17BLACK

Chapter 3

This is it. The first day of many more to come.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror, putting on a brave face. I can do this. At least, I think I can. The fictional blue, confident train flickers through my mind.

After all, it's only a month. A month of uncomfortable working conditions, but nonetheless a month. Take out weekdays and that's like what, twenty three days?

Day one of twenty three.

My eyes droop from the lack of sleep I receive; I only managed to linger into unconsciousness for about three hours and I spent most of that time tossing in my new bed, too jittery to accomplish any shut-eye.

I splash cold water on my face and trudge through my large flat until I reach the kitchen, grabbing the bottle of shampoo and body wash I left on the counter earlier today. I retrace my footsteps back into the bathroom where the marble shwer greets me.

I should be excited about taking my first shower in the exquisite glass room, but honestly I am too tired to function.

I step in and shut the door behind me. I set the bottles down on the shelf and sit down on the marble bench. My body slouches and I rest my face in my hands, groaning in disapproval of the early hour.

I sit like that for a while, rubbing my face and trying to wake up before bathing. I finally stand up, though, reaching for the water handle even as my body protests.

My body jerks when the cold water streams over my body. I shiver and try turning the hot water on.

When it finally does I feel my body loosen, the steady stream of water relaxing my muscles and joints. I shake my hair into the flow of water and flick it back off of my face.

My wind wanders in the gathering steam and my fingertips soon follow. I run them along my chest like I do in my routine back home, but don't stop them when they reach the softness of the innermost parts of my thighs. When my eyes close I see the lights, the stage, the crowd. My heart beats faster in anticipation as I recall the rest of the performance. It races at the remembrance of the sweat, the glitter...

I gasp as my hands reach their destination. The water burns my skin, but my body burns more. 

I had caught George before he left that night to check if he was okay with the performance. He had laughed harder than I ever remember him laughing and told me to not bite off more than I could chew. He had said it with his hand tight on my shoulder. 

I shutter under the water. He had smelled like cheap cologne, the kind that spreads to your clothes with any sort of contact. I smelled it the entire ride home just from him talking to me. 

I choke on the steam surrounding me and reach blindly for the nozzle. 

I make myself bear the shock as I turn the water to freezing. 

✖

It's big, about half the size of my apartment complex. The outside looks plain, set aside the huge neon sign that reads "17BLACK."

A man stands in the middle of the lot. From here I can see that he is buff, really buff. His head is disproportionate to his body, though, too small.

"Aye mate, over here." As if I could miss the mountain of a man in any variation of the universe. He motions for me to park in a space besides him.

I step out of the car and lock it behind me. The man approaches me, and I tense. He's - I suppose his name is Geoffrey - intimidating.

He offers his hand out to me. I try to hold my posture as I shake it. His hand is warm and much larger than mine, which is saying something.