How To Be A Hoe

01 | I'm Jimin

this book will teach you:

1. what cheating really is.
2. why slut shaming is pathetic.
3. how even the best people make mistakes.
4. and most importantly, how to say no.

Now, I proudly present: the very first chapter of How To Be A Hoe!

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"Uh, hello?"

This was the first time you'd finally called out, after three tries and, well, fails of ringing the doorbell. The corridor was dark.

The last thing you would want was to be stuck in a haunted building for the rest of your years in university. But you couldn't ignore the stories—the ones you picked up from whispered sites and gossip columns of the local magazine.

Even though you'd have thought it would involve more paparazzi kind of stuff about, well, university, but when a page spoke about a guy who had died here back in the nineteenth century, it was kind of hard to ignore.

Well, you weren't giving up your hard earned scholarship for such a prestigious university for a gossip column about paranormal activity.

There was no reply.

The handle of your suitcase felt slippery under your sweaty palm. You still had your key in your hand, but you stared at the door uncomfortably, unsure how to proceed.

"Is anybody in there?" You asked hopefully, voice tapering to a weak end. "Damn, I thought I was supposed to have a roommate."

Silence.

Which was also what had been said when you ended the call with your mother about a quarter of an hour ago, when you were still in the cab and still had the reassurance of family backing you up. Though you'd ended it on terms of not wanting to hear any more no drugs and you'll know when you become a mother yourself classics.

It had been cool enough when you were still behind the drive. But the moment you had stepped out of the cab, boom.

Hello, haunted house.

"Well, I'm coming in," You called out again, but if there was a ghost in there, it didn't seem very interested in stopping you. So you slowly inserted your key in the lock, and winced.

The door swung open with a low-pitched whine, and you almost felt like whining along with it. You pushed it open into the room—it was dark, and deathly quiet.

Everything felt more haunted with very progressing moment.

"Okay." You whispered to yourself, slowly peeking inside, and then pulling your suitcase in. "You got this."

If there was a presence in the apartment, it didn't give itself away. The furniture was all in place, and it looked very lived-in, contrary to what you had been expecting. You shut the door softly behind you, and let go of your suitcase's handle, wiping your hand at the side of your shorts.

Years of sleepovers of horror movie marathons hadn't helped your situation—despite being the one to laugh at jumpscares and promise yourself never to step into an old building alone, here you were. Cowering behind a three feet tall bag of plastic.

Right one week before your first day of college.

"Hello?" You called. "Anybody in there?"

As you waited for a reply, there was a groan.

Maybe I shouldn't have dropped my ice cream on that kid's head in sixth grade.

Well, something pretty similar to a groan. It was low, and very subdued, but something definitely out of place in a homey apartment like this.