Author's notes:

This will be the last sexual chapter for a while lol. I don't really feel comfortable writing these scenes but they're crucial to the story, so... You know, they'll be here. I have never envisioned Dylan to be like this but... I just wrote and I couldn't stop.

Chapter two.

(He thinks she's fallen asleep, so he gets up and put on his clothes. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a couple of bills and leaves it at the bedside. Taking a last glance at the girl he had picked up, he leaves the room, closing the door behind him. But he doesn't leave the house just yet. He looks around, trying to catch glimpses of Brooke's life. And he thinks she's still asleep until he hears sobbing from her room. The cries get louder and louder, and it almost seems like she's in pain. Frowning, he leaves the house without another glance.)

Brooklyn Chang

The sun shines from the window and I know most people hate it, but I like it. It reminds me that I've gone through another day and I still live.

Throwing the covers off me, I attempt to get out of bed, yet I only manage to fall down from the weakness in my legs. My lower body throbs with an intensity, and I close my eyes at the blood that has not yet been cleaned off the sheets.

I sit for a couple of minutes, and I force myself off the floor, gripping into the table to steady myself. The sight of money now disgusts me.

I fix up my face and hair, and prepare to go to school. And hopefully, no one will see me and recognise me.

I paste a smile on my face, and join Bradley as we just talk, leaning on the lockers. A boy approaches us, and I know him as Norman Bates. He's in my English class. I smile at him, and he smiles back at me, but turns to Bradley soon after. 'Why don't you guys go to class? I'll meet you later,' she says.

Shooting them one last glance, I go to class without her- without anyone.

I've always been alone.

On my way back home, I pass Norman and some other guy about to take off on a motorbike. I smile at him, so he smiles back at me. 'Hey, Brooke.'

It takes me several seconds to realise that Dylan is the other guy.

He stares hard at me, and I can't help but notice that I'm intimidated by him- especially when we talk because there's always an unsettling look in his eyes when he talks to you and his eyes never leave your face.

'Hi,' I simply say.

Norman pats him on the shoulder. 'Oh, this is Dylan Massett. He's my brother.'

I don't manage to hide my surprise, and my jaw falls open just a little. 'O-oh. I'm Brooklyn.'

Dylan nods at me, and gives me a once over.

I take a step back, and say, 'Well, I have to get back home. I'll see you tomorrow, then.'

And then without acknowledging his goodbye, I walk as quickly as I can, hoping that they don't go the same way as I do. Suddenly, someone jumps on my back and I scream. 'Whoa, Jesus, what's with you?' Bradley laughs.

I roll my eyes and slap her on the shoulder lightly. 'Damn it. You scared the shit out of me.'

'So you've talked to Norman?'

I nod at her. 'Yeah, we're in the same English class. He's a nice guy,' I warn, hoping to get the message across.

As usual, it bounces back at me. She giggles, and comments, 'I know, right? He's so cute.'

I nod at that, not knowing what else I can say. I've done what I could and now it's none of my business whether she plays him like a puppet or whatever she decides to do. I've got more to worry about in life. Such as Dylan. If his tongue slips and he tells Norman…

Arriving home, I open the door and went to my room. Pulling the sheets out from my bed, I start towards the washing machine. I need to get the blood of as soon as possible, or I'd get sick every time I saw it.

As I pass the living room, a sudden 'hi' stops me in my tracks and I drop the sheets on the floor.

'What the fuck?!' I screech as Dylan stands there with his hands in his pockets casually. 'How the fuck did you get in here?'

He raises his eyebrows at me. 'You leave your spare key under the carpet and you wonder how I got in?' he asks.

'That's my roommate's,' I mutter under my breath, and gather up the bed sheets again. 'What do you want?'

He steps in closer to me, so I clutch the sheets closer to myself, as if it could protect me from him. He notices, and chuckles at it. But it's humourless, and it doesn't even touch his eyes. 'What are you doing with the sheets?'

'They're going in the wash.'

His stare slides down and catches sight of the dried blood. 'Right. You're a virgin.'

'Were,' I correct naturally, and stashes it in the washing machine. He follows me. I slam the cover of the machine down and turn to him. 'Honestly, what do you want?'

He closes in the space between us, and presses me against the machine with his body, his arms on either side of me, preventing me from going anywhere. Naturally, I bring one knee up on natural instinct, trying to kick him between the legs. But he was prepared, and wedged a leg between mine instead, pinning them tight against him.

Our faces are almost touching. 'How old are you?'

'Old enough to make decisions for myself,' I reply, leaning back, hoping to cut down the contact.

He doesn't back away; instead, he takes advantage and leans me back even more. 'Are you underage?' he asks.

I roll my eyes. 'Maybe.'

'You still fucking go to school,' he hisses.

I'm slightly scared, but I try not to show it. 'Yeah, I'm in Norman's English class. Why'd you think I know him?'

He seems to relax a little. '17?'

'I'm 16,' I answer, 'I skipped a year. Hey, at least I'm legal!'

'No, you're not. The legal age for prostitution is over 18,' he exclaims, and I roll me eyes.

'No one's counting, but okay.'

He presses me harder against the washing machine. 'Why didn't you tell me you were underage?'

'Well, I suppose you assumed i-'

'I assume a girl to be 18 when she's working in a fucking strip club, Brooke!' he snarls. 'I assumed ou just looked younger than your age. That's fucking common sense, yeah?'

'Why are you so uptight about it? I'll throw in my wallet and say you're probably doing a lot of illegal activities apart from this, so this doesn't actually need to be your concern. I'm not going to tell anyone, I'm trying to do business here,' I exclaim.

'Business?' he laughs. 'Opening your legs isn't business.'

'It's the only thing I can do that gives me enough money. You can condemn me if you want to, I'm already condemned. But if you're worrying that for some reason, I won't shut my mouth and get my fucking arse exposed to the whole student body, you're out of line. Now excuse me, I need to study,' I snap at him, but he doesn't even flinch.

Suddenly, he grabs my face and kisses me so hard I almost can taste my blood.

Then, he pulls away from me. 'Good. Then, if you put it that way, I'll be coming back for more. I won't have any excuses to use and that's all because of your little speech back there,' he whispers in my ear. He resumes to kissing me shortly afterwards, and reluctantly, I kiss back.

He doesn't stop there.

Before I know it, he's pushed up my skirt and unzipped his jeans. Gripping my thighs, he hoists me up and stacks me on top of the machine. 'Are you obsessed with sex?'

'I'm obsessed with power,' he answers, grinning, and thrusts into me.

'So...you're not stopping...even though you know you're- shit, exploiting underage girls? Or that... She doesn't really want- oh fuck-'

He laughs. 'Trust me, if you didn't like it, you would have stopped me long ago.'

'I like the money, I don't like the fucking,' I answer, and he chuckles again.

'It's really the same thing, when you think of it,' he states, and grips my hips harder.

'So you're not...' I stop for a moment to catch my breath. It's so wrong but I actually like it a lot. And I can see his grey eyes burning into mine this time, unlike last time where I had looked away. 'So you're not concerned with fucking underage girls.'

He laughs again. 'Nah, I fuck everything and anything I can get my hands on. But of course, certain limits apply.'

'You're a fucking piece of work, you know? Real rich,' I throw out in between breaths.

He likes to laugh a lot, but this time he just blows out air through his noise and continues to bang me against the metal. I don't know whether I'm a whore for admitting this, but when he moves his hips against mine I throw back my head and moan in pleasure. 'You fucking love it, Brooklyn. You're gonna beg me for more, anyway, so don't complain about it.'

I grunt instead of answering him, so he protests by slowing down completely. 'Aw shit, Dylan, must you play games?'

'I like games, Brooke,' he whispers, kissing the area right behind my ear. I shiver and lean into his touch. 'Now beg for me or I'll continue slowly.'

I deny my needs for a few more minutes but he's driving me crazy and he knows. Before I even open my mouth, he knows he's won my body over (and the game). 'Oh god, Dylan, please...'

'Please what?' he smirks, the corner of his lips turning up.

'Goddamnit, can you just fuck me harder?' I snap.

He throws his head back and laughs, before picking up his pace again. I swear we are breaking the washing machine by going this hard.

This time we both finish, and I don't think I've felt this good in my whole life. And he knows it, the sneaky bastard. 'You wanna take a shower?' he asks.

I raise my eyebrows, but show him to the bathroom anyway, before stripping down and turning the water on both of us. He slowly starts massaging my shoulders. 'Mmmm, you should go into the business. Your shoulder rubs are amazingly good for a boy like you.'

He laughs again. 'You laugh a lot,' I comment. 'But I don't think it's real.'

'For a hooker, you're surprisingly fresh and observant. And foolish.'

'I'm new. You're my first,' I shrug. 'You're also pretty straight up.'

'Word of advice, just because I didn't steal your shit doesn't mean others won't. Never bring a customer home. Never give them your address. Never sleep before they leave.'

'Noted,' I answer, and lather up some shampoo before rubbing it in my hair. 'Besides, I wasn't even asleep.'

'I know. You were waiting for me to leave so you could cry,' he answers as a matter-of-factly.

I don't find enough embarrassment to blush or deny the fact. 'Hey, I was pretty torn up about giving out my first to some bastard,' I say, raising an eyebrow and looking straight at him. 'And it hurt like a total bitch. The next morning I tried to get out of bed my knees gave out.'

He looks pretty proud of that, and for some reason I chuckle at that. 'Fucking sadistic, that's what you are.'

When we're dry and back in our clothes, I ask him why he's still here, and he replied, 'I don't know. I'm trying to invade your personal space.'

I laugh, and this time it's as genuine as it can get.

'Uh huh, you're just going to do homework and ignore me?' he asks.

I roll my eyes. 'Have I told you that I'm into writing?'

'Now that's what you call "a fucking piece of work". A hooker into writing!' he guffaws, and I wonder what he thinks is so funny about that. I raise my eyebrows and keep a smile on my face, because I am cold, and I can't show him that I'm hurting because of his stupid comments.

Honestly, I have difficulty deciding what I think of this guy. I have such mixed emotions towards him.

He insults me in such discreet ways but there's something about him that screams for me to go closer. I shouldn't feel this way, but I've always fallen for the wrongest guys so... this is it.

'Honestly, I don't understand why you do this,' I speak up.

He drags his chair and sits right in front of me. 'Do what? Rile you up and make you feel angry? Or what, make you feel loved for one moment and then make you feel like dirt the next?'

I face him, not being able to pull my gaze from his.

It's that stare again, the grey blue eyes burning into me as he searches my face for some kind of secret or hidden emotion. His stare holds something I can't place. It's inquisitive and curious and it's also extremely threatening at some points. They're so unnerving but compelling.

'You always stare at people while talking. It scares me,' I admit to him, and he's amused by what I had to say.

'So that's it, Brooklyn? You're scared of me?'

'I-I guess so.'

He laughs, and gets up from the chair. 'Well, then. I better leave you alone. Here's your payment, I'll see you around.'

I take the cash from him, and he leaves the house, making a casual and slow leave.

Looking at the back of his leather jacket, I wonder whether he's good or bad news.