stripper killer [matty healy]

ten - vulnerable

vulnerable: (adjective) exposed to the possibility of being attacked or harmed, either physically or emotionally.

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india

after what felt had felt like hours, he finally rolled off me, collapsing onto the bed to my right. the unpleasant smell of sex and his fancy overpowering cologne filled the expensive hotel room, making me not want to breath - but i had to let out the one i was holding.

"that was great ava." he breathes, before standing from the bed and rummaging amongst the scattered clothes to find his own. "do you ever disappoint?"

i force my lips into a tight smile, honestly not wanting to start conversation - especially over what just happened. i was far too disappointed to chat, not to mention, extremely sore. he went for hours - and normally, that would be the best thing since sliced bread... but, when it's with a stranger for money, it's just not the same.

i couldn't stop my mind wandering as i watched him dress himself. i mean, he had money, a pretty wife, and kids. why did he do this? why did he sneak away from his family to fuck other women? it doesn't make sense, he has everything a man could possibly want yet he jeoparadises it on the daily. But-then again - without idiotic men like that, i wouldn't be able to pay rent.

"it's all there." he announces sternly as he places a roll of notes on the bedside table. i don't bother to check, i believe him. his suit sleeve moves up to his forehead as he presses it against the skin to pat away the sweat. "do i look like i've just had sex?" he asks, looking at me through the mirror he was now facing.

"um, no..." i answer, not exactly sure whether i was telling the truth.

"are you sure? i have dinner with my wife in 15 minutes and she's a suspicious bitch." he scoffs, readjusting his tie.

i watch him pat away more sweat and fiddle with the arms of his suit as i sit upright and reach to grab my shirt from the floor. "you look fine."

"right." he nods, picking up his briefcase and opening the door slightly, before he pauses to look back to me. "the room is booked until tomorrow morning, so, you know. sleep, chill or whatever." his voice was softer now, almost sympathetic.

i give a small nod and smile, actually appreciating the gesture. "thanks. have a nice evening mr caldwell."

he nods once more before leaving me alone in the room. i let myself fall back onto the bed, and before i even hit the 5* mattress the tears are streaming down my face.

the sting in - between my thighs was nothing compared to the pain i felt in my chest. the hard shell was deteriorating that little bit more every time i gave another strange man my body and i couldn't hold it back anymore. stripping was nothing, i could cope with that, but this... this was something more. knowing i'm pulling men away from their families killed me, knowing that the number of people i've slept with will probably be in triple figures by the time i get married haunts me.

the red silk sheets nor' the pure white fluffy towels could comfort me. the little tea and coffee mugs decorated with different sachets of sugars or the tiny baby bottles of shampoo couldn't fill the void that was growing within me. i've always wanted to be somewhere like this, i always presumed it'd make me feel... special. yet, right now... i feel the complete opposite.

my hands make their way to my eyes, wiping away the couple of stray tears that were still falling. i don't want to be in this room, i just want my shitty apartment and my old worn bed. its times like this i wish someone knew about what i did, so i could just speak to someone about it.