Chapter Text
Mira was basically an object. She had no value beyond a price tag. Her body was not hers, it belonged to anyone willing to pay the price. She was an object, to be used and thrown away, over and over again.
She'd figured out early on that OnlyFans was an amazingly easy way to make money, and she'd been staying afloat since she left home to start a new life in the city. However, someone had managed to find out who her family were and blackmailed her into becoming a full-time pornstar for them. She'd screamed, cried, smoked, shattered bottles, ripped her hair out, all because of the terror that her family would find out that thei pathetic, worthless daughter wasn't worth more than a few crumpled bills.
So, she took the job, because she needed both the money and for her secret to stay secret.
So here she was, doing her makeup in her dressing room and getting ready for her next "performance". Her head hurt. She needed a smoke, bad, but she wasn't allowed inside. It was a 'fire hazard'.
So, she took a deep breath, a sip of water, another deep breath. She just needs to get in the right headspace, like when she has to do an orgy scene or some hardcore BDSM.
She finished with her pale pink eyeshadow, tucked her black hair out of her face, and was about to exit when her phone buzzed. She picked it up to see a text from her director:
Hey M. Got some last-minute setups and shit. You're on triple today, sorry.
As soon as her brain processed what the message meant, she threw the nearest object at the wall. The perfume bottle shattered with a sickening crack followed by the bell-like tinkling of all the little shards falling to the ground. A floral stench polluted the air, making Mira cough. She stumbled back and braced herself on her vanity.
What. The. Fuck.
He couldn't just tell her last-minute that "hey, we planned bad, you're fucking 60 guys today". That was not going to fucking happen. She wanted to scream, she wanted to stab somebody. Instead, she bit her lip until crimson dribbled down her chin.
Deep breaths couldn't do jack shit, she was suffocating from the perfume and trying to breathe just made it worse. There were literally zero windows in her dressing room. Who even built this hellhole? She's getting dizzy, and she can't tell if it's the chemical fragrance or her anger.
Another text, and she wants to kill someone.
Where are you? You're on in 2
This time, she replies, instead of throwing something.
No. Fuck you. I'm leaving goodbye fuckstain i hope you get a car accident and you wife and kids die slow and painful deaths for you to watch fuckass. choke sandpaper cock
Her head is empty now. The perfume is overpowering, filling up her lungs and smothering her seething. Her canines are tearing apart her lip. Her last braincell is bouncing in her head like a dvd screensaver and it's getting hard to see. She clutches the counter, hands shaking, as she feels her body go slack.
The door opens, there's a cry of something, but Mira isn't conscious enough to process it. It's nice, actually.
She closes her eyes and lets herself fall as two rough hands drag her out the door.