Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Dahlia

S hivering in the alley in my skimpy bra and panty set with a coat buttoned up over it, I lean along the brick, my head dropped back against the wall. The last few years have sucked donkey balls.

The things I’ve had to do to survive make me shudder if I have to think too hard about it, which is why I don’t like to.

Instead, I tell myself that the desperate things I’ve done don’t count if it means I’m alive and away from Gareth Davies. He may have said he was letting me go, but I’ve seen some really sketchy people around the last couple of years.

Men in nice clothing and greasy hair that shouldn’t be slumming it in Belmont. I may be paranoid, but it keeps me alive. I spent a year living on the streets, despite what I told the girl on the phone earlier.

I stayed in shelters that accepted teens who were on their own and didn’t ask many questions upon intake, and I left whenever they started to.

When I turned seventeen, I lied about my age and started dancing at Percy’s strip club. The tips helped me get into an apartment with a few other people looking to share, even if I had to suck one of the guy’s dicks, because I didn’t have enough for what he called “first and last month’s rent.”

See? I’m not proud of it, but Frankie never bothered me again, and I spent the night puking and brushing my teeth obsessively. That was the first and last blow job I’ve ever given.

I’ve had people hit on me at work various times over the last few years or ask me out, yet I can’t think of anything I want less. I’m still in love with Bronwyn, and lately I can’t stop thinking about Jack.

I don’t know when it happened, but his mismatched eyes have been haunting my dreams.

One time, I swear I saw him. It was springtime two years ago in Michigan, and I saw a man with a gorgeous tattoo of roses on his bicep and a beautiful dragon on his forearm come out of a high rise.

I was sad on my eighteenth birthday and was buying myself a small gift, a poor replica of the necklace Jack bought me on my fifteenth birthday. I was nostalgic, I guess. Every day is a struggle to keep myself from trying to find them, and one day I went so far as to go out to his house.

But, he doesn’t live there anymore, and I didn’t eat for two days, because I spent so much money to get out there. The buses don’t run to his house, so I got a ride share.

The day I saw him, Jack was wearing jeans and a white T-shirt. I don’t know where he was going, but his hair was a messy mop on his head, and longer than I ever remember seeing it.

He walked right past me. My hair isn’t as sun streaked as it used to be, but if it had really been Jack, he would have seen me, right?

Blowing out a breath, I check my watch to see if it’s time to go back in after my break. I don’t have a cell phone because I can’t afford it. I make decent money, but I have other priorities.

I bought a small safe, a laptop, and am studying to take the test to get my GED. I don’t want to dance forever, and I know my body won’t always look like this.

The safe is to keep my shit away from grabby fingers, because I’ve had things stolen multiple times before. It’s as if every time I begin to get ahead, my shit head druggy roommates steal my things.

The only reason why I’m still there is because I know I can afford the rent, even if my life goes to hell in a handbag.

My share of the rent is one night of dancing, even on a slow night. The reason I’m trying so hard to save is because I want to enroll at a college, even if it’s community college. My dreams of fancy schools have been shattered and bombed since I never finished.

It’s hard to continue an education when the goal is simply to wake up one more day.

Even though I called the Keller Crisis Center today before work, I’m not suicidal. Instead I’m lonely and depressed. Talking to someone who is paid not to judge me was nice for a little while.

Bowen reminded me of Bronwyn, and when I heard her voice I almost said her name.

I’m glad I didn’t, because the truth would have been even worse. I’m just a sad girl who ran away. I don’t care what Bowen says, maybe I should have chosen differently. I just hope Bronwyn got the fuck out of that house.

“Dee, it’s time!” a voice calls, turning my head.

“Okay, I’m coming,” I murmur, walking back into the club.

“Are you okay?” Hailey asks. She’s been working at the club since before I started, and is really sweet. She invites me out sometimes, but since she usually wants to go clubbing and I’m underage, I decline the invite.

Keeping so many secrets is exhausting.

“I am, just got a little stuck in my head is all,” I explain with a smile.

I’ve become a seasoned pro at walking and dancing in heels over the last few years while working here. When I need to practice my sets, I’ll come in early to the club, which is typically fine since it’s what everyone else does as well.

Percy is actually a woman, the owner of the club, and a hardass. That doesn’t mean to say she’s not a great boss though, because she is.

It still doesn’t change what I do for a living.

There are girls who do what they call “extras” for the club. A portion of the money goes to them, and Percy keeps the rest. She’s asked if I want to be considered for it, but I’ve abstained.

I’m getting tired of the Michigan winters though, because my apartment doesn’t have any heat. Instead, the only difference between sleeping on the streets and my small room is indoor plumbing, a roof over my head, and a mattress on the floor.

It’s still better than nothing.

I’ve been thinking, and I think I’m going to begin looking at Florida schools. I may be able to find one that’ll take me, and if not, community college will do just fine while I get a job down there.

I still need money though, so it’s time to stop daydreaming and start dancing.

Heading to the changing rooms to take my coat off and check my makeup, I look in the mirror at myself. Setting my coat aside, I thank Percy and the curly girl Gods that she provides hair products and makeup for us.

There’s more than enough clientele here, so most of the girls aren’t catty either. The one thing I’m responsible for is my outfits, and there’s a store that sells lingerie and accessories for cheap around the corner from my apartment.

There’s only so much sharing I can handle. This is where I draw the line.

I guess it also helps that I do more pole dancing than private dancing, and I refuse to do any “extras”. The thought of being passed around night after night makes my skin crawl. Call it the trauma of my past and Gareth raping me repeatedly the night I left the mansion, but I just can’t.

Not even if it’ll allow me to get the fuck out of here.

A tiny thought always crawls through when I think about this. What if it was one and done? Would I do it then?

Working some water into my hair, I tame my wild brown curls a little. The crowd loves how long my hair is, so it works for me. My bra is pushing my tits up high, my tiny thong is leaving little to the imagination, and my heels make my legs look long and lean. I guess I’m ready.

“Ready, kid?” Percy asks, lips twitching as I turn around.

She’s probably in her fifties, but her skin looks flawless, outside of the lines around her lips due to smoking. It makes me wonder if she gets botox, just not enough to ask. I do enjoy working here, after all.

Her blonde streaked hair is always pulled up into a high ponytail with curls, and she vacillates between wearing too tight dresses and jeans.

It’s as if she’s two different people warring for dominance. The one that likes wearing jeans and a tank-top always finds some way to dress even that up, and she only dresses down while working in the office. If she’s on the floor, the dresses are in full force.

“Ready,” I say, adding a little bit of special lotion to my palms that will ensure my hands will stay sweat free so I can grip the pole better. Walking toward the door that’ll take me up to the stage, I think about how each day is the same.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

In a lot of ways, dancing saved me. As the music washes over me, I find a way to be someone else for exactly as long as the music plays. Nothing else matters as my eyes heat and my lips curve in a sultry smile.

It’s one of the reasons so many people request me when I’m done dancing. The issue is, I’m not this person when the last notes fade away.

I think my personality started to fracture when Gareth introduced me to keeping secrets with his late night visits. The threats ensured my screams were locked up tight, so I threw myself into living fully in the light as much as possible. I’m used to being multiple people now depending on the situation.

My high, strappy heels hit the stage as I dance, my hands reaching above me to grab the pole, so I can lift myself into a slow turn around it. My routine builds with the music until I flip myself upside down on the pole and remove my bra, tossing it to the side.

The catcalls and yells don’t seem to touch me outside of letting me know that what I’m doing is working.

By the time I’m done, there’s a lot of money on stage, and one of the guards scoops the cash into a hat for me as I grin at everyone. Topless, I walk back to the changing room to wear something else to walk the floor, after I put away the money I just made.

Any tips I make from working the pole or private dances are mine to keep. I have three more hours before my shift is over. I hope the time flies.

Three in the morning looks and feels different when you have to walk home alone after work. I’m not a hero, I dress as warmly as possible on the way to and from my apartment. The temperature dropped from when I took my break earlier, my breath feeling as if it’s freezing in front of me.

“Fuck,” I whisper as I head out the back door to begin walking. I’m wearing a warm sweater, heavy dark pants covering my legs with boots, and my coat tightly buttoned over my clothing.

I have no other winter gear, so the walk home is going to be miserable.

I keep hoping that it’ll warm up for a day or two to give me a break from the cold, but since we’re in the middle of January, it’s basically impossible that’ll happen. I made five hundred dollars tonight, I think I need to just break down and buy myself a pair of new gloves and a scarf.

These were some of the items that recently were stolen from my bedroom, because I didn’t think I’d need to put them in my safe.

Maybe I just need a bigger one.

“Excuse me,” a voice says from behind me as I begin walking toward the road. Turning my head, I see a man pushing away from an expensive car is speaking to me. Fuck, I didn’t even realize anyone was parked back here.

There’s a small space in this alley, I’m going to have to start checking there. It’s never been an issue before in the entire time I’ve been working at Percy’s club. My heart begins to hammer in my chest as I imagine that somehow, Gareth found someone to find me.

“Whatever it is, I’m not interested,” I say gruffly, even as my voice wobbles.

“Woah, I swear, I don’t want anything except to offer you a chance at more than dancing here,” he says, hands up in the air as if to say that he doesn’t want to hurt me. He also stops walking closer to me.

“I came in to watch you because someone mentioned you were incredible, and they were right. I should probably take a second and ask to make sure I have the right girl before I tell you any more about my offer. Do you want to dance in this club for the rest of your life?”

“No,” I say. “Why are you here? I don’t understand.”

“I find people who are in a rough place in life, who need some money, and are desperate enough to give up their bodies for a weekend,” he says.

The thought of this should make me crawl. I was just thinking about all of the reasons why I wouldn’t do extras for the club…

“How much?” I rasp, my throat dry. He’s right, I can’t do this for the rest of my life. There has to be more.

“A guaranteed five hundred thousand dollars, and the auction is held on one specific night,” he says with a nod, pulling out a card and showing it to me.

I guess I was really jumpy earlier if he’s telegraphing every action now. Get a grip, Dahlia.

“That can’t be real,” I breathe. “I seriously would have sex with someone for one weekend for that?”

“I know it sounds out of the norm and outlandish, but I promise that everyone who has done this has lived to tell the tale to others in your exact position,” he says.

“I get paid to find people like you. This is real, all you have to do is email this person on the card. He’s my boss, and he’s completely responsible and above board. Take a chance.”

I was the last person to leave the club out the back before Percy locked up, so there’s no one to judge me if I do this. If I don’t at least email the address on the card, I’ll lay in my shitty bedroom for ages and kick myself.

No more regrets. It’s just one night, and then I get out of Detroit to do all the things I want.

Except see Jack and Bronwyn…

Telling my traitorous thoughts to get lost, I nod and gingerly walk forward to take the card from the man.

“Okay,” I say. “Yeah. Thank you. I will.”

Turning around, I walk away as if my hair is on fire, ready to go home and be done with today. First, I make sure to tuck the card in my pocket. My money is in my crossbody purse inside my coat, because I’m determined to make sure this money ends up in my safe.

Sure, they could steal the thing, but I splurged and it’s really fucking heavy.

As I scurry up the stairs to unlock the front door to the building, I sigh as it sits slightly off the hinges. This isn’t the first time this has happened, unfortunately. It probably won’t get fixed until spring or summer at this rate.

Whispering a prayer that everyone is asleep in my apartment, I shove the busted door open and wiggle my way in. Sighing, I walk up two floors and unlock my apartment door. Everything is silent, except for Frankie’s room where he’s loudly fucking someone. Better her than me, honestly.

Making a face when the girl starts to moan like a porn star, I shake my head and make sure to lock the door behind me.

“Goddamn it just come already!” one of my roommates yells, making me cover my mouth as I stifle a giggle and run to my room.

Sighing, I wish there was a lock on my door, but there isn’t. The best I can do is shove a chair under the door knob. I stole one from the kitchen table one day for this purpose, and when no one complained, I kept it.

Secure in the knowledge that I have a barrier between myself and the outside world, I open my small closet and drop to my knees to open my safe.

Counting the cash I got tonight, it goes directly into the safe, and I pull out my laptop. Ironically enough, the city has free WiFi by my house, allowing me to use it at all hours of the day or night.

As enticing as the man’s offer was, I need to do a little research before I send any emails out.

The card in my hand states that Club Lust is doing an event called A Night to Remember Auction, which is the event the man was telling me about. When I pull up the website that’s also on there, my jaw drops.

It looks so professional and legit. They put together an auction with both men and women, and people bid on them for a weekend. They vet everyone to make sure they’re a good fit before inviting them to participate.

The man meant it when he said everything was above board and professionally done.

Chewing on my bottom lip, I decide to email them and see what will be expected of me if I’m accepted. I only live once, and even though I’m a virgin, it doesn’t mean anything to me anymore, since I’ll probably never find anyone worthy of it. May as well use it to get me out of here.

Looking around from the floor of my closet, I think about how pitiful my life is.

“Time to get the fuck out of here,” I mutter, opening my email tab. Quickly firing off a message with all the information they’ll need from me, I humbly explain why I’m interested in entering the auction.

Yawning, I put my laptop back into the safe and lock it all up, shivering. I don’t have the energy to change my clothes because it’s so cold, so instead I simply crawl over to the mattress and burrow under the blankets.

Despite the sounds of Frankie and his slut fucking, I’m still out like a light pretty quickly.