You can't even say you're shocked nine months later when you find out that she and Quinn had declared their love for one another. Quinn had always given you lesbian vibes and the sexual tension between the two was crazy back in high school. Nobody spends that much time on somebody they hate and in the end they'd become friends.

You'd been working as a host at a restaurant for a while when you got the call about your father. His heart had given out again but this time they couldn't save him. You had been so determined to make it on your own that you'd refused his offers of help and when he was gone you insisted that Carol needed it more than you. You loved her but it was too hard for you be around her after you were forced to say goodbye to the best man you'd ever known. After the funeral, you only ever returned to Lima for Holidays until Finn had shot himself in his right knee and was forced to return home. He moved back in with his mother and now they had each other again. Finn eventually started seeing a former Cheerio that he never spoke two words to in high school but now found very interesting. She worked in a plant nursery now.

It was three years later and you still hadn't gotten yourself any closer to your dreams aside from a few online courses. You had pounded the pavement and gone to some small boutiques with some sketches. Granted Detroit wasn't exactly a fashion mecca but you had to try. A part of you was afraid of succeeding which was perhaps why you insisted on staying in this city.

You were fresh off of a rejection by some overly rude queen who told you that' you'd do better designing costumes for fag-hags than interring in the world of high fashion' on the day your rent was due. Your modest job just wasn't cutting it anymore and now you were going to be forced to beg the landlord to give you another day or two to scrape up the funds.

"What's twenty dollars," you thought. "It's not going to pay my rent so I may as well make myself feel better with it."

You sauntered into some random bar and ordered a shot of Tequila. Less than an hour later you'd consumed six shots, four of which were bought for you by the older gentleman in a suit and tie who'd been sitting next to you. You flirted because it felt good to be desired by someone that didn't hold anything over your head. You laughed and tossed your hair the way you used to do when you were trying to entice a guy when you first got to the city. You got the reaction you wanted and figured, "why not," when he asked you to join him in his hotel room. The sex was mind numbing. Much as it was with your ex. It wasn't anything to rave about, though you did rave because the guy had an ego and you once planned on being an actor after all.

Around three in the morning you began to get dressed in hopes of making it back to your place quick enough to make it to your next shift on time. You were going to have to use all of your tip money from the past few days to afford the cab fare. You were surprised however, when the guy whose name you couldn't remember, sat up in bed as you hurriedly threw your t-shirt over your head. He reached over to the nightstand and flipped open his wallet before pulling out two one hundred dollar bills and thrust it in your direction. You told him that you couldn't accept it but he kept insisting you had earned it. "I'm not a whore," you replied irritably. "This was just to get my mind off of things, not a way to pay my…" You stopped yourself from talking and eyed the money lying on the bed in front of you. You thought about what that money could do for you. You could keep your cell phone on and pay off some of your electric bill. Unable to look him in the face you snatched up the money and stuffed in your pocket.

"Thought so," the man with the silver hair chuckled. "You young twinks are all alike." You stomped your way out of the luxury suite feeling absolutely disgusted with yourself. 'Never again,' you thought; until that is, a few months later when you couldn't scrape up rent money on time, and you're not so compassionate landlord gave you twenty-four hours to pay or vacate the premises.

You were surprised at exactly how easy it was. You hardly had to go looking for it. You dressed in the tightest yet classy outfits you could manage. Often wearing one of the suits you had yet to sell from when you lived in Lima. You stuck to the classier establishments this time, the bars at the ritzy hotels. You ordered a vodka tonic and nursed it for a time until a man, usually older with a wedding ring or a tan line gracing his ring finger, asked to buy you another. You would agree and again flirt until he'd ask you to his room. Only once did a guy not realize what you were doing. He was only a few years older than you, and you felt so bad about it that you went through with the sex anyway.

That's when you decided enough was enough. You'd had it with giving yourself away to random closeted visiting strangers by night, and working in a diner by day, all the while sketching and attempting to get them seen in between. You stopped hooking along sketching but you kept your job at the restaurant. You regretted that decision two months later when you came home to an eviction notice on your door. Afraid to admit your failure, you forwent calling Carole for help and instead packed up as much as you could and called a cab. You were forced to stay in some seedy motel room that you ended up emptying a can and a half of Lysol to somewhat disinfect it. You were down to your last dime. You didn't go much further than the motel before some random blue caller guy propositioned you. You agreed.

And then you found yourself agreeing again and again. Your standards began to slip and you were bending over for the most stomach churning men. At times you would laugh when you would be approached by high-profile "family values republicans" who were known in the political world as right wing traditionalists. Then were the times when you hated yourself outright for sinking so low as to let some pig who was no doubt a wife beater because he also hated himself for having attractions to males touch you. It was the fifth time you felt that way that you took up some guy's offer to make you feel good in another way. You were hesitant but you did it anyway. It started with snorting the white powder but six months in you started chasing a new high and your veins were what suffered for it. You don't mind the needle at all now, but at least you're responsible enough to use clean ones.

Thankfully you make each and every one of them where a condom because this guy just came where he stood with your lips wrapped around his six-inch cock. You jerk your head away and instinctively wipe the nonexistent cum from your lips and stand to your feet. When he comes down he takes a few minutes to breathe.

He turns his back on you and heads over to his car. "Hey," you scream. "Thirty bucks." He keeps walking and you chase after him. When he slips into his car and starts the ignition you get angry and like Mercedes did to your car all that time ago, you grab the nearest good sized rock and hurl it at the glass. The man gets mad and exits his blue mini-van, that he no doubt totes his wife and kids around in.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing you little fag," he screams. "My wife's gonna flip!"

"Not as much as she would if she knew what you were doing out here with me you prick," you yell back. You're high and that makes you fearless, but you should be afraid. It would be smart to be scared at this point as the hulking brute approaches you. "You owe me thirty bucks asshole."

He grabs you by your shirt and screams into your face, "I'm gonna take this crack in my windshield out of your ass you fairy."

"If I'm a fairy what does that make you, huh? You let a fag, a fairy suck you off. A month ago you were fucking my ass so you're just as much as a fag as me," you yell back.

"I'll show you a fairy," the man says as he shakes you hard and then brings his right fist down to your cheek even harder. Then your stomach feels a sickening pain. You think you can handle it. It wasn't the first time some guy flipped out on you. You've dealt with the effects of gay panic more often than you would have liked. But this man is livid beyond reason and he won't stop striking your ivory flesh. You hurt but you know he isn't going to stop. You try to fight back but he's so much bigger and your mind just isn't in it. You just want your money. You've earned it. You've checked out and you only feel the stings he's leaving around your body.

"Hey," you hear another voice. It sounds kind of familiar. You aren't sure why though. "Break it up. People are working late in he…..what the hell?" The blurry image begins to approach you and your john, who is holding you threateningly but has stopped the blows due to the witness. "What are you doing to him," he asks pissed.

"Fuck this, I need to get home," the john says. He throws you to the ground prompting the newcomer to rush to your battered form. The john drives off.

"It's going to be okay man. I'll get you some help," says the man who you now see has dark blonde hair.

"Nobody can help me," you slur.

"Kurt…..Kurt Hummel," the blonde man questions and tightens his hold on you.

"Depends who's asking," you say.

"Sam. I'm Sam Evans remember me? God, man it's been like eight years."

"Well, hey there lemon juice," you say half gone.

"Man what…"

You cut him off, "Don't ask 'couse I ain't tellin." Then it all goes black.

Thank you for giving my little story a shot. Next up will have a lot of Sam and Kurt interaction.

Please review, review, review….