To him, I'm nothing. Nothing more than another night of sex and passion, the way he wants it.

To me, he's everything, everything I ever wanted, ever imagined, ever dreamed.

I don't even know his name.

All I know about him is that I love him.

I took up this job selling myself after headlines started to go down. I needed extra cash. I didn't have the requirements for anything but being this…a man-whore, a male prostitute. Supposedly, I'm very attractive, especially to the males.

But, before him, I never really liked it with the boys.

He came to me every Tuesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. I grew to look forward to it. It took him a long time to ask me for my name and age. I told him the truth instead of lying or giving the usual 'I'm whatever you want me to be' line that I fed the other clients.

"Me name's Jack, and I's 17." I told him.

He just smiled, and got his money's worth.

He was my regular client for several months. I loved him from the first time I saw him. He knew me, somehow, because I remember him calling me 'Kelly' a couple of times, and I never told him my last name.

I don't know him though.

But tonight, I'm asking him.

I watch him from the bed, where I'm sitting and waiting for him to find money to pay me. For some reason, I still haven't dressed yet.

He looks up, and notices me watching him.

"Whattaya lookin' at?" he asks gruffly.

I shrug. "I…wanted ta ask ya somethin'."

"What?"

"What's yer name?"

He stands, quicker than I expect. "Why?" he asks, his voice sharp.

"I…I jus' wanna know. Youse knows my name. Me full name, too, n I nevah tol' ya what it was. I wanna know who youse are."

"Y'doan hafta know, doh." he says. He's rummaging in his pockets, for money. At least, I think that's what he's doing. His eyes are shifty right now, suspicious.

"But I wants ta know. I's gotta know!" I'm getting desperate now. Even if he doesn't love me, can't love me, I've got to know the name of the man I love!

He pulls something from his pocket. "Ya wants ta know my name, Jacky-boy?"

There's something familiar about the way he says my nickname, something that sends shivers down my spine.

"Yeh." I say, and my voice is shaky.

He looks at me, and I see the moonlight flash against the blade as it appears.

"You knows my name, doancha, Jacky-boy?" he says, drawing closer. I scramble out of the way, knocking the lantern to the floor, extinguishing it's already dim light.

He's moving slowly, intimidating me, letting me know that he's the one with the knife, he's the one in control, and oh god, he's the one that's going to slit my throat, the one that's going to leave me here in this dirty room to bleed to death, and I don't believe it…

He slams the door behind him and I feel myself fall to the floor. My blood is pooling around my face, and I know I'm going to die like this. I shouldn't have asked his name, I should have just let things carry on as they were, but no, I had to fall in love with him, didn't I? I just had to fall in love with Oscar Delancey.

***AUTHOR'S NOTE***

Well. I liked this.

It was inspired by a part of 'The Firm' (which I'm currently reading, very good, much recommended), and some song lyrics my friend Renee gave to me. The whole song didn't much fit what I wanted to write, but the first few lines really inspired me, so yeah. ^^;; That's what this comes from.

And I really wanted to write something angsty, since I haven't written serious angst in a while.