Harper

Every morning, the contraption that I believe was sent from the pits of hell itself wakes me up at 7:30 A.M for college, and every morning I contemplate whether or not throwing my phone at my bedroom door to silence the jarring tone would satisfy me and my never-ending quest for just five more minutes of sleep.

Once the haze in my brain had cleared I lay in bed for a few more moments and listened to the sounds around me. It's become a somewhat ritual of mine over the past few years. I've started to appreciate the little things in life a lot more ever since my Grandad passed away. I've learnt that even the simplest of sounds like the songs from a bird needs to be appreciated because one day that bird might not be here to sing.

Getting out of bed and throwing on my fluffy dressing gown, I made my way downstairs. Following the scent of warm toast, I find my Nan in the kitchen making breakfast.

Despite my protests of not wanting food in the morning, she still insists on making me breakfast.

"Good morning, love." She calls to me as I enter the kitchen. I smile at her affectionate greeting and make my way over to place a kiss on her cheek .

"Morning, Nan. What have I told you about making my breakfast?" I scold teasingly as I reach into the fridge for the orange juice.

"I know you're perfectly capable of feeding yourself dear; you remind me that you're an adult on a daily basis." She counters with a stern look on her face. It was a daily routine for us, I'd jokingly complain about her making breakfast and she'd scold me for it. It'd quickly become my favorite part of the morning.

After the toast had been covered in an unholy amount of butter and nutella it was devoured. I spent a few minutes with her before I had to leave to start getting ready. Not that my "look" required any effort whatsoever.

Recently however I began to notice that she was looking more tired than usual, exhausted even. Her smiles weren't quite reaching her eyes anymore and the woman that used to be so full of light and joy had been replaced by a shell of her former self - and the cracks were beginning to show. We both know why she's so exhausted, but we don't ever speak about it. It was the giant elephant in the room that was always there but the heartache was still too fresh for the both of us to acknowledge that we were both struggling in our own way.

Three years ago, when Grandad passed away, his death not only left a gaping hole in both our hearts, it also left a pile of hospital and funeral bills that we're struggling to pay, some may say it was self-inflicted taking out pay-day loans and emptying various saving accounts along with my Nan draining her pension to place him in a private hospital and recruiting the help of some very good albeit very expensive doctors we did all we could to try and save him but sadly in the end it was all for nothing. If it weren't for my job, keeping up with the payments to the various loan companies would be next to impossible, and we'd have lost the house months ago.

Lost in troubling thoughts on the state of not only myself and my nan's future but the future of the entire house we were living in, I threw on a pair of old skinny jeans and a jumper. I tried my best to style my hair in a somewhat cute messy bun. Looking at my reflection in the mirror, the final result doesn't look as bad as I thought it would and deemed it acceptable for the day ahead.

Grabbing my glasses from the vanity and my converse from under the bed, I jogged downstairs and made my way towards the door. "I'm leaving, Nan. I'll see you when I get home. I love you, bye!" I shout as I grab my back from its place by the door.

The walk to college was only a short 10-minute walk from where I live, and it always gave me time to think about things. I began to wonder if picking up a few more shifts at work would help; the extra money would certainly come in handy but working two weeknights alongside the three shifts I was already doing would be a killer for sure. Regardless I mentally make a note to ask Jack if there are any extra shifts available when I see him later.

He's always willing to help out. He knows the situation I'm in and he always gives me the overtime when I need it, despite his complaints that I already work too much.

By the time I arrive at the building my College is situated in, I take a quick look at the time on my phone and thankfully I had a few minutes before my first class started. Making my way through the large double doors, I kept my head down and made my way to my first lesson, hoping that no one would try to talk to me.

I spent my entire time here making sure I kept my grades up so that when I leave this hell hole I can try and make something of myself, and I really did need something short of a miracle. It's not that I was adverse to having friends but they just didn't fit into the equation for me, even though deep down my heart ached for the comfort that friendship provides.

Due to the fact I'd condemned myself to avoid the rest of the student population like the plague, I'm now the girl that nobody notices, the one who keeps her head down and stays far away from the drama that comes with college life. One little slip – up and my entire world would come crashing down on top of me, and that's not a risk I'm willing to take. The thought of someone getting too close and finding out the truth and the hours of busting my ass at work and Nan finding out the truth about my 'job' made my palms sweat and a wave of nausea roll over me.

I walked into my first lesson and took my usual seat at the back of the class. Math isn't something I want to be doing at 9 A.M on a Monday morning, but here I am.

The thought of being able to skip a few lessons here and there was a constant urge in the back of my mind, but I needed to suppress it. If I wanted to stay off the social radar, I have to sit here and endure a mind-numbingly boring two – hour math lesson, with a teacher that possesses as much charisma as a house brick.

By the end of the second hour, I'm struggling to keep my eyes open. Thankfully Mr Wilson hadn't called on me to answer any of the problems he'd given us. Sometimes it pays to be invisible, even the teachers forget that I'm here.

The rest of the day goes relatively the same way. Enter the classroom, sit down at the back and get ignored by everyone. The mundane routine I had adopted was my lifeline. It may have bothered some people if they were in my shoes, but it suited my lifestyle perfectly.

When the final bell dismisses me from my psychology class, I make a quick dash towards the door. After making my way through the cramped corridors, I finally get through the large doors at the front of the building.

Once I'm free, and through the gates, I check my phone for any messages from work. I breathe a sigh of relief as there aren't any missed calls or texts from Jack telling me to take the night off. I grin at my phone, I need all the hours I can get. It must mean he's expecting a busy evening.

"Nan, I'm home!" I call out as I walk through the front door.

"In the kitchen, sweetheart." She replies as I make my way through the house.

Sitting down at the table, a mug of hot tea is placed in front of me almost immediately. I look up at my nan and smile as she takes the seat opposite me.

"How was college today, darling?" she queries with a hopeful smile on her face. Every day she hopes I'll come home and tell her that somehow, I now have hundreds of friends and plans for my weekends that don't involve working or sitting at home. After years of being off the social radar, I don't know why she still hopes for any newfound popularity for me. It hurt my heart to disappoint her but once this was all over maybe I could find a group of people to call friends and see what I'd been missing out on, maybe that would help to put the smile I'd so desperately started missing back on her face.

"The same as it always is, Nan. I went to my lessons, ate lunch and came home." It's the same excuse I've been using every day for over a year now, but she's still holding on for a miracle. I don't blame her, what with everything going on she needs one, we both do. She has no idea why I'm such an 'outcast' even though it's very much self-inflicted, and I intend to keep it that way.

My excuse for being a social misfit up until a year ago was a mixture of things. Firstly, it was down to the death of my parents. Then It was because I lost my Grandad. Now it's something completely different; something that not even my nan knows about.

After a lengthy chat about what she'd gotten up to today, the topic fell onto my job.

"What time do you start work tonight, dear?" she asks

"Eleven o'clock, and I'll be home a little after half past six, so don't wait for me. You need to rest." I replied firmly.

"Are you sure?" she asked, her voice laced with concern. "I can meet you outside, and we can walk home together. That fast food place is working you to the ground with all these overnight shifts. I don't like knowing you're walking home so late, you know it worries me." I placed my hand over hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, I noticed I only had six more hours until my shift starts. In that short space of time, I need to eat, have a quick nap, shower and get ready. Thankfully dinner was almost ready.

Once I'd inhaled my food, I gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and told her I was going upstairs to get a few hours' sleep before my shift, and if she needed anything to call me.

Setting the alarm on my phone for 9:30 P.M, I flop down onto my bed and slowly sleep consumes me.

A few hours later, and for the second time today, the obnoxious chines of my alarm stirred me, but this time I knew I had to get up.

I have an hour and a half to shower, get ready and get to work. Rolling out of bed, I make my way to the shower. Half an hour later and all the grime of the day had been washed away.

After drying my hair, I pull out my favorite curling iron and get to work on my hair. After each strand had been curled to perfection, I started on my face. The ritual of applying a full face of make-up and putting in my contact lenses had become second nature to me, I've gotten the whole process down to just under 45 minutes. I laugh at myself thinking back to how long the entire ordeal used to take me.

Once my make-up is set, and my false eyelashes have been applied, I walk over to my bed and pull out the box that holds my uniform. If that's what you could even call it.

I hate lying to my nan, and this is the biggest lie I have ever told, to anyone. Having to lie to her about my job is painful, but it's something that has to be done.

I'm not ashamed of what I do because I'm technically not doing anything wrong. It's the reactions of other people that concern me, and that's the reason I'm not as open with my occupation as ordinary people might be.

Opening the box, I pull out my 'uniform', slipping into a figure-hugging black dress that skims the middle of my thighs, along with a pair of delicate nude silk stockings. I look at myself in the mirror. Instead of feeling nervous like I used to, I now felt a strong sense of power and confidence in its place.

Removing the pair of heels from their box, I slip them on. A black pair of Christian Louboutin's, they were given to me as a welcome gift a month after I started.

My phone pings to alert me to the taxi that is outside waiting to take me into work. Grabbing my purse, I quietly head downstairs and out to the car that's waiting for me. Sliding into the back seat, I glance at the driver. I've seen him a few times before; I give him a quick smile before he pulls off into the night.

Fifteen minutes later and I've arrived. The illuminated sign attached to the front of the building lights up the dark street alerting the people who've already begun queuing outside to the name of the building.

Opal.

One of the most exclusive clubs in the country. But what many of the hundreds of people that line up outside its doors, this is no ordinary club. It has a hidden secret that only the elitist of its clientele knows about.