Well, here's the second chapter. Ana doesn't meet our favorite greaser till the next chapter. And probably not the way you'd expect either, but predictions are welcome.

It was several years later, or at least, it seemed like it. The remnants of my old life –my clothing, my mother's necklace which I always wore- were constant reminders as I traveled, but I could not throw them away. It went deeper than just a physical need.

For awhile I managed. I stayed at hotels as I passed through towns. My money kept me nurtured. I found that I enjoyed traveling, and decided that I would continue to do so till my money ran out. I found that I never got lost, because I had no destination.

I didn't want to stop that night, but I had to. It was late and I would be lucky if I could find a place to stay. I wasn't about to sleep another night on a bus. My back cramped from the night before.

So I got off at a street corner sometime around midnight and was wandering the streets aimlessly, my suitcase and eyelids both growing heavier with each step. I was trudging around another corner when they jumped out at me.

I never saw them. I only heard their voices and shrieks and laughter as I kicked and flailed to no avail. I fought to get them off of me, but I could not. I didn't know where to reach. They cut me, bruised me, took my belongings and scurried off in different directions. I only knew they had left when the footsteps that thudded on the ground faded into the black night, and the pain of foot contacting ribs with strong force had subsided to a dull ache. I moaned one last time before unconsciousness overtook me. I was so sure this was the end.

But it was not. I woke on a bed, dizzy and delirious, appalled to find that bruises marked my arms. My fear eased when I saw that my cuts were covered with bandages. I felt then that whoever had taken me in had saved me, not kidnapped me. I heard a whoosh as my breathing finally settled and my heart rate slowed. The torture of last night was over.

The room was a small cramped bedroom in what I presumed was a shabby motel. I glanced out the window that my bed was conveniently lined alongside of, and saw a street lined with other buildings in poor condition. The roof tiles were long weathered off, windows were cracked and broken, and graffiti lined the side walls.

My observations were stopped short by a voice.

"You shouldn't walk alone at night girl; didn't your mother teach you that?"

I jumped, startled at her unexpected intrusion; I had grown accustomed to knocks before entering. I lifted myself from the bed and stood just in front of it, not daring to go near the dark skinned, exotic looking woman who had just spoken to me. She was scantily clad, wearing a bright red dress that didn't go near to touching her knees and showing too much cleavage to even be considered appropriate. Her make up and heels clearly marked her for what she was. I knew her occupation before she even told it to me.

She sat down on the bed next to me, inquiring where I lived, and listening to me as I babbled and cried and went on about how I had gotten here and how, now that my money and clothing was stolen, I could do nothing.

She, whose had adopted the name Monica upon arriving in America, was very patient with me and explained that if I could work with her, she would allow me to live with her. Seeing as I could do nothing else, I had to comply. Monica then explained to me that she worked with a group of girls, and that they watched out for each other so that no one got hurt or abused. It was not an easy life, but most of them came from broken homes, and they had nothing but each other.

I would come to find that these women weren't as they were characterized by others. They were loyal, caring, and though brash, very nice people. The criticism they got was undeserved, because these were women who could not get a job elsewhere and needed the money. They refused to be beggars on the streets, and in my eyes, they deserved some measure of respect for that.

It took a month before I actually went out on the job. First, I had to heal from my minor cuts and bruises, and then I had to be the model student and listen to the advice all the girls had to offer. It seemed Monica was the leader of the group of four, or now five if you included me. She decided the location, time, and each morning they met up at her apartment to eat breakfast. If someone didn't show up, she was immediately sought out. Monica would contact anyone she had spoken to in the past day and track her down. All the girls knew that meeting at Monica's for breakfast was not a social gathering. It was a mandatory meeting, and its purpose was to see that everyone was okay.

The other three girls were rough, often smoking, drinking, and cussing, but as I made my way into their little group, I discovered that though they could be difficult to get along with, they didn't have bad intentions. Adriana was the perfect example of this. She was fiery red head with a bad temper, and it wasn't unusual if she showed up in the morning with bruises from an encounter at the bar. The next day, if she ran into the girl she had fought with; she'd give them a sheepish smile and offer them a cigarette. Tracey had told me about this one morning at breakfast, saying it was 'the oddest thing she'd ever seen', but that 'some people can't be understood'.

I liked the girls, even if they didn't respect me just yet. The only problem I ever had was confusing the two blonds, Tracey and Stacey. They were twins.

The first night I was dressed in a skirt and silk shirt, attire that any girl would wear, and I was just about to question it when Monica began to explain. She was 'dressing up my eyes' very slightly as she replied.

"You're very young, and cute too. A girl like you has a chance to end up like Amber."

"Amber?"

She chuckled and reached for some light pink lipstick that sat on the dresser. She began applying it to my lips.

"Amber was a real sweet girl. Ended up finding her a nice old man, and she come to find out he had a mansion. Was filthy rich. He liked her so much he kept her."

I smooched my lips together as I was instructed. Monica tossed the lipstick onto the dresser that she'd probably recovered from a junk yard.

"But what do I do?" I asked. My stomach was twisting into knots. My nails scraped the wooden chair I sat in. I was clinging to it for dear life.

"Relax child, just enjoy yourself. If you don't get a suitor, you try again the next night. Now straighten up your posture."

For my benefit, the first night I joined them they met at a higher class bar. This meant more gentlemen, married men, and less chance for fights. They dressed for the occasion, putting on their more expensive and less revealing dresses. This was a tip I'd received from Tracey, who I found was the most talkative out of them all.

"You have to dress for what the men are going to like. If you're going to a party hosted by the governor, you wear something classy-like. If you're going to an old bar, you can pretty much wear whatever the hell you want, because there's never a shortage of clients there."

I stepped shyly into the room. It was my first night, and I will not go into further detail of it, because it was also my first time. Even if he paid well, I'll always regret it. I had always pictured my first to be with someone I loved, and to have that taken away left me broken the next day. Monica allowed me to take a few days off, but then I was up again, because when I was working my mind was on nothing else, not even the work itself.