M.

Behold the West, the land of promises, every East European's dream.

Milena Jelen stepped cautiously out of the bus that had transported her from her small hometown in northern Serbia to London.

It had been thirty hours in that reeking bus and all her muscles were aching, but she was happy.

Britain was the dream of freedom she had since she was probably twelve or thirteen. Not necessarily Britain, but somewhere far away from her country, from her family, and from her memories.

She looked at the other girls that were exiting the bus searching for their luggage. They were gathered from all over Eastern Europe: Serbia, Bulgaria, Romania, Ukraine, you name it. Some had cried bitter tears when they bid their farewells to their families. She didn't. There was nothing to cry for.

Nobody had accompanied her to the bus station and nobody was crying for her in Serbia. Maybe her grandmother would have, were she not dead a year already. She had been the one and only person that truly loved her and cared for her. With her death, there was nothing binding her to her home country anymore, except duty.

Sure, she had parents, but they were one of the main reasons she was leaving. Her childhood had not been a happy one and her parents were far from the ideal couple. Actually, they should have divorced a long time ago or they should never have married, but in Serbia in the nineties, recently escaped from communism, divorce was viewed as a failure and a stigma.

They got married in the winter of '94 because her mother was pregnant with her. Contraception was a difficult subject, and so were abortions at that time, and like that, two people that could not be more different were united under the sacred bond of matrimony.

There was nothing sacred about it in the end. Her mother despised her father because she deemed him lazy and not ambitious enough for her taste and ended up cheating on him multiple times with different men. He was not a saint either; he beat her every time after he found out. Still, she continued doing it and he continued beating her. Most of the nights were marked by screams and cries. Milena was hiding in her room, praying for it to stop. Praying however did not help very much; it never stopped.

Regardless, her mother never left her father. Probably not for lack of will, but rather because of lack of opportunities. She never showed much interest in her daughter growing up, either. Sometimes Milena felt that Petra was showing quite bluntly that she was blaming her for the unsatisfying life she was living, for having had to marry her father and stay in that miserable little town.

Certainly a beautiful woman, Petra Jelen never lacked male attention. What she lacked was interest in anything else except her own person. So it came that she reached the age of forty-six without having worked a day in her life or cared for anybody but herself.

And her father... Milena never perceived him as evil, only lost, lost in the disappointment of what his life turned out to be after he married that beautiful, proud woman, that didn't love him at all. He turned to alcohol and lost many things in the process: his job, his self-control, and ultimately the love of his daughter when he ended up beating her and screaming that she was not his child.

Milena shook her head in the hope to shake off her memories too.

"Come on Mila, adventure is waiting, and the moron bus driver is honking. I don't want him to leave with our luggage," said Dasha, the girl she spent the last twenty-five hours with as her seat neighbor on the bus, in heavily accented but correct English.

On that long drive, Dasha had plenty of time to tell her entire life story: how she grew up in Ukraine on a farm, how much she hated it, and how she longed to live in a city like London. She enjoyed hearing her speak, there wasn't anything better to do anyway, and the girl seemed to be a born storyteller, feisty, funny, and still very down to earth.

All the girls on the bus were recruited by the same agency to work as nurses in the United Kingdom. Mila was happy to learn that Dasha would work at the same elderly care center as herself. They planned to share a room and go apartment hunting together. It felt strangely good to have a partner for once. At home, she did not have many friends. Her broken family life made trusting people very difficult.

"Coming," she shouted back at Dasha, finally exiting the bus. "Gosh, even the air is different here," she said more to herself, smiling.

"You bet it is. It does not smell like cows and sheep," said Dasha sarcastically, remembering the little village where she was born.

The apartment where they were allowed to sleep for the first month, till they found their own accommodation, was within walking distance from the bus station. Mila gave Dasha a hand with her luggage as she didn't bring a lot of things with her.

The place was overcrowded, loud, and a bit dirty. Twenty girls were sleeping in four rooms. Still, for the first time in almost fifteen years, Mila went to sleep without being afraid.

The next day was a Sunday and they were going to start working only on Monday. Mila woke up to Dasha's whisper.

"Mila, psst! Mila, wake up."

"Oh gosh, I almost forgot where I am," said Mila rubbing the sleep off her eyes.

Dasha came over and sat on her bed.

"I know right? I had that feeling too when I woke up. Go get dressed quickly and let's get lost in the big city."

"We don't have money, Dasha, not even to take the tube. I don't know about you, but I have only two hundred pounds I have to manage to exist off till we get our first wage," said Mila sighing.

"Damn, you are right. I don't know how we are supposed to get a place. Every girl here is dirt poor, but to rent an apartment you need at least a two-three thousand deposit."

"I am already anxious. I think we're doomed. I don't want to be homeless but I don't want to go back either."

"Nobody is going back. I don't plan to set foot in Ukraine again unless I am flying over to let my parents meet my handsome and fabulously rich fiance. Now that I think off, a sugar daddy would do too for the moment," she replied laughing.

"I am serious, Dasha. What are we going to do?"

"I have no f-ing idea. Get dressed and let's have a look at the real estate market."

The look just served to produce more disappointment and concern.

Mila and Dasha sank exhausted on a bench after five hours of calling and visiting apartments. Everything was expensive, and even the most shabby place seemed out of their league financially.

"What are the other girls doing?" asked Mila.

"Well we are of the lucky few to be stationed in London, the others are traveling further tomorrow. Ana and Vika are the only other ones, but they are lucky because Vika has family here that can house her, and Ana already asked her for help. Maybe you can do that too."

"Three is a crowd and I think Vika does not like me very much. I overheard her talking when I was waiting in line at the toilet on our break in Hungary."

"So I guess it's you and me, baby," said Dasha winking.

Mila could not help to smile. Dasha's energy was overwhelming.

Three weeks had passed since their arrival. Life was not all Skittles and rainbows in the West. The shifts at work were long and even if most of the people were nice or at least decent, some were mildly said, condescending.

Mila was trained to be an OR nurse. Her dream was to be a doctor, but med school was long and her parents were not keen on having to support her for six years until she would graduate, so she had to settle for nursing.

The new job was not ideal, as he was not working as an OR nurse. What she had to do daily was to look after old people, many of them suffering from Alzheimer's, dementia, or similar diseases. It was not horrible; some of them were really sweet, but working for at least ten hours almost every day in that manner was exhausting.

Dasha was already looking for a potential husband. It was not the greatest thing morally speaking, but who could blame her for wanting a bit of security?

Their living situation did not improve. After receiving the first pay they calculated they should be able to put the money for the deposit together, but Mila noticed disappointed, that after doing the math, she would end up with nothing to live off by the end of the month.

In her dream, the equation looked a bit different. Her parents were expecting to receive money; that had been the bargain when she left.

Dasha had a mother, a sister, and two nephews at home in Ukraine, so she was in a similar situation.

When they entered the country the agency gave them the amount necessary to prove to authorities that they can support themselves, but as soon as they were settled in the temporary accommodation, they had to give the money back.

And even if they had the deposit money there was no apartment in sight.

They likely didn't look like reliable tenants. Two East European girls, in their first month at a new job...

That however did not stop landlords from hitting on Dasha or making, receiving sexual favors, a condition for getting a place to rent.

"I am sorry," said Mila hugging her.

"Don't worry. The sad part is, I am so desperate I was even considering it for a minute. But then I took another look at his ugly ass face and said to myself I would just barf on him in the middle of the act."

Mila could not contain her laughter.

"No way I am letting you sleep with a creepy old guy. We will find a way."

"I wonder why guys never hit on you," said Dasha.

"Because I am not hot... Duh."

It had been like that her whole life; she was more or less invisible to men but she didn't really mind.

"That is actually not true. You are really pretty. I bet you had a hoard of admirers back home in Serbia."

"No. I actually never had a boyfriend," said Mila.

"What? Why? How old are you, girl?"

"Well, twenty-three. I know it's kind of sad but nobody was ever interested in me and I think I am not interested in boys either."

"Men, Mila, not boys. Nobody is interested in boys at this age," said Dasha.

She surely knew what she was talking about. Dasha was very flirty and was getting male attention by only stepping into the room, tall and slender as she was, with silver blond hair and striking blue eyes. She was also charming and outgoing, making everybody want to interact with her. Mila felt a bit envious, but Dasha had been so kind and friendly that she just couldn't do anything less than like her.

Later that evening, Mila was washing dishes when Dasha came to the kitchen screaming.

"Mila there is a lady that said she will rent us the apartment."

"Oh goodness, how great."

"What is not so great is that she wants three thousand as a deposit."

"That is insane. With the first monthly rent added, we would have nothing left for food. It is hopeless Dasha. On Monday they will kick us out of here. "

"I know. That's why I said yes, and we will figure out the rest."

"And how? I tried looking for a second job but with the late hours we work, there are not many options," said Mila pouting.

"Well ... How far would you go to not go back to Serbia again? "

Mila thought for a few minutes. Her eyes lingered on a scar on her arm that didn't go away after one of the beatings not so many months ago.

"I'm in. Not sure in what, but I am in. I don't want to go back. What were you thinking of? "

"We go clubbing," replied Dasha.

"Aha. Not sure how that can help, girl."

"Well, we go clubbing in a rich people club. I am sure there will be some more or less voluntarily generous men around."

"You want us to steal from rich guys in a club? You are crazy. If they catch us we are going to be kicked out of the country. It's not like East Europeans don't have a bad reputation already," answered Mila frowning.

"Can you eat reputation? Or pride? Because I can't. Do you want to go back to whatever you were doing back home?"

She is right. I don't.

"Ok. I am in."

"Good girl. Now shower and put something nice on."

After half an hour Dasha was looking striking in a very short and tight red dress. Mila was sure she was going to attract a lot of men.

She on the other hand was wearing just jeans and a top. She didn't have better clothes.

"Ugh. No jeans. They will not let you in if you wear jeans," said Dasha.

"I don't have more adequate clothes."

"Yeah, I am noticing that."

"Besides men are not really attracted to me, never were, as I already told you."

"I doubt that. I just think you never noticed. And you to them?" asked Dasha smiling cheekily.

"Actually neither."

"You are a weirdo, Mila. Are you gay? I mean it's ok if you are. But then I totally get why you don't want to return to Serbia," said Dasha.

"Uuuh no, I don't think so. I don't know."

"Well, do you get wet when you see a hot girl, like me for example?" asked Dasha winking.

Mila had to think. She found Dasha objectively beautiful.

"Uh... You are beautiful... I think... But," she answered with innocent honesty in her voice.

Dasha smiled devilishly and came closer. She started touching Mila's face with her right hand, teasing her lower lip with her thumb, and looking right into her eyes.

What is she doing? Mila blushed profusely.

Dasha was indeed beautiful. Now even more, when she wore that skillfully applied make-up and her blue eyes were sparkling.

Dasha lowered her head. She was solid fifteen centimeters taller and on heels. Her lips landed on Mila's slowly forcing them apart, and her tongue entered the flustered girl's mouth while her left hand traveled along her waist to her breast.

She is kissing me. Jesus.

It was an interesting feeling. It felt somehow good to sense somebody's skin and body warmth and not be frightened by the interaction.

"Nope, clearly not gay," replied Dasha laughing.

Mila laughed too. She noticed once again how much she liked Dasha and how good it felt to have a friend. And that had been her first kiss. It was... Interesting.

Dasha lent her a dress. It took a while till they decided on one since all the clothes she possessed were somehow revealing and Mila was really shy, feeling naked in almost all of them.

After that, they walked for thirty minutes around London's party hot spot till Dasha saw a club in a good area displaying a sign saying 'Girls' night'. Her eyes lit up. In Ukraine, that meant no entrance fee for girls. She dragged Mila to the door where they were stopped by a bouncer.

"Ten pounds each, ladies," he said.

"What? It says girls' night," said Dasha irritated.

"So?"

"So entrance is free for girls."

"No, sweety. Ten pounds. Do you want to go in or not?" he replied.

Mila looked at her questioning.

"May I invite the ladies?" said a deep voice from behind them.

It belonged to a man in his early forties, polished and pleasant looking.

"Oh, a real British gentleman. We would love to," said Dasha smiling alluringly.

"I am Dan, and what is your name, sweety?" said the man devouring Dasha with his gaze.

"Anna, enchanting meeting you. This is my friend Vika."

"Come along ladies," he said, leading them inside.

Mila was dazzled by the opulence of the club. For a brief moment, she stood still to admire the view.

"Welcome to the West, baby!" whispered Dasha into her ear.