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Keeping Warm by Amberina
A lot of important things have happened to Darla in alleys. Darla has done a lot of things in alleys. She doesn't remember any of them.
Tonight, the moonlight glints off of the graffitti on the buildings around her. The wind blows her hair around her face and she's so cold. She wraps her arms around herself, and rubs her palms on her bare arms in an attempt to keep warm.
The man in front of her -- God, he's such a boy, a child. Probably only eighteen or nineteen. So young, and already strung out on coke and whores.
Darla doesn't mind, of course. His money is as good as anyone else's, and she's never really had a problem with giving the not-so-innocent their final push into the darkside. But, of course, she doesn't remember that.
He unbuckles his pants and his cock instantly springs to life. Darla gives him a little grin before she gets down on her knees.
She knows exactly what he likes, what he wants, what makes his breath quicken and his knees buckle. That's why he keeps coming back to her, she supposes.
She sucks him off quickly, and for a minute she stays there in front of him. Kneeling, a stray stone cutting into the flesh on her knee, but she doesn't really feel it. She doesn't really feel much anymore.
The boy -- Connor, he said his name was the first time, but Darla doesn't really think of any of her clients by their names. He's the boy -- her dear boy. He leans back against the wall, his eyes closed and she watches for a moment as the wind blows his too-long hair around his face, and suddenly she realizes just how young he is.
It's the moments right after sex that he's his most innocent. Shaking slightly, the cold air making his rigid breaths visible. He opens his eyes and he looks down at her, and suddenly his eyes reflect fear.
It's gone quickly though, and then he just looks at her with his eyes glazed over, and she's more comfortable with that.
Their eyes meet and Darla shifts slightly, and she feels the rock underneath her knee being ground further into her skin, but it doesn't really hurt.
Nothing really hurts for her.
After a while, she stands up and brushes the stone -- a pebble, perhaps a sharp pebble, but still just a pebble -- away. Brush it all away. She really needs to stop thinking while on the job.
He reaches into his pocket and shoves a wad of money at her before turning and walking in the other direction.
Darla slips the money in between her breasts and she lets out a sigh. The moonlight is still glinting off of the graffitti on the buildings around her, and the wind is still blowing her hair every which way. It's still very cold.
Darla doesn't try to keep herself warm.