Between the lines • a between us sequel (Ellie Williams x female oc)

𝟐 • 𝗀𝗈𝖽𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌

How was the supposed to come across as anything other than being disappointed that I was still home?

It would've been different if she was straight up about how she felt, but it wasn't like she was trying to hide the fact she was looking at me in that way.

Was she just pent up? It's only been a week, but your hand can only do so much considering how often we were doing it before.

Whatever.

This is girlfriend drama, and that's something we never were.
There's no point in stressing about it now.

-

The club was how you expected it to be on a Thursday night- quiet, but still busier than it should be.

My fingers were wrapped around the pole as I danced around it in a tantalizing slow pace, milking the strangers of their worth without breaking a sweat.

Next, I was on all fours, crawling closer to the men that where sat at the front, and then I was on my back before turning onto my stomach, clicking my heels together as my legs swung back and forth.

It was a lazy routine. Low impact. But tonight's crowd wasn't worth much more than that.
I was dissociated, not feeling the music how I normally would, and instead, I found myself wanting to go home.

But home wasn't the townhouse I shared with Abby, hell, I'm not sure it existed anywhere outside of my mind.

I was back on all fours, arching my back with my chest pressed against the hardwood when I hear a slap, followed by a prickling sensation spreading across my ass cheek.

I sat up quickly, not caring about my heels digging into my skin, which hurt more than the actual slap.

I looked between the handful of men, landing on the one that looked the most pleased with himself- a slimy grin plastered on his face as he alternated between sipping from his lukewarm beer and inhaling from a cigar in his other hand.

"No touching." I waved an impatient finger in his face, but I kept my tone flirtatious, and if he weren't so fucking drunk, he would've known it was blatant sarcasm.

I didn't want a repeat of last week when the cops had to be called on a customer because he had gotten physically violent with one of the girls.

He said nothing, but even the rim of the bottle failed to hide his fucking smile.

His face alone made me feel dirty, like a coat of grease on my body, so, I turned around, still on my hands and knees, and extended my hands far out in front of me with my ass high in the air.

It made it more bearable not being able to see them, and helped me picture it being someone else I was doing it for.

Ellie.

Abby.

Or maybe someone who doesn't exist yet.

I swayed my hips back and forth, feeling the bass vibrate my chest through the floor, and then, I feel it again.

The prickling, but this time, it was harder.

I turned over, knees feeling numb under the rest of my body weight, and just stare at him.
It felt like minutes I did this, feeling so much hate and disgust for a man that looked like the dictionary definition of a fucking creep, and it only intensified as he leaned forward in his chair.

He inhales from the fat log between his index and thumb, blowing a cloud of smoke between our faces.

A thick mustache muffled his dry, conniving voice as he spoke, and beer hot on his breath.