by Gia Riley
My hands ball into fists, and I punch his back with all my might until his demanding kisses become less forceful, and I find myself hitting him less. Eventually, the struggle ends, and I find myself kissing him back. It confuses me so much, tears pool in my eyes. I blink once, and they fall onto Jasper’s face and then mine.
Jasper hesitates, but I don’t stop. I kiss him again and again to figure out if what I’m feeling is meant for him or Trey. Because they’re both running through my mind right now. I love Trey. I miss Jasper. And I don’t know what this kiss will mean once we stop.
I can’t do this. It’s wrong.
But how can kissing Trey feel so right when it’s against the law and kissing Jasper be wrong? I don’t understand. Why can’t I want Jasper the way I want Trey?
Because he doesn’t have my whole heart. There’s less history. Less need and want and desire. Less everything.
Jasper’s my safety net. He’s always been that for me, and kissing him only messes that up. We can’t be together. We’ll never be together.
I want Trey.
I’m positive.
But, if I love Trey, then why do Jasper’s lips feel so good on mine?
Why aren’t I pulling away as his hands roam up and down my back?
I can’t stop.
And I have no idea why I don’t want to.
Fear.
That’s what this is about.
Fear has me both paralyzed and intoxicated.
Twenty-Nine
Jasper
Taking chances, you can either make it or break it. Most teenagers are risk-takers. We’re supposed to make ninety percent of our bad choices before we graduate college and then get married. After that, all the fun and games turn into responsibilities and expectations.
I’ve watched it happen to my brother. Before he had a kid, he did as he pleased and got into his fair share of trouble. Bad decisions were as routine as going to work, and he didn’t seem to care. Until Lydia came along. Until his girlfriend panicked and left. She wasn’t ready for that kind of responsibility, and she left the baby with my brother, who had never changed a diaper in his life.
Because of his bad choices, I grew up. I became the guy who watched from afar and didn’t care what the rest of the crowd was doing. I paid attention to the invisible girl who was so lonely and afraid, she never looked up from the floor. She sat in class and pretended the teachers couldn’t see her even though they watched her with sadness in their eyes.
I waited for my moment, that one little glimpse she’d give me, and then I stepped in. I didn’t think she’d ever look at me, but when it happened, I felt it through every inch of my body. Turns out, I had been merely existing, too, and I was finally ready to start living.
With that one look from Winnie, my world went from routine, regular, and boring to exciting. Thinking about her spiked my heart rate. Seeing her almost made me have a heart attack. And, when we spoke, that was like forever bottled up in a jar. I knew it would only last for a short time, and that once the jar was opened, the moments we’d shared would evaporate into thin air. I thought that we could bottle up more moments and then release them together.
I wanted all of Winnie.
Until she came along, I had been afraid of relationships. I saw the hell my dad had put my mom through and decided I’d focus on a career instead. It was the only way not to get hurt. But life threw me a curveball, and when I least expected it, I caught feelings for the invisible girl.
Barely anyone else noticed when she walked by. They could brush against her or practically run her down, but they only saw a shadow of a person. Not me. I saw Winnie for her beauty, her light, her darkness, and I didn’t care about the demons she kept locked up inside. I had those, too.
Winnie wasn’t a project or a challenge to conquer; she was worth all the effort in the world. And that shy girl who was scary as hell to approach became my comfort zone.
“Jasper,” she mumbles against my mouth. It’s a mix between a groan and a plea to stop.
I back up and let her catch her breath. Mine’s lodged in my stomach, and my chest heaves as I stare at her. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, dazed but hopefully less confused than she was a couple of minutes ago. Because that kiss was everything. I didn’t plan it. It just felt right in the moment, and I don’t want to question it.
Winnie does though. “What was that for?” she asks with a shaky voice.
“That was a long time coming. Don’t you think?”
I can tell the moment she comes crashing down from the high of that kiss. The reality of what just happened sets in, and panic erupts. She tries to step around me, and I anticipate her move and block her from leaving.
“Please don’t run,” I tell her. “Talk to me.”
“I can’t.”
“Just say something. Anything.”
“I have to go.”
Touching her will probably make it worse. She hates being touched without warning. For some reason, she’s been okay with me. If anyone else had just kissed her the way I did, she’d be in the middle of a full-blown panic attack.
“Breathe, Winnie,” I tell her as I place my hands on her shoulders and wait for her to look me in the eyes.
At first, they dart everywhere, and when she runs out of things to look at, I get those stormy eyes back.
“I’ll let you leave, I promise. Just think about it. Before you run away and forget about this place, think about that kiss. Think about us.”
A tiny nod is all she can give me, and I don’t expect anything more. That was hard enough for her.
“I’ll call you,” she says. “When I can talk.”
She won’t. Winnie’s not good at initiating conversation. I’ll have to track her down and most likely coerce her to have another conversation. It’ll be awkward and somewhat forced, but I’ll do it because she deserves it. Because nobody’s ever taken the time to show her how much she matters—except Trey.
“I need you, Winnie. Just remember that. Wherever you’re going, imagine me with you.”
Her hand’s shaking when she reaches for the door again. I stay out of her way and let her feel the knob in her palm. It’s enough to steady her arm, and then she twists her wrist and throws it open. She’s in such a hurry to get to where she’s going—or maybe just to get away from me—that she jumps down the stairs and runs across the street.
As much as I want to follow her, I don’t. If I’ve learned anything about Winnie, it’s that chasing her does more harm than good. My face is the perfect example.
Thirty
Winnie
What have I done?
My feet pound against the ground, and I sprint as fast as I can toward The Whip. The strap on my bag is hanging on by a few threads, and one of us is going to break before I get there. I can’t slow down though, and every few steps, I look over my shoulder to make sure Jasper’s not following me. I’m still so mad at him and completely confused about the personality whiplash he’s giving me. One moment, he’s cold and closed off. The next, he’s grabbing me and kissing me so hard, I can’t breathe. But what did the kiss mean if he’s letting me walk away from him? He’s not the kind of guy to give up that easily.
I could probably make it inside the building without being noticed. The chances I’m being followed are slim, but I still stop at the playground, thankful that it’s empty. Once I tuck myself inside the tube slide, I stay crouched inside for a full twenty minutes until I’m positive I really am all alone.
If Jasper were following, he’d have peeked inside to ask me what I was doing. Trey already knows about my hiding spot, so he’d have looked, too. Still, I’m cautious when I climb back out and fill my lungs with oxygen that doesn’t smell like plastic.
My body’s stiff, and it’s harder to get my legs to move as quickly as I want them to. Ace must be waiting for me because he unlocks the back door from inside his office as soon as I press the intercom button. With my head down, I walk straight to his offi
ce. Nobody says a word to me.
He takes my bag and sets it on the floor, scanning me like Cindy did when she picked me up from the hospital. She did the same thing every time I came home, and I always wondered what it was she was looking for.
Ace isn’t stupid, but he’s not as cautious as Cindy either. I’m terrible at making eye contact on a good day. Considering I just made out with his brother, I’m even more awkward than usual.
“Are you okay, Winnie? You look a little pale.”
“I’m fine,” I tell him.
“Did Jasper come here with you?”
“No.”
Ace doesn’t push any further. He forgets about whatever might or might not have happened with Jasper and says, “Crystal gathered a couple of costumes from the dressing room. She said, when you’re ready, she’ll help you pick one.”
He pulls out a box from underneath his desk and sets it in front of me. I don’t think I’ve met Crystal, and I take that as a good sign. Tess never talked about her, so that must mean she’s one of the nice girls. Tess only ran her mouth about the ones who were threats.
But I don’t care what I wear tonight. I just want to put on what I’m told to wear and get this over with. The less I have to worry about, the better because too much stress will land me in the restroom with a razor. And I can’t go onstage with blood trickling down my thigh.
“You can choose. I have no idea what the customers want to see.”
Ace shows me a red wig and a blonde one, a few different dresses the size of postage stamps, and shoes to go with each one. They’re not the kind of heels I teetered around in before. These are even higher with thick platform bottoms. I’ve seen them on runways in my design classes. A few times, even the models couldn’t handle them, and they fell flat on their faces.
My discomfort is obvious, and Ace sets a silver sequined dress, clear plastic pumps, a black thong, and matching bra aside. I assume it’s the outfit he’s chosen for me until he dumps it into the trash can.
“I think we need a different approach, Winnie.”
“What do you mean?”
He checks the rest of the box and then sets it aside. “I’d expect any of the other girls to show up, wearing this stuff. You’re different though. You need a look that nobody’s ever done before.”
There’s a knock on the door, and Ace stops mid-conversation to check who it is through the peephole. He has to be as careful as I do. If the wrong person gets a glimpse of me, Ace can get shut down before this ever happens. I know it’s safe to stay where I’m at when he willingly opens the door and steps aside.
“Crystal,” Ace says, “did you get what I asked for?”
She nods and hands him a shopping bag from a store at the mall. The bag’s full of brand-new clothes with the tags still on. That makes me feel a little less trashy. I won’t be wearing hand-me-downs.
“What do you think, Winnie?”
There aren’t any tassels or rhinestones on this outfit. Not a single sequin either. Just a jean skirt, a red crop top, and a regular white bra and panties you’d find in any department store in America. No frills, no lace, just cotton.
The clothes are a lot like me—boring and not nearly sexy enough to draw a crowd or earn any tips.
As much as I don’t want to wear the other clothes, I’m honest with Ace because I want to make as much money as I can. “Girls at the mall show more skin.”
Laughing, he says, “I’ve seen you in heels, Winnie. I think boots and a bandana are safer.”
Without asking, Crystal pulls the hair tie out of my hair and runs her fingers through the damp strands. My shoulders stiffen, and she stops momentarily until I relax. I understand she’s here to help me, but if her touching me makes me cringe, how will I ever take my clothes off in front of a roomful of strangers?
She’s calm and gentle when she says, “How about we figure out your hair and makeup? Then, we can work on the music and do a practice run before it gets busy.”
Practice?
If I get on that stage, I’m going for it. I can’t even dance, but I’ll give it all I’ve got. I have to.
“That’s a good idea,” Ace says. “I have a couple of songs in mind. Go get started.”
These choices aren’t up to me anymore, so I say, “Okay.”
I got myself here, and now, they’ll help me see it through. Maybe they’ll even have a way to help me get out of my head long enough to be decent.
An hour later, Crystal has used all her makeup on my face, and my eyelashes are so heavy with the fake ones she put on top of mine, it takes actual energy to blink. She doesn’t let me look in the mirror until red hair hangs all the way down my back in long tendrils.
“I think we’ll call you Ariel,” she says. “Our very own Disney princess.”
Princesses don’t take their clothes off. Plus, Ariel was in the ocean, not a country girl on a farm with a jean skirt and boots.
“I’ll never be a princess,” I whisper.
That dream died along with my dad. He’s the only one who thought I came close. Now, I’m just a girl who strips and pretends.
“It’s really not so bad, Winnie. Once you get used to the makeup and hair, it’ll become part of you. You’ll relate more to your stage name than your real one.”
I don’t see that happening. Trey calls me Winn, and that’s when I feel the most like myself. He leaves out an entire syllable, and it’s still more fulfilling than my whole name.
“What was your first time like?” I ask her.
She sets the brush down on the vanity and leans against it. Her arms cross around her middle, and all the confidence she’s shown by taking care of me disappears. Crystal’s vulnerable, and I’m glad she’s not numb like Tess was.
“I was younger than you,” she admits. “The manager before Ace owned the apartment my mother rented from him. She had her fair share of problems and got behind on the bills. They worked out a deal that kept her off the stage and a roof over my head. I considered us lucky until he brought me to work with him one night. Mom had to work a double shift, and I called her about ten times, telling her I didn’t want to leave the house. He took me anyway, and I ended up back here with all of this. I had no idea this world existed. I thought strippers were only in the movies.”
“He made you dance?”
She nods and looks at the floor for a few seconds. When her eyes meet mine again, her pain is as real as my own.
“I danced to pay the rent. Mom worked in the office to pay the rest of the bills. Together, we kept the apartment.”
She doesn’t tell me how old she was. All she says is, “Sometimes, we do things we don’t want to do because it’s what’s best for other people. At the time, I wanted my mom to be happy and not stressed out and sick over money. I knew that, if we lost the apartment, we’d be homeless. So, for me, it was better to come here and do this than to face the alternative. I loved my mom enough to try.”
“But you’re old enough to be on your own now. Why do you stay?”
“We all have our reasons, some better than others, but once you get a taste, it’s not easy to walk away. You’ll make better money here in an hour than a month at another job.”
That’s what I want. The money.
“Nobody can find out. If they do, I’ll lose everything.”
Trey would hate me. Working in the kitchen was one thing, but the stage? He’d never be okay with that. And Jasper already thinks I’m a slut. He told the whole school. Being here would only give him more ammunition to use against me. Not that it matters. I’m not going back to school.
But it does matter, especially after the way he just kissed me. He hurt me, and I still care what he thinks of me. That’s the girl I am and always will be.
Crystal squeezes my hand and smiles. “If you walk out right now, nobody would blame you. Because, once the clothes come off, you can’t ever get rid of those feelings.”
Her honesty makes me second-guess everything. Even if I could dance and
was really good, I’m almost positive I’d never last more than a couple of weeks. That’s still a lot of time but not long enough for me to forget where I came from or who I don’t want to become. Because, every single time I look at the stage, I see Tess—her bad attitude, the drugs, the pain she inflicted—and I need to run away. I can only calm myself so many times before I’ll be back in the hospital because of myself.
I need some air, but Crystal says, “Follow me,” and I get up.
It’s safe to walk around in the makeup and wig. If I don’t recognize my own reflection, nobody else will either.
Crystal takes the back way toward the stage, so we don’t have to walk through the bar, and once we get to the curtain separating the lies from the real world, she pulls the side back and lets me take a look out into the pit. They call it the pit because it’s always full of vipers looking for their bite.
“When it’s your turn, stand in the center of the stage, right on the yellow dot on the floor, and let the spotlight shine on you until the music starts. As soon as you hear it, you’re on your own until the song ends.”
“Are they allowed to touch me?”
“Not onstage, only if you want to do a private dance in the back room. Technically, we’re not supposed to ever let them touch us, but you’ll get more money if you let them. Just remember that word spreads, so if you let one break the rules, they’ll all expect the same treatment.”
I can’t handle touching. It’d be too much like the nights in the trailer when I couldn’t move or open my mouth to say no. All I could do was let them do what they wanted until it was over.
“I need to use the restroom,” I lie.
And, while she stares into the pit and watches the vipers arrive, I take off toward the dressing room.
In the short amount of time I was gone, someone wrote Ariel above my mirror, like this is a permanent position. At first, I want to scratch it out, but the longer I stare at my reflection and those big black letters, I start to feel a little more like her and a little less like me.