Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 26976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
“I know you from somewhere, right?” I ask, letting Ronan know I fucking know the company he’s keeping is a stripper. I’ve fucked my fist to Nina’s face a few times in the safety of my bedroom.
She blushes and shakes her head in vehemence. “No, I don’t think so.”
Nina wants to keep her secrets and I want to keep mine. When I nod at her, to let her know I’m not going to make shit awkward by announcing where I know her from, she lets out a breath of relief. Ronan watches me with narrowed eyes. By letting him know I know her, I’ve given him a tad bit of information on me, but there’s no way he has any idea how fucked in the head I am. I’m barely trying to understand it myself.
Ignoring them both for now, I turn my attention to the stage. My sister—sweet, little Sofina—is all grown up and flapping her wings. I’ve raised her, but it looks like her time to fly is now, and I’ll be left in the nest all alone.
Her beautiful voice belts through the speakers sending a chill down my spine. She owns the stage, the audience. Fuck, and judging by the way Ronan’s puppy dog eyes drinking her in, it’s clear she owns him too, not the other way around. Maybe I’ve been looking at this all wrong. Maybe she’s not leaving me… maybe she’s setting me free—setting us both free. If Sofina can go after her dreams, maybe I can too. My mind drifts back to my college days when I was happy and in love. I could always go back. Start over. Find me. As Sofina sings, for the first time in years, a tiny seed of hope grows inside me.
I tried to stay away, but I can’t. It’s not like I’m getting laid. Not that I can’t, it’s just I don’t want to. No one ever measures up to perfection. When I watch, they remain perfect as they can be. I don’t hear their voice that’ll be all wrong. I don’t kiss them knowing they don’t kiss like her. I don’t fuck them wishing they were someone else. Watching is safe.
Nina isn’t here tonight and I’m glad. Another girl named Fiona wriggles her ass on the stage and I stare at her from afar. Countless guys throw money at her and she lets a few of them tuck the bills into her G-string.
Not me.
I usually set a handful of bills at their feet before I walk away in shame.
I nod my head when a blonde asks if I want a private dance.
Creeping through the club to the backroom, I watch her nice ass jiggle in booty shorts a size too small. I let her lead me into a dark room and to a red leather seat in the shape of a half-moon anchored around a pole.
“You want lap or pole?” she purrs.
“Don’t speak or touch me. Dance like it’s for you,” I order, taking a seat. “Show me how much you love yourself. Pretend I’m not here.”
She shrugs her petite shoulders and climbs up on the pole. It’s fucking crazy the way they can move their bodies, like a snake around its prey. Twisting and contorting like a gymnast.
She’s pretty in a cute way—pale skin like porcelain, big blue eyes, doll like features, and natural tits that bounce with her movements.
Playing the game I started, her eyes never stray to me. Instead, she looks down at herself, admiring and touching like a good girl.
My chest lifts with labored breathing as my urges react to watching her. Seeing her so involved and in tune with her own body has the blood rushing to my cock. She’s bending and curling around the pole like it’s part of her, while slipping a hand over her flesh, groping and getting lost to the pleasure of her touch.
Pushing down her shorts, she reveals a bare, thick-lipped pussy—a tattoo on her mound flutters with her movements. It’s of a butterfly. A smirk tugs up my lips, and then memories of designing and getting my first ink propels me from the moment, before plunging me into guilt. Self hatred and regret.
Who have I become?
Watching a life from afar, but never participating.
I need a change of scenery. I’m getting the hell out of this town and going back to a place that stole so much from me.
I’m going to steal a little bit of it back.
Fucking watch me.
Seven months later…
Controlled chaos is what I love most about living in the city.
Everyone rushing around, going to their jobs—homes—hobbies. Taxi drivers honking at each other in traffic. The hustler on every corner selling some knock-off shit no one needs.
It’s calming, in a fucked up way.
Only in a city like Boston can you be surrounded by people, but feel alone in your own space. Your own thoughts. People mind their own fucking business, and everyone has a different reason for being here. It’s freeing in a sense.