The Werewolf Legends

**Hailey's P.O.V.**

Everything that happens, happens for a reason, or so they say. Would someone like to explain to me what the reason was for me to be abused by my family my entire childhood? I grew up knowing only pain and terror, waiting for the next beating from a fist, belt, or anything else my parents could get their hands on.

I know there are good families out there. I've seen them; they just weren't in my house. When my dad started looking at me as a woman when I was fifteen, I knew it was time for me to leave. He came into my bedroom and said to be ready for him the next night because he was going to take what I owed him. I knew exactly what he meant. After everyone was asleep, I packed a bag with some clothes and left.

I had some money saved that I had taken from my mom's purse or dad's wallet when they were passed out drunk. I figured they owed me for putting up with all their bullshit. It wasn't much, though. When I walked out of the house, I had no idea where I would go or what I would do, but being away from them was worth it. I went to the bus station and got a ticket to take me from West Virginia to Indianapolis. That's the most I could afford, and still have money left for food.

My final destination was California. The commercials on TV always showed it to be a bright and sunny place where people always smiled. I'm not naïve; I know that it's not like that for everyone, but it seemed a hell of a lot better than home.

When I arrived in Indianapolis, I was lucky to find a trucker willing to take me as far as Las Vegas. I was concerned that he would expect something from me, but he was just lonely and missed his daughter, who was about my age. When he dropped me off, he even gave me a little money and told me to take care of myself. Up until that point, it was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for me.

Now, it's over three years later, and I'm still in Las Vegas. I had a few opportunities to leave, but when I first got here, it seemed like a good place to get lost. I worked various jobs on and off but never earned enough to stay anywhere, so I lived on the streets. I know all the places where I can go to get some rest without being bothered. I'm almost out of money, though, and I need something to get me by or at least put some food in my stomach.

I'm standing in front of one of the local brothels on the edge of town. The owner, Sheila, has been hounding me to work for her. The thing is, I'm a virgin, and the thought of letting men pay to use my body as they want disgusts me. Unfortunately, there aren't a lot of other places I can go. None of the restaurants want a waitress whose clothes are always dirty. Even the fast-food places turn their nose up at me. I've tried so many places I've lost count, and now I'm out of options. Maybe if I do this one time, then I can get enough money to at least buy a new outfit so I can apply for another job. While I'm standing out front, still debating whether I should go in, the door opens. I see Sheila looking at me with a smirk. She's short and round with wild-dyed red hair. I'm guessing she's in her fifties, but I've learned you can never really tell. The streets make you look older, and plastic surgery makes you look younger.