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"That's a lovely name."
Alexandra.
She had danced for the gentlemen's pleasure, for Jack, for her own sake. Maybe this would be better than her previous gig; since being a wind-up doll was degrading. A drug-filled whorehouse that ripped at her dignity that she narrowly escaped would pale in comparison to this gig, but she didn't know that. When he asked for her name, she answered with such: Alexandra, her first name.
"That's a lovely name."
Alexy.
Champagne trickled through her veins as the second gentleman poured her a glass, lit her cigarette, and asked for her name. "Alexy," she gave, in hopes of satisfying him. Slowly, she became disgusted with herself, unable to even give her actual name.
"That's a lovely name."
Andie.
Tears lay haphazardly on her lash line, threatening to spill at any moment. "Gentlemen" they called themselves but, those lying bastards were far from gentle. Laying in a ditch would have been paradise if it meant not laying with them. Maybe she deserved this, maybe it was her destiny.
"That's a lovely name."
Lexy.
The liquid courage coursed through her veins, bringing a sense of giddiness with it. Not even blinking when he asked for her name and poured her a drink, only laughing. Uncaring, she was; believing- knowing this was her destiny. A gentleman's toy.
"What's your name?"
Alex.
The dance floor had spun or maybe it was just her vision blurring. She threw herself into dance, doing little to distract from the shame that had been creeping into her mind. Dirty looks from the bartender, "gentlemen" staring with faux concern. She wanted it to stop-
"No. What's your real name, love?"
Sandie.
Pompous asshole. Who did he think he was, telling her she was too good for this? Telling her to get out. Telling her she was better than what she had been doing. Telling her to look in the mirror, and when she refused, telling her it was too late for her. She sat staring out towards the dancefloor, every ounce of her being frozen with shame. So many men had used her, taken advantage of her, killed her.
For a moment, she felt as if there were arms wrapping around her, comforting her. Though, just like everything good in her life, it was a fleeting moment. Sandie had no clue where it came from: the only thing behind her was a mirror, but she appreciated the brief, ominous comfort.
"I'm sure you'll find Alex killed Sandie," a brief accusation spoken years later, locking a painful truth with his words. Sandie was murdered by all the men who used her body with no remorse, by her horrifying pimp, Jack, and by Alexandra, herself. Sandie was long gone.