#para:caz

 {achrxmxtic}

      Angel hadn't really known just how dangerous the sex-worker field could be. For the most part, he had lost track of the time. From when he had gotten to New York, to when he had fallen into poverty...it was all just one giant blur. God bless the actual angel, Mimi, who had shown him how to dress for his body type, and taught him how to put on make up correctly while he was discovering himself and what he liked.

      Now that he dressed up the way he did, with revealing dresses and a short black wig, customers flocked to Angel more than ever. Most of them knew that he was a male in drag, but every once and a while, there'd be a drunk man who didn't realize what he was getting himself into. The realization was typically met with embarrassment, the customer sputtering and blushing, and declaring quickly that "No, he wasn't into that." Which Angel completely respected. So he'd give them their refund, and both would be on their way. Sometimes he'd offer to lead the man to some of the females. At other times, the man would be surprised, shrug, and they'd continue; but that almost never happened. 

      So when Angel brought the clearly drunk man to one of the cheap, hourly-rate motels one night, she didn't think anything would happen. They were kissing messily, carefully sliding in the money she had been given into her bag for safe kissing. Hands were roaming, and the man was sloppy, and at least twice her size. Her coat came off, hands running along her sides and over her body, moving to grope at breasts he'd assume would be there. When none were found however, and the realization slowly dawned on him, Angel pulled away, raising her brow at the man. "What's wrong, love?" she crooned.

      "What's wrong?" the drunk ask, reeling slightly on his feet. "I'm not some fucking faggot, that's what--" The man was clearly angry, and Angel stepped back.

      "I figured you knew--I'm sorry, sweets, I'll just get --"

      "Fucking lied to me? You look like a fucking girl--Fucking fag isn't going to try and make me one, too--"

      The man had advanced on Angel, and before she could move away, a fist had collided with her face. It dazed her for a second, and she tasted blood in her mouth. She held her hands up in a symbol of surrender, and shook her head. "I'm sorry--" She tried, but another fist went into her stomach, and she cried out in surprise, doubling over. She gasped for breath, but fists and angry slurred words kept coming at her. 

      She stumbled backwards on her heels, hand blindly reaching out for the door handle. She managed to turn it, and she fell backwards out the door, and onto the street. She was being kicked now, a blunt boot digging into her side after few seconds. She wondered if this would be what ended it all; not starvation or frostbite, or a heart attack; but someone who had problems with homophobia.