Obsessive Desire

With her head cradled in one hand, she teetered down the hallway, her legs dancing a tipsy tango beneath her weight, aiming for the bathroom.

Her heart raced with a rapid rhythm, echoing in her ears like a blaring fire alarm. The ground seemed to sway beneath her feet, rising and falling with each step she took.

This was what she got for agreeing to gulp down mixes of alcohol for a penny tip.

Leaning from wall to wall, she prayed that she didn't throw up before reaching the bathroom.

The presence of the soft classical music playing in the hallway intensified the nauseating sensation rising within her.

It was amusing. Even after seven shots, she hadn't passed out. And she could still make sense of her surroundings.

In a state of disarray, she stumbled into the bathroom and sought support by leaning against the closest door, trying to catch her breath.

A distaste filled her mouth at her reflection.

She loathed the cloth she wore. But she didn't have much of a choice in it. She was a stripper and she needed to dress like one. She had too little clothes on every day even though she hated it. And her hatred for it had intensified because of the freezing weather.

As the noxious taste of vomit hit her tongue, her hand went over her mouth as she swiveled.

Using her leg to nudge open the nearest door, she hurried made her way to the closet, and disposed of the unsettling things in her stomach.

Numerous combination of alcohol was too much for her stomach. But she couldn't let a thousand dollars pass her by.

The man promised to pay her a thousand dollars if she could down combos of alcohol without passing out.

June was willing. Now she suffered the consequences.

Her stomach was on fire. So was her throat.

She'd thought it was nothing. She and Lola got drunk on beer almost every day.

Oh boy, how wrong she was.

She soon realized that cheap beers weren't tequila nor was it whiskey.

Whenever it came to money, she turned invincible.

There were things she believed she wouldn't do until money was involved. Her boundaries vanished to never be seen again whenever money came into play.

Money never failed to bring out different versions of her.

The drunken June. The shameless June. The ass-kissing June. And forth.

After vomiting, she cleaned her mouth and face before settling unto the cold, tiled floor. Feeling utterly drained and fatigued, she could only gaze at the light fixture suspended above, causing her vision to blur and her neck to ache.

She harbored a strong distaste for stripping. But she had no other choice. She couldn't deny the fact that it had provided her with earnings far beyond mere part-time jobs would get her. And she needed money. She needed to make as ku j as she could.

For her younger siblings, Amy and Aiden. She wanted to give them the best. She would do anything to give them the life she couldn't experience. And she would make sure life wasn't hard for them as it was for her.

Her gaze dropped to her aching leg with blisters. Consequences of wearing a heeled shoe every day. Which was compulsory.

She was slowly breaking down. Stripping was taking a physical and mental toll on her. But she couldn't bring herself to quit because of the pay she got every night. Plus the tips.

She closed her eyes. The cold air streaming from the window seeped into her skin. Within minutes, drowsiness overtook her.

She shook her head intermittently to prevent herself from falling asleep as time went by.

Passing out in the bathroom was not idle for her. She would lose a whole lot of tips and she didn't want that.

After it felt like a century had passed, she finally opened her eyes. She shoved her hands into the small pocket of her mini skirt. Today she went with a miniskirt that barely cover her ass coupled with a fishnet thong and a tight blouse that rode above her belly button.

Elation bubbled in her as her fingers grazed over the bundle.

A massive smile spread across her face when her eyes landed on the tips. And all her efforts suddenly seemed worth it.

Though the man who tipped her crept her the hell out. It was better than a pervert Vip. The man had a fetish for seeing her drink alcohol.

She would choose the man over a pervert. Because she wouldn't be touched inappropriately and wouldn't be expected to offer sex because she was a mere stripper.

Out of all the lines she would cross, offering sex for money would never be among them. She would never do it. She would die first before she offered sex for money.

She sighed heavily. Lola was right all along. If she didn't want to go insane working in the club, she should start smoking. She heard from her best friend, Lola that it was a great stress relief. Though, she hadn't tested it out.

She curled into a ball and buried her head between her knees. Just for a few minutes, she thought as she closed her eyes and let herself drown in the quiet cold nights.

She wished she could stay like this for the rest of the night but it was no brainer. She couldn't. She needed to make money.

She was already drifting off sleep, when a deafening crash shattered the silence, causing her heart to jolt from the impact.

Not wanting to be a part of what was unfolding she dug her head deeper into her legs.

It was probably a fight she didn't want to be a part of.

Her head raised alarmingly when a high-pitched scream pierced through the aftermath of the crash

Confused and frightened she wondered what was going on.

Screams echoed from behind the door as she cautiously made her way to the hallway.

Stepping outside, she was met with a horrifying sight that left her utterly speechless. "Oh my God!" she gasped in shock.