Chapter 1
Tillie
Y ou would think that I would get used to the music, the lights, the smell of spilled alcohol seeping through the dirty linoleum floors, and smoke lingering in the air, but I never do.
The smell still turns my stomach with each small inhale.
Luckily for me, the color of flashing strobe lights across my face blind me from seeing anything beyond the stage, making it almost bearable, and blocking out the view of eager men sitting before me.
Hoots and drunken clapping fill the space as dollar bills fall onto the stage like confetti just as I jump up and grip the pole near the top with both hands to perform a fireman spin.
The back of my right leg clenches the shiny, slippery metal as I swirl around seductively.
My calf muscle burns from the grip I have on the pole as I descend to the stage floor, my neck arched back and my hair almost grazing the floor when I slide down slowly.
Just as Cardi B sings through the speakers ‘ Oh he’s so handsome what’s his name’, my long, slender legs touch the ground, ending the song in the splits, my seven-inch platform stilettos glittering in the lights.
Sweat coats the back of my neck making my long, brown hair curl at the ends and all I can hear is the ringing in my ears, my chest heaving after that grand finale.
“That’s right, baby! Shake that ass!” Some random guy shouts, laughing when his friends make catcalls.
Faceless, drunken, rowdy strangers reach out to grab me with their filthy hands but I’m already heading towards the stage exit in a slow stride.
The yearning to run always hits me hard after each time I’m on stage.
If I broke into a jog, it would get me attention I don’t want or need.
Sometimes I wish my body wasn’t curvy, that my five foot seven didn’t make my legs look shapely and long.
That my body would have stopped growing mid-teens, instead of growing breasts that drew every guys’ eyes there, and a bubbly ass to make my Latina side stand out.
Slightly big breasted, round ass, slender waist, and legs for days brought me attention I have never wanted.
What it means to be a woman, the attention you get when you least want it.
Jimmy, the money grabbing sleazeball, comes out of the darkened corner left of the stage and has a broom in his hand to sweep up the rest of the flying dollar bills when I am finally able to step off the platform behind the curtain.
I don’t bother collecting any of the money I’ve earned with my body.
It all just goes to the Joker's club members, I never see a dime and am only allowed the necessary items, like for instance the skimpy outfit I’m wearing tonight or my tennis shoes that are being held together with duct tape.
I’m basically on display, lined up under the lights like a meat market and it’s only a matter of time before I’m sold into the right greedy hands that Payne approves of.
My hands shake uncontrollably as I step into the dressing room and head right to the vanity just before my shaking legs collapse under me.
I sit down on the small stool, staring at my reflection under the bright bulbs and grimace in the mirror at my caked face.
Scrubbing viciously on one side of my face like I’m trying to peel a layer of skin away, I wipe the coats of foundation off that I’m demanded to wear.
Seeing the stranger looking back at me, it’s me but it’s not.
Who is the girl with one side of her face fresh, natural, and the other side hiding behind heavy coats of powder with red stained lips?
I can’t let myself stare too long at my face because rage always consumes me without knowing who the hell I am.
I see a girl with a heart shaped face, wide lips with a small indent in the middle, high cheekbones from her father's side along with a natural-born tan skin, smooth as whiskey, but littered from the neck down with deep scars inside and out. The worst of my scars that were inflicted onto my body over the years are now covered up with tattoos. Can’t have a girl roaming the school hallways with scars covering her body, too many people asking questions and it all comes back to me with a beating from dear old Dad.
Tattoos make more sense for someone like me because it’s expected with my background.
Everyone at school knows where I come from, it doesn’t go unnoticed that I’m always surrounded by men in vests and bikes.
It’s another reason why I don’t have friends.
They go running in the other direction even when I keep my head down, fear stretched on their faces from being within walking distance of me.
Appearing to be a normal girl during the day and stripper at night is like living with roommates.
Bravo to Payne because he got what he wanted.
A walking vessel with no one to turn to.
My wide, dark brown eyes say one thing in the mirror when I look back at my reflection but they're screaming at me to run, to find a new life before it’s too late.
Calling to me, telling me to just get up and leave, and never look back, but where would I go?
I’m so deep in thought, trying to find the girl who has a glimpse of something, anything, living inside her that I nearly jump out of my body when a hand grips my shoulder, jagged nails digging into my skin.
“A lady never shows her true face so put that fucking makeup back on.” Mom sneers down at me as she leans over my shoulder and grabs the tube of bright red lipstick, sitting down next to me on another stripper's vanity seat.
She grabs my chin forcefully and twists the lipstick cap off, forcing the tube of red back on my full lips with a trembling hand that shows signs of years of hard drug use as it eats away at her. She does the same thing, grabs foundation, swiping it across my face without looking me in the eye.
“Lorrie, I’m done for the night. I just put on my last show until next Tuesday. I have school in the morning.” My voice comes out calm and reasonable even though on the inside I’m scared like a newborn baby with its first thunderstorm.
Lorrie, Mom, the lady who birthed me is a cold hearted bitch who happens to be a snitch.
She always has great pleasure when she reports back to my dad with every little thing I do, even though she would like nothing better than to pretend I don’t exist. It was bad enough when I was a kid, having to figure out how to survive on my own while she was snorting cocaine up her nose with the dollars she used to earn on stage.
“You're done when I say you're done. Next song is on in five after CeCe, don’t disappoint me, Tillie. If only you were beautiful, you would be making more money and spending less time on the stage.” Her words used to cut me deep every time but now they only leave a small mark that gets easier to brush off.
I’ll never understand what I did for her to despise me so much, maybe it’s because I was born in the first place?
All I can remember growing up is her staring down at me with a disgusted look on her make-up coated face as if I was a constant reminder that she had a child to take care of.
She may be a mom but she doesn’t have the warming love of a mother for a daughter to back it up.
Hell, I don’t even look like her, I resemble that sick monster I call Dad.
It’s been two years since that night in the basement, where they tore me into pieces and fed my flesh to the wolves.
She never once came to my rescue even when my screams could be heard from a mile away.
I’ll always remember the slow smirk that overcame her face when Doris and I made it to the top stair.
Her gaze was all too pleased as she perched on Payne’s lap, looking me up and down like I was the filth beneath her shoe.
I felt like it too after that night, no matter how many times I showered.
Every limp and drag of my feet felt like stones being tied to my ankles and haven’t been cut loose since then.
To say I hate this woman is an understatement.
The reminder she likes to throw in my face that I’m just like her and will end up the same makes my heart race and wonder if there's a way out of this life before I really do turn into her.
“So young, such soft skin, absolutely glowing.” Her shaking hand smoothes down my cheek before scratching her nail over the same spot causing it to sting and draws a droplet of blood.
“But that will change soon. Very soon. I’ve been waiting for this day for forever.
” She has this slight glint in her eyes that makes my hands sweat because she only ever looks this excited when she’s snorting coke or taking a needle to her vein.
“Waiting for what?” My voice comes out in a scared whisper but I know she hears me over the pounding music because her red rimmed eyes show just how poisonous she is. They sparkle with joy and have me leaning back in my seat to put distance between us.