Crook | K.th

Crook 13: A Taste Of Paradise

/Jimin P's POV/

Body glitter, dangling earrings, a few hits of nicotine and shots of perfume. Jimin depended on these things to get him through a rough and busy night at the red room. Flaunting around while wearing tight leather jeans with a pretty face wasn't anywhere near enough, no matter how hard people tried to convince him. If you worked in this profession you would always need to take the extra mile. It was always important to have something to fall back on. While he had the rhythm, the grace and the beauty - he needed an enhancer if he wanted to be the fun, open minded party boy everyone wished to enjoy in the paradise room. After all, Park Jimin was human too.

"You're up pretty boy. Don't keep 'em' waiting, it's a busy crowd."

Jimin looked over his shoulder as Athena, a well known and widely liked dancer pat him on the back and strutted vast in her knee high, thin heeled leather books. Jimin furrowed his brows, that familiar wave of anxiety washing over him just as it always did moments before he hit the stage.

Liyah wasn't here tonight which meant all of the pressure fell upon his back. They fed off of each other's talent, each other's popularity. Although that was the case, Jimin had to admit that his crowd was much more different than Liyah's. Both women and men alike enjoyed Jimin but a lot of the men were closeted with their desires and thus, preferred to privately have him rather than support him out in the open.

It caused for a lot of backlash on Jimin. Men would call him slurs in the audience and bestow violence upon him. Although Jimin was perfectly capable of defending himself, the security guards had to intervene one too many times. Jimin's anxiety wasn't uncalled for nor was it unprovoked. He felt this very way for a reason but was forced to put it to the side because of the money one round of dancing alone brought to him.

"I'm ready." Jimin sighed, smudging his cigarette out in the dark blue ash tray sitting upon the counter. He stood up, pushing his hair back on his head. Wearing short leather shorts that cut into his thighs. He wasn't shirtless, a sleeveless tank hanging loosely off of his shoulders and chest to expose the tattoos he had gotten inked on his once pure melanated skin. The dangling earrings he wore, silver and shaped like crescent moons, are cold upon the side of his face and neck. The hint of glamour on his eyes, dashes of blue eyeshadow enhance the brown warmth of his eyes.

He smelled of cigarettes and cinnamon as he walked. Turning heads as he was forced to put on a facade, a face of courage and dignity although he was once again scared shitless. He could hear the rowdy noises from the crowd outside and he knew that Athena's words were no exaggeration.

Taking a deep breath, Jimin steps out on to the stage. Right behind the Dj booth where he requests one of his favorite go to's -

You Don't Own Me by Lesley Gore.

As the tempo hits the speakers, Jimin struts out on stage. The pink and red lights serve as a cloak. A protective shield of the fragility and anxiety he once felt moments before hitting the stage. This was now a Jimin that didn't have to hide. A Jimin that could not be tamed. A Jimin that simply could not be owned. By Bobby, by his parents, by anyone.

He fucking loved to dance to this song.

'You don't own me,
I'm not just one of your many toys
You don't own me,
Don't say I can't go with other boys...

And don't tell me what to do,
Don't tell me what to say
And please, when I go out with you,
Don't put me on display'