Page 32 of Shamed
What have I done?
And more importantly, what am I going to do?
I heave and splutter apologies into the empty bathroom as I slide down the wall to the floor.
I let the tears fall for a long while. I let the harrowing grief take over while coming to a decision. Though “decision” seems like the wrong word, since I don’t feel like I really have a choice.
Either way, I know this is going to rot me from the inside out.
I was cracked already; my soul had a fracture that never truly healed.
But now?
Now I feel completely broken.
CHAPTER NINE
PART TWO
Jennifer - Two Years Later
Iadjust my crown, strategically placing it to hide the honey-blonde regrowth which has started to make an appearance, then place one more bobby pin in my hair tokeep it in place, making a mental note to get some more chestnut-brown hair dye tomorrow.
Sliding my gray eyes down my body in the mirror, I linger on the black lace lingerie, then the black satin fingerless gloves that go up to my elbows. Next, I adjust the garter around my thigh, making sure everything looks perfect.
One of the curls hanging down over my chest doesn’t look quite right, so I quickly use the curling iron on the vanity to fix it. Stalling. Once I’m completely satisfied, I step into my stilettos and walk to the door.
The nerves are there, like always, buzzing through my skin and swarming around in my stomach. But I ignore them, forcing myself to push past the discomfort.
You deserve this.
After sucking in a deep breath through my nose, I release it slowly between my fuchsia-coated lips, then step through the door and out into the dim,redmood-lit room.
Heads turn in my direction and eyes land on me, slithering down my body in a way I’m so familiar with, yethatewith every fiber of my being. I plaster a practiced smile on my face and walk through the room with a swing of my hips, immediately noticing how particularly sticky the floor feels tonight.
I’m guessing it’s from the bachelor party that was held here last night. It’s not surprising that they didn’t bother cleaning the floor properly. This place is one of the shittiest and seediestdives around and cleaning is not high on the priority list. Just the thought of what else is mixed in with the spilled drinks on the ground makes my gut roll.
I scan the area, making eye contact with patrons and watching them for a signal that I’m wanted. Sundays are usually on the quieter side, but it’s never empty here.
The club is one large, open rectangle space, filled with chairs and tables for drinks. A stage with two poles juts out in the center of the room, while a bar stretches across the opposite wall where a few people stand chatting while waiting for their drinks. To the right, is a hall that leads to the private dance rooms, changing rooms, bathrooms, and side exit.
A man who looks to be in his fifties dips his chin and crooks a finger at me, a command to come to him. I swallow down the nausea and sudden panic that surfaces every single time and make my way over to him, the remaining light in my soul dimming with each step.
The man who summoned me is flanked by two others around the same age, which is always preferable to us being alone. They’re all wearing suits and look well-off, which makes me wonder why they’rehereof all places. They must have taken a wrong turn at some point.
I guess it doesn’t matter.
“Hello there.” My voice comes out as a purr even as bile rises in my throat. “How can I help you this evening? Would you like a dance?”
“Well, I didn’t call you over for a conversation.” He pats his thighs and leans back in his chair.
I smile widely at him, as if that’s exactly what I wanted to hear, and set the timer on my watch.
Some clubs run things a little differently and go by the length of a song, but here, we go by ten-minute intervals—the owner and my boss, Chester, likes it that way.
Taking my mind far, far away to its happy place, I get to work, moving my hips in time with the music and grinding into his lap.
Zoning out is usually the only way I can get through a dance.
