Chapter 2
EMMA
Was true happiness possible, or was it all a lie?
A gift wrapped up in shiny paper to make us want to survive another day.
Like the kisses my father used to place on my forehead to trick me into thinking he wasn’t an addict, and that our family wasn’t broken.
Were those fake moments the only thing I would ever have?
I found myself wondering that a lot lately. My entire life was like a long game of survivor, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to make it to the end anymore. What would be waiting for me, and would it be worth it? I wasn’t suicidal, I valued my life, I was just tired.
There were people out there who had it easy. Everything was handed to them on a silver platter. Not me. I had to fight for everything I had, including my tumultuous relationship with my father, who I hadn’t spoken to in months.
But when he called me months or even years from now, I would act like nothing was wrong.
Because I was the happy child. The one who never complained or pointed out his faults.
I was the good daughter that my father could depend on.
And every time I plastered that fake smile on my face, I lost a little more of myself.
Sometimes I wished I was one of those people who had it easy. At least I wasn’t the only one who had thoughts like that. Everyone wanted to be someone else at some point in their life.
Even the most fulfilled person had fleeting thoughts of what it would be like to be someone else. The only time we were truly happy with who we were, was when we were too young to be tainted by criticism.
If a five-year-old was told to be themselves, they wouldn’t understand. The entire statement would be crazy to them, because how could they be anyone other than who they were? What would the world be like if we could all stay that innocent?
That in my opinion, would be true perfection. Everybody would be accepted, and that would be it. No judgement, or criticism, just peace.
The sad fact was, that would never happen. People would always knock others down to make themselves feel better because we all craved one thing. To be adored. It wasn’t power or money that drove humanity.
It was the want to be wanted. So, we changed ourselves, and adopted personality traits to draw others to us. And people pleasers were the worst. I had so many personas that I wasn’t sure if the real me existed anymore.
There was Emma the daughter, who told child services that she fell on the playground when they came asking questions at school. Then there was Emma the foster kid, who cleaned the house every day because if she liked cleaning, then maybe her and her brother would get a loving family.
There was Emma the sister, who did everything she could to take care of her older brother, who was always getting into trouble. And there was Emma the good student, who worked hard to make people proud despite the fact that no one ever was.
All those Emmas had one thing in common. Every thought they had or action they took was designed to make someone else happy.
Breathing out a sigh, I rolled a white stocking up my leg.
The fabric was soft and smooth against my skin, and for a second, I imagined that they were a gift from an admirer who wanted nothing more than to see me smile. While it was a nice thought, it was a complete fabrication.
The stockings were in fact a gift, but the person who sent them to me didn’t care if I smiled. The only thing he wanted to do was jerk off while he stared at me on his computer screen.
My brother called me a hopeless romantic, but what was wrong with that? What was wrong with wanting a man to look at me the same way men looked at their women in romance movies? Other girls had that, when was it my turn? Where was my knight in shining armor?
Now, I’d like to think I wasn’t a selfish person, but I really needed a break.
Was it too much to ask for a little room to breathe?
I suppose it wouldn’t matter, I’d fake being happy anyway.
There were too many Emmas in my head for me to know what the real one wanted.
I couldn’t even answer the simplest questions.
If someone were to ask me what my favorite color was, I couldn’t honestly answer them. But I would tell them whatever color I thought they liked.
Sighing, I looked in the mirror at the girl staring back at me with glitter shining on her cheeks.
I envied her. She knew who she was. She wasn’t lost like I was. Some would argue that that girl was me, or at least a part of me. But she wasn’t. Ruby Rose was confident, sexy, and desired by the men who watched her cam shows.
I was none of those things. My first show was a perfect example of that. No one wanted that kind of awkwardness. And so Ruby Rose was born. My second performance was much better. Mind you Emma wasn’t in that one. Ruby was.
When I signed on with Behind The Lens, I never imagined it would lead to any kind of success. Especially considering that one of my rules was that my panties stayed on. But there was a surprising number of men out there who got off on it, and all of them liked the virgin thing.
Adult entertainment was not the career I saw for myself, but I had to pay for college somehow, and it was lucrative. If my brother Mitch didn’t have a gambling problem, then we might actually have some savings.
Mitch was the one who got me into this. He didn’t pressure me or anything like that. In fact, he tried to talk me out of it when I signed up. But he wasn’t one to talk. At the time Mitch worked for the same company making movies, which were much more explicit than my shows.
It was his experience that made me feel safe enough to try it myself. Even his best friend Vahn—who also made movies—had nothing but good things to say. And Vahn was a judgmental asshole. He was also the one person I didn’t try to please.
Vahn already thought he was the greatest thing out there. He didn’t need me adding to his oversized ego. That, and the first thing he said to me was ‘Why are you talking to me’. As if I had no right to, which was ridiculous considering that I apologized for him bumping in to me.
It was dumb luck that Mitch met him the same day, and they’d been inseparable ever since. He even lived with us.
At first things weren’t too bad, even with Vahn being our roommate. Then Mitch walked into a casino, and gambling took over his life. He started showing up late to work, sometimes too drunk to perform, and got fired.
When I showed up to pick him up that day, Lorna—one of the owners—pulled me to the side and talked about possible treatment. The Emma who wanted to please her boss, took the brochures and listened intently. But when we got home, the Emma who took care of her brother said nothing.
And so, we carried on. Mitch continued to gamble while I continued my college education, and did extra shows to cover his debt. I still had the brochures of the treatment centers Lorna recommended in my dresser drawer. Maybe one day I’d be brave enough to broach the subject with him?
After clipping my stocking onto my garter belt, I adjusted the firm and way too pointy fifties style bra I had on. I was a bit surprised at how well my look came out. The lingerie did not look comfortable—yet oddly was—and it took me two hours to get my hair right.
That was the hardest part. I had too many curls to get the soft waterfall like effect women in the 1950’s had.
So, I ended up doing the pinup girl thing.
I rolled it up in the back, used a lot of hairspray and gel to form one big curl for bangs in the front, and finished it off with a red bandana tied in the middle.
A wig might’ve been easier, but that felt like cheating. History should be respected, even sexual history. That was my niche so to say. My show was called A Step Back In Time With Ruby Rose. I dressed up in the sexy attire of the time and talked about the sexual norms.
Most of my audience probably didn’t listen to half the stuff I said, but it made me feel like I was more than something to jerk off to. That, and I was a history major so I could study while working.
The fifties wasn’t a decade I would’ve chosen, but it won the request. So, here I was, with pointy boobs and waist high underwear.
Although, I did have to admit that the lingerie looked pretty good.
Not at all what I expected when I got them.
I’d need a chisel to get all the product out of my hair, but that was okay.
I was actually kind of excited to do this one.
Picking up a can of hairspray, I gave my hair one more good spritz and coughed at the chemical taste lingering in the back of my throat. How women tasted anything back then was beyond me.
I needed to get a bottle of water before logging on, otherwise I’d be choking out my words. Since the boys weren’t home, I didn’t bother with a robe and walked out of my room to head to the kitchen.
The cockatoo in the large cage in the corner of the living room bobbed her head as I walked past. “Bawk, pretty Ruby, pretty Ruby.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I grumbled while rolling my eyes.
That complement was not meant for me. The bird’s name was Ruby. I was pretty sure that was Vahn’s way of poking fun at me. He called me parakeet for some unknown reason. Naming his bird after my alternate persona was just one of the many things he did to annoy me.
“Pretty Ruby, pretty Ruby.” The cockatoo continued to sing while dancing around her cage.
Once upon a time I liked birds, then Vahn got that thing.
I twisted of the cap on a bottle of water and narrowed my eyes on the cage. “If the zombie apocalypse happens, I’m eating you first.”
And how did the bird respond?
“Vahn is the master, Vahn is the master.”
Yup, my brother’s best friend taught his bird to say he was the master. That was the kind of asshole he was. He was also the kind of asshole who had a knack for picking the perfect time to catch me off guard. Like when I was standing in the kitchen in nothing but underwear.
The front door flew open, causing me to choke on the water that I was in the middle of swallowing. Vahn came barging in dragging my unconscious brother with him. It wasn’t the fact that Mitch wasn’t awake that disturbed me—it wouldn’t be the first time he was too drunk to walk.
It was the bruise on the side of his face that made me rush over when Vahn dropped him on the couch.
“Oh my god,” I reached out to gingerly touch the deep purple mark. “Did someone hit him?”
“Of course someone hit him.” Vahn snorted as if my brother getting knocked out was the most natural thing in the world.
“Why would anyone hit Mitch?”
My brother might act tough but he was a big teddy bear. He wouldn’t hurt a fly, unless the fly was our father. But that wasn’t his fault. There was only so much abuse a kid could take before they hit back, and Mitch took the brunt of our father’s anger.
Vahn’s brow rose. “Why do you think?”
That irritated look he was giving me meant only one thing. Mitch was gambling again. He said he was going to stop. Not that I believed him. Mitch saying he wasn’t going to gamble anymore was about as true as an abusive husband promising he wouldn’t hit his wife again.
Looking down at my brother, I sighed, “how much does he owe this time?”
I just finished paying off his last debt. Looks like Ruby will be doing some extra shows this week.
“Nothing,” Vahn said. “I convinced him to leave before he lost too much.”
That didn’t sound right. “You convinced him to leave?”
Mitch didn’t stop gambling, even when it was an emergency. Like when I was in a car accident while he was in the middle of a lucky streak with blackjack. The lucky steak cost me three grand on top of medical bills.
“Yeah.” Vahn nodded. “I’m that good.”
That was a typical Vahn response.
I crossed my arms. “No one is that good.”
The corner of his mouth lifted in a cocky curl. “I am.”
That charming spark in his dark blue eyes might work on other girls but not me. “You hit him, didn’t you?”
The amusement dropped off his face as he folded his arms across his chest. “So what if I did?”
So what if he did? “You’re his friend.” I pointed out. “And friends don’t hit friends.”
“That might be a rule in girl world,” he tsked and tipped his head. “Not so much for guys.”
I swear guys never left the playground. The rules to the game might change, but they played it the same way.
“Violence isn’t always the answer.” I stepped up to him and poked my finger in his solid chest. “Don’t hit my brother again.”
“Would you prefer if I dressed in some cute little outfit and stabbed him with my nipples?” He reached out and flicked the pointy tip of my bra cup.
That was when I realized how naked I was.
It was very hard to keep my mortification from burning across my cheeks.
I wasn’t ashamed of my body, but standing in front of someone like Vahn Kessler, who had washboard abs, a penetrating gaze, and thick chestnut hair that begged to be touched, I couldn’t help but feel inferior.
Not that I would ever let him know that.
Determined not to back down, I lifted my chin. “You couldn’t pull off this look.”
“Wanna bet?” He sang with a coy smirk.
No I didn’t. That was a bet I would lose. Vahn would look good in anything. He’d get hit on while wearing a potato sack. It was seriously annoying how attractive he was.
It might make me feel better if he was one of those guys who talked a big game but had no idea what they were doing in the bedroom.
But he wasn’t. Not that I’d seen any of his movies.
I did share a wall with him however. I heard more than enough over the years to know just how capable he was, which made me hate him a little more.
“I don’t have time for this. Some of us have work to do.”
My show was set to start in two minutes.
For some reason Vahn’s expression darkened as he folded his arms over his chest. “Well, you better get to it.”
“I will.”
“Good.” He leaned in, causing his hot breath to waft over my ear, “you don’t want to keep your fans waiting.”
Why did he sound angry when he said that? Whatever, I was not going to let him take his bad mood out on me. For all I cared, Vahn and Mitch could fight it out when my brother woke up. Mitch did owe him a punch.
Spinning around, I marched for my room.
“Have fun,” Vahn sang after me. “Maybe you’ll be able to come this time.”
I hope Mitch gave him a matching bruise when he woke up.