My Journey - Free Fiction
|Posted by Sammie on August 23, 2017 at 8:25 AM|
Grinding up against a pole for money made me feel sexy.
Sick to my stomach.
The music pumped through me as my body slid up and down the steel beam in the middle of the stage. With the lights flashing and the crowd shouting, the scene was set. Bending right back, I peeled off my bedazzled bra and the last of my dignity hit the floor.
After shift it was always the same, I’d go into the toilet, barf my guts up only to come out and wonder what the hell I was doing night after night and then I would count how much money I made. And I would think about Emma. The clothes I could buy her. The grocery’s I could put into the fridge. The doll house under the Christmas tree she desperately wants. I could do that. I could be that Mom. The Mom who never let’s her baby down.
Scrubbing all the gunk off my face, I avoided eye contact and conversation. The women here weren’t people to be friends with. Many were hooked on the junk anyway, and the ones who weren’t, were just like me – fresh, shy, closed off.
The drive home at two in the morning was quick. Traffic was minimal, lights were green and the only thing on the sidewalks were the homeless trying to sleep off one too many drinks. My car, an old 1997 Holden Astra, full of rust, filled the air with more fumes then I was comfortable but it got me home and in the front door in ten minutes.
“Hay baby.” Paul’s voice caught me off guard.
“Ah, hay. What are you doing up?”
“Emma had a nightmare and I couldn’t get back to sleep so I thought I’d wait up for you.” He padded out from the kitchen in Captain America boxer shorts and no shirt. I have to admit it was quite cute. But, the guilt was too much in the front to notice for too long. Still, I kissed him when he moved in for one.
“What are you making?”
“Just some hot chocolate.” He came around her and locked the door, put the chain back in place. “You want some?”
I nodded. “I need to shower.” I walked toward our bedroom at the end of the hall. I needed to get clean.
Dumping my bag on the simple double bed, I stripped off my clothes. The bathroom was attached, like an ensuite but, truth was it was the only bathroom we had and it was no bigger than a prison cell. Enough room for a single stall shower, a basin and a toilet. With little room to move, I scrubbed myself clean, physically and mentally. I scrubbed off the whistles and the leers, the fingers grabbing at me when the tips get tucked into my pants. On one hand, it’s exhilarating, knowing these men are staring at me like there is nothing else they ever want to stare at. I hold the power, with every hip swing, every leg kick, and back bend. Paul doesn’t look at me like that anymore. We’ve become… comfortable. On the other hand, those same men start calling out for ‘Kitty Lace’ and it makes me instantly dirty.
Sighing, I dried off, the routine always the same. The headache behind the eyes starting right on cue, except for Paul, who was standing beside the bed with tonight’s tips in his hands. About a thousand in cash. My stomach dropped as my heart accelerated, galloping in my chest and working it’s way into my throat.
“Paul?” I tried not to sound accusing, just moved toward the dresser and stepped into my dark green pajamas.
“This seems a little excessive for someone working behind the bar.” His brows were slightly drawn.
I shrugged and smiled. “There were a lot of suits in tonight. Besides, do you know what they call us?”
He cleared his throat. “What?”
“Unofficial psychologists. Geez, just one of those tips was for four hundred, he sat there for two hours going on and on about his wife cheating on him with a partner at their own law firm but get this, he suspects another partner… his sister.”
I gulped. I was feeding him such bullshit but it was flowing right off my tongue. He looked down at the money, back at me, a lopsided grin spread across his face and I knew in that moment, I had him.