Chapter 8: A Typical Day, Part 2

I could barely fit the key into the door to turn the lock. My legs felt wooden and my brain was stuffed with cotton. After eight hours of dancing, flirting with scores of men, and pacing the floors, I simply wanted to crash on the bed from exhaustion. I paused outside the apartment, listening to the sounds of League of Legends and Nick and Nolan playing.

"What the hell are they doing?!"

"I don't know man, but they're fuckin' insane!"

"Move! Move! Move!"

"Fuuuuck!!"

Lovely. Normally the sounds of their video game antics didn't bother me, but after the constant blaring of music, all I wanted was silence. Their incessant yelling began to grind my nerves before I even walked in the door.

I had also only made $120 that day. Those first few weeks were a bit rough to get used to, especially since I didn't immediately acquire loads of cash, like I had expected. I wanted the big cash: four or five hundred dollars per day. I tried to temper my green dreams with realism. Stripping was a lot more complicated than I expected.

Nolan was tall (6'5"), broad-chested, with a baby face. He had a small, cute nose, green eyes, and short-blonde hair. He was sweet, quick-tempered, extremely competitive, and loved video games. We were living together (in sin!) but that was more out of economic convenience than heartfelt commitment. We had moved into a 2-bedroom apartment to split three ways with a mutual friend of ours, Nick. Nick and I were best friends from high school, and he had introduced Nolan and I.

I turned the key and walked in. They couldn't hear the door shut over the sounds of mayhem and their own shouting at their (apparently) incompetent teammates. Immediately, I pounced on the fridge to find something I could eat that second; I was starving. Stripping seemed to burn calories like a furnace. I pulled out a banana and some yogurt.

When they noticed another person was in the apartment, they came up for air from their digital slaughter.

"Hey babe," said Nolan. "How was work?"

I was thankful my face was turned toward the open fridge, so he couldn't see my face. I re-felt the different hands on my legs, ass, and arms, re-heard clients calling me "sexy" and "beautiful," re-smelled the pungent mix of cologne and body odor. I attempted to dissociate. I'm at home now. Goodnight Rose.

"Fine," I said. Glancing over at the stack of dirty dishes in the sink, I frowned. I had washed them the day before and the sink was already a mess again. My frustration pooled, dripping into my heart, inserting itself into all the cracks where love should have been.

"Also," I continued, keeping my eyes firmly on my yogurt. "I managed to pick up an extra shift on Wednesdays and Sundays."

The library was closed on Sundays. I ignored the pebble in my heart.

"That's great, babe," said Nolan, swallowing the lies with ease. "See? I told you that everything was going to be OK. Dude," he said, turning to Nick. "What the fuck was that?"

"I don't know, man," said Nick, cracking his knuckles and stretching. "But our team sucks."

I reheated some leftovers and scarfed them without drawing breath. Picking up my beautiful, 13-pound, tortoise-shell cat, I crawled into the mattress and fell into a deep sleep.