The Vouyerist Club [Short Story] (Book 1/2)

Chapter 2

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That night I had all manner of dreams. But mostly about having to go home and tell my parents they were right. I should have stayed at home and gone to the local community college. But we both knew the motivation behind that and it had nothing to do with my education and more to do with taking care of Daniel my brother for now he was safe.

I woke in a sweat, the electric heater in my room had magically started working in the middle of the night and the three layers of clothes I had gone to bed in were drenched in my sweat. I checked my phone it hadn't been a dream. I was really going to meet David. I stripped off and took a long shower, at least I had hot water, without that I wouldn't feel human most days. I moisturised, dried my hair as nicely as I could and laid out some outfits on the bed. Should I wear something that showed off my figure or just go casual? I settled for skinny jeans, a fitted top and boots. I put on some blusher, mascara and lip gloss. I was so pale from the lack of sleep and my diet which had been reduced to vegetable soup for the past week that my clothes hung off me a little. At least I got a sandwich at work and if I was lucky I could sneak out some out of date muffins.

I had always had curves thanks to my Indian heritage, which also gave me my shiny dark long hair and large brown eyes. When I looked at my mother we were nothing alike apart from inheriting her small height of five foot two. I had my fathers large eyes, olive skin and dark thick hair which he had got from his Indian mother.

I didn't look like anyone I knew which most people would think was a bonus but for me it only made me feel more of an outsider. I didn't look like the girls in school all long legged and fair.
I assessed my figure in the floor length mirror I had propped against the window ledge. I looked tired and no amount of concealer could hide the dark circles that were growing under my eyes.
After packing my bag with my work uniform I checked the address again and wrote it down on a post-it note shoving it into my jean pocket. Niki my best friend always joked that her Grandmother had a more modern phone than I did. Mine didn't have apps or sat nav. Just texts and emails. But it was all I could afford after leaving everything at home. I had wanted to make a statement. Make them realise how hurt I was by their behaviour. And so I cut them off completely. They didn't have a number for me so they couldn't contact me. It took them a month to get a forwarding address from the university. They hadn't believed me when I had been awarded a scholarship to read History of Art. No. They were adamant I study English Literature because that's what they had done and it had served them well. I recounted our last words and a fire in my stomach began to rise to my throat. I hadn't cried about it in over a year but the anger was still so strong.

I grabbed my keys, jacket and bag and headed out into the street. I walked everywhere providing it wasn't too cold, it saved me money and it kept me fit. The club was on my way to the cafe so I pulled on my hat and hood to shelter against the wind that hit my face so violently. Walking was like my form of meditation, whatever stresses I felt I took them out on the pavement, the hypnotic rhythm of my stride, one foot in front of the other.
An hour later and blown around I reached the address and looked for a sign. But all I could see was a black door and no bell. I l turned around catching sight of a man sitting in a cafe opposite. Small in stature with a mop of blond hair on his head. He looked up briefly and smiled at me. He pulled out his phone and put it back in his pocket. Mine buzzed.