Reminisce #Repost

Chapter 5

Cassandra
Sweat coats every inch of my skin, and heaviness and irritation sinks in so much that I swiftly take out dollar bills from where they have been tucked in.

A hot shower comes to mind, lavender-—or maybe lemon soap to get rid of the smell of perspiration and filth. The feeling of strange hands touching me lingers on. Permission from Miguel, and I can head home. Wash myself clean of tonight.

Carl pops his head round the dressing room door. "Red, Miguel wants to see you in his office."

I remove the last dollar bill from between my breasts and add it to the pile on my table. I can hardly ignore a group of girls who are saying rather mean things about me.

"Miguel wants his princess. More like the bitch who's got a love potion under his nose."

I shake my head. I fled from one type of bully only to know another type. 

At least these ones are jealous about what they believe is your success. The ones in high school only wished for your failure.

Winnie offers to guard my stuff while I'm out. I catch a purple bruise on her left collarbone, hard to ignore against her milky skin. The only clothing she has on is a black lacy band about her breasts with matching panties held up by yellow suspenders.

A close friend would show concern for her wellbeing and bug her about the bruise. But she and I can't identify with such a relationship. What we can identify with is reciprocity. It's a cruel word. You offer a hand, I do the same, and we might just get through.

"Thanks," I say. Gratitude for her kindness, present and past.

She nods.

I follow the route to Miguel's office. His office is tinted by the same dim, purple glow that is signature to the club, but a white light from the ceiling chases the purple glow to the corners of the room.

I take tentative steps towards him. He's seated behind his obnoxiously large desk with an obnoxious amount of paperwork before him. Under all those paperwork, is always a catalogue. It's about 20 leaves long with each page dedicated to two girls at a time. A provocative picture and a short description right below.  I'm the only girl who hasn't been branded on it. Perks of being the boss' bitch.

I keep my fingers crossed that he hasn't called to chew me for going and leaving the beach without an escort, both without telling him. Those things might seem miniscule to any other person, but those are people that don't know Miguel. Those that are unaware that I am walking bare feet on cactuses.

I'm just about to take a chair when he goes, "Come sit on my lap, baby." I comply. "You look tense," he says. His fingers snake round my shoulders, and he begins to massage them.

"You've been doing such a good job, bringing in lots of people. You know that, baby? I just wish I wasn't so busy to give you a treat." He drops his fingers from my shoulders and trails them round the small of my back and midsection. "Actually, I called you in because you have a VIP client."

I whip my head to face him. "I haven't had those in a long while." He promised I wouldn't ever have to after the last incident.

Vivid memories of a heavily inebriated man comes back to me. I remember screaming when his thick hands had gripped my hair and forced my face down to his exposed shaft. I mumbled a prayer, and tears streamed down my cheeks as I fought against him.

I remember getting struck on the face, on the head, anyway he felt would hurt enough to get me to subdue. Two guards saved me that night. They beat him up and engraved his skin with marks that would make sure he never came back to the club. I got scars of my own that day, etched in my brain, unhealed wounds that Miguel has now reopened