Exotic

~ oil and water ~

A week passed without incident. I had walked into school on Monday half expecting the morning hallway gossip to be laced with my name, but people didn't so much as look up when I passed them in the corridors. There were no slurs thrown my way, no graffiti on my locker, or assholes shoulder-checking me in the hallway.

Caleb had kept his word. I was determined to keep mine.

Since I had started Sephora's Insta page, Zsa Zsa had made it a personal mission to flood my inbox. I still had only one photo, but my page was overwhelmed with follow requests, both from drag queens I knew and had only heard of. The outpour of support was heart-warming, to say the least. It made me extra fidgety, the fact that I couldn't check the @mormon.vixen account at school. I only allowed myself a peek in the confines of my own bedroom, to make sure there was no chance of the wrong pair of eyes spotting it.

Before I knew it, it was Friday and I finally got to text Caleb.

Avenue Q, 9 – 2.

His reply was surprising, to say the least. I had assumed it would be a drug-deal, location given, and nothing more had to pass between us.

I won't be there.

And then, a little later;

Risque Business, 10 – ??.

Reece didn't so much as try to stop me leaving that night. I got ready in a crowded dressing room, had a queen by the name of Miss Lettable take my photo draped across the bar. My outfit for the night consisted of an op shop dress overlapped by a slightly larger op shop dress which I had mutilated with a pair of fabric scissors. The homemade look didn't really suit Sephora, but I was on a budget. I was wearing the same shoes from the Friday before and it was killing me inside.

My set at Avenue Q was only fifteen minutes, so I spent the rest of the night doing my sultry head bobbing on the dance floor. Around midnight, someone grabbed my waist and made me their unenthusiastic dance partner. I turned around after a few minutes of uninspired twerking and found a man wearing very little, with ink to rival a bikie. He stuck out his tongue, and I could see a white pill dissolving on the tip. An offering.

"Oh, no, I don't..." I started, the façade of confidence cracking slightly. The man didn't push, but he didn't stick around to get to know me either.

By one, even though I had been determined to have a proper night out, I was spent. Zsa Zsa had called me and told me he was in Risque Business with his mysterious Peter, but of course, I had to decline. As I waited for an Uber in street clothes, I wondered if Caleb's Friday was going better than mine.

While my mind was distracted with thoughts of Caleb's mouth on some other lucky bastard, someone took hold of the back of my head and threw me nearly into the gutter. I staggered onto the road, arms out to catch my balance. A passing car slammed on its horn, and I jumped back, shaken.

"Fucking queer!" a voice behind me screamed, and I could have sworn I felt their spittle pelting me. I flinched away and kept my head down until I was sure my assailant and his group of cackling lackeys had passed by.

The ringing insult in my ears was quickly replaced by a much warmer voice, and a pair of steadying hands on my back. "Are you alright?"

I stood up quickly, running a hand through my hair. The person who'd rushed to my side was unfamiliar, in a comforting sort of way.

She was taller than me but since I was in sneakers it wasn't much of an achievement. Her hair was bleach blonde and shaved up both sides, with a long back and fringe that sat just halfway down her forehead. It took a bold kind of person to rock a mullet with shaved sides. She wouldn't have passed through customs at any airport with all her piercings; snakebites, a row along her eyebrow, a chain connecting her septum to her ear, two in her shoulder blade, and one sitting on her exposed breast bones. Her hands were intricately tattooed. She looked like a living art piece.