“You have the most beautiful hair,” he mumbles. “It’s so blond; it’s almost white.”
“Th- thank you,” I stutter. He smiles, and we continue to listen to music in silence, our bodies grazing. I feel so aware of my arm touching his, of every slight movement. I close my eyes, feeling more relaxed than I have in a long time.
“Don’t fall asleep. We have to get back,” he says, gently pulling out the earphone.
I open my eyes and sit up straight. “I could have slept nicely.”
“Me too,” he adds. We stare at each other for a few intense seconds, before he stands up and holds his hand out to help me up. I offer my hand, and he pulls me up until I’m standing. “Let me walk you to your next class?”
“Okay,” I say.
“And Paris?”
“Yes?” I ask quietly.
“Can I have your phone number?” he asks, dimples popping.
“Ummm, okay.”
His grin bursts forth, and I like it.
Too much.
Why can’t I control myself around him?
The following night, I head into work. Growing up, never in my wildest dreams did I think I would end up stripping for a living, but here I am. My parents died in a car crash when I was thirteen. My mother’s younger sister, Veronica, took me, my sister, and my brother in, and I hated living under her roof. She never liked us, and at the time, I had no idea why she wanted us living with her. I thought that she must have felt obligated, because it was either we go live with her or be put in foster care. I realised soon it was because of the money my parents left us. As our guardian, Veronica was in charge of our money. I haven’t seen a cent of it. When my brother Brody turned eighteen, he took my sister London and me and moved us in with him. Veronica didn’t want to let us go, but somehow, Brody worked out a deal with her. I’m pretty sure it involved paying her a lump sum of money each month.
Brody never spoke about it with me. We moved back into our family home, which had been rented out all that time. Brody paid for all the bills, until London and I were old enough to work part-time jobs to help out. Everything was going okay until Brody met Elizabeth. They were married within six months, and London and I both left the month after that. Elizabeth made it clear we weren’t welcome. I’m not sure if Brody knew the extent of her bitchiness. How someone as kind as my brother could end up with a witch like her, I will never know. London and I never really got on, even as kids, and without Brody there to hold us together, we went our separate ways.
I had moved into a tiny one-bedroom apartment, started uni, and worked at a supermarket to make ends meet. Money was really tight, and I was struggling. I met a guy at uni, and we started to date. Everything was going fine, until it wasn’t. Mark turned out to be a total douchebag. I wanted to finish my degree so I could get a good job, and I needed extra money desperately. Toxic is a well-known strip club, with several different locations. Toxic girls are known to be beautiful, stacked, and talented. They don’t accept just anyone to work at the clubs, and that’s just me stating facts, not being egotistical. With my long white blond hair, big blue eyes and double d’s, let’s just say they welcomed me with open arms. When Brody found out where I worked, he cut me out. He said he never wanted to see me again. I’m sure Elizabeth put him up to it, but either way, I gave him what he wished for.
I haven’t spoken to him since. It hurt then and it still hurts now, but life goes on.
After six months of working, studying, and saving, I left Melbourne and moved to Perth. My manager at Toxic made sure I already had a job when I arrived. Different state, same shitty occupation. I transferred universities, found an apartment, and here I am. I may be a stripper for now, but I know I’m going places. I’m going to get my degree, work my ass off, and be proud that I achieved something all on my own. I’m going to be a history teacher. Someone with a respectable job, doing something that she loves. I want to be that person so badly it almost hurts. I will be that person.
I stare at my reflection, and puff out a sigh. My long hair is teased, like a puffy white cloud, my blue eyes rimmed in black kohl. Red lipstick, the colour of blood, paints my lips. My dress is tacky, black lace and tightly fitted, over a red bra and thong. It’s pretty much lingerie. Heels so high they should be illegal cover my feet, making my legs look like they go for miles. I look nothing like I do during the day. This costume is a mask. A slutty mask. I clear my mind, knowing there is no point dwelling or playing around with ‘what ifs’. I’m here because this is where the decisions in my life have led me, and although I might not be exactly proud of what I do, it’s a means to an end.
And I won’t be here forever.
“Snow, you’re on,” Temptress, another dancer, calls out to me.
“Okay, thanks,” I reply, my voice dead even to my own ears. I stand up, forgetting myself as I become Snow. I block out everything and concentrate on one thing; getting through the performance. I take in a few deep breaths, and then down the tequila shot sitting on the dressing table. I wince as the liquid slides down my throat, but I need the liquid courage. I fix up my lipstick, and then walk out onto the stage.
Chapter Four
Snoop’s “I Wanna Fuck You” starts to play. I keep my back against the pole, facing away from the audience. I concentrate on the feeling of the cold metal against my skin. The lights turn on; they are dim but enough that I can be easily seen. A few men whistle, and then start to yell out as I swivel my hips, slowly lowering myself down the pole. When I’m crouching low, I sit forward onto my knees, and then spin so I’m facing everyone. The cheers get louder, and I try to tune them out as I raise my hands and hold onto the pole, opening my thighs as wide as they can reach. Then, in one sharp move, I pull myself up and spread my legs out, so I’m doing a split. Lowering myself to the ground, I sit there for a few seconds, before I lift myself up until I’m standing. I walk around the pole, so the men have an unobstructed view of my ass. I lift the lace dress off me and throw it on the floor. More catcalling. I bend over and hold onto the pole, sticking my ass out, wearing nothing but my thong and bra. I start shaking my ass, like you see on music videos. The men seem to love it by the looks on their faces when I turn back around.
Classy bastards.
I stand up straight and step closer to the pole, pulling myself up and wrapping my legs around. When I’m steady, I lean backwards so I’m hanging upside down. Yes—I’ve picked up a few tricks along the way. My huge boobs push up into my face, almost suffocating me. The men call out lines I’m sure they would never say to any other woman, or at least I hope not. I pull myself upright and swirl around the pole, then slide down and do a little shimmying. I undo the back of my bra and let it drop. This is the part I hate the most, the part where I have to go into that place in my head to perform. The red lace lands on the floor, and the whistles and catcalls get louder than ever. I avert my gaze and gyrate my hips sensually, and then turn back to work the pole some more.
I just hope the night passes quickly.
I let the water drip down my face, scrubbing off all traces of makeup. I wash my face three times, making sure it all comes off, not wanting any more curious questions from Grayson.
Grayson.
It would be a lie to say I’m not excited for our date. Okay, I have butterflies just at the thought of our date. I turn the shower off and wrap my white fluffy towel around me. I double-check my face in the mirror, grabbing a wipe to remove the remaining black smudges under my eyes. Then I dry my body and hair and put on my pyjamas. Sliding under my sheets, I sigh in contentment. My feet ache from wearing those ridiculously high heels, and it’s not long before I fall into a deep sleep.