A/N: I'm sorry sorry this took forever guys. It kept getting longer and longer. As many of you know 'Stripped' is a rewrite so it's almost tedious work to go through a story I've already written. I will try to update once a week. This is more doable. Please feel free to message me on tumblr or here and I will get back to you when I can! I know I promised Harry and Leila's date in this chapter, but I felt the details 'Victory' has captured instead were important to address. The date will 100% be next chapter! Stay tuned.
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Leila's P.O.V:
My chest rose and fell softly as I gazed at myself in the mirror. My eyes were ringed with black and my hair a tangled, obsidian mess. I wasn't sure how long I had been studying my face, but I assumed it had been quite some time now since I vanished into my dressing room, securely bolting the door behind me. After my less than pleasant confrontation with Zayn and visit to the park, I materialized at Victory in shambles, my co-worker and close friend Kitty left to pick up the pieces, much like she had done for the past two years before. I insisted that I would rather be at Victory than at home, and would at least like to earn some money in the process. With a begrudging frown, Kitty conceded and alerted Tommy, who managed to fit me into the schedule as well as slip a valium to me for my nerves. Gratefully I washed down the pill, and soon after found myself on stage, focused on nothing but tangling myself with the pole, both Zayn and Bradford the furthest things from my mind.
But as I sat at my vanity and observed myself, with little objection or control, my mind travelled to Zayn –Zayn who had returned to my life in full-force, Zayn who finally knew my parents were dead, Zayn who paid my rent, Zayn who I had clung to like my life depended on it. I trailed my fingers across my cheek, thinking how much things had changed since those careless summer nights at the town's yearly fun fair, since the nights we spent gazing up at the stars.
The Valium had finally begun to taper off, and with the disappearance of my calm demeanor came the white hot throb of my bruised wrist. I examined the blue-black contusion with indifference, recalling when the abhorrent man I had given a private dance to grasped onto my wrist roughly, growling that he didn't pay all that money for just a dance. I had dealt with the same sort of thing when I had first come to London, the only difference being that I made far more money as a stripper than at the Lucky Seven Diner. Back when Bambi had not yet been born and Leila was still alive.
Flashback
"Food's up!" The diner's head chef hollered, sending a steaming plate hurtling towards me. I narrowly stopped the plates from toppling over the edge of the counter and placed them gently on my tray. Hip-checking through the double doors of the kitchen, I retrieved two mugs of steaming black coffee and cutlery from the bar and made my way towards table six. I could see two men, likely construction workers based on the way they were dressed, chatting away obnoxiously. I strolled up to them and announced their orders politely. "Two bacon, lettuce, and tomatoes on rye." I said with a smile, placing a hot plate in front of each of them, followed by their coffees and cutlery.
The man on my right grinned at me. "Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes." He smacked his lips, eyeing me up and down. "What are you, twenty-eight?" He wagered, raising his brows at his friend in amusement.
My heart sped up and I began to grow uncomfortable as both men were likely in their late fifties. "I'm eighteen, actually." I answered him meekly.
"Close enough." His smile widened to a toothy grin, to which his friend began to audibly stifle a laugh. "Your look tells me you've got no English in you." He added. I opened my mouth to confirm that I was not English, that I was Pakistani, but before I could he added a lewd "But that can change."
Face going red, my eyes dropped to the floor and for a fleeting moment, my resolve slipped and I felt myself longing for home. For the trees. For Bradford. No. I forced my mind to shut down and my heart to freeze over again as I replayed the infinite loop of a phone ringing, ringing, ringing, unanswered. "Enjoy your meal." I answered robotically, urging my body to turn in order to disappear into the safety of the kitchen.
"Oh we will." The man answered playfully, and I froze in place when I felt a palm rest on my behind, his fingers pressing into me where I had not yet been touched by a man. Ignoring his unwanted touch, I walked on, the ringing, ringing, ringing in my ears growing louder. I would let this man touch me, I would let anyone do anything to me, so long as I did not have to return to the place my old self had died.
"Women like that will let you do anything, I hear. You know, put it anywhere..." The man's voice disappeared from behind me as I pushed through the doors of the kitchen.
I left Lucky Seven at just past one in the morning, stuffing the envelope containing my paycheck as well as the tips I had earned over the past week into my purse. I began to recite my bills meticulously, coming to the conclusion that after paying for my rent, groceries, and utilities, I thankfully would have enough to pay for one class at the University. The textbook would have to wait for a few weeks however, as would something to eat other than ramen.
It was a pleasant May night, a gentle breeze filtering through my curtain of dark hair. Once I reached home, I had a night of reading the copy of Thomas Hardy's Far From the Madding Crowd that I had found sitting on a large pile of books someone had left to give away on the sidewalk to look forward and what would hopefully be very little to no conversation with Rita.
Turning the corner, a sharp cry pierced my eardrums. Only when I hit the ground, my purse ripped from my clutches did I realize the cry had been my own. My lower lip throbbing I scrambled to my feet just in time to see my assailant, dressed all in black, disappear into an opposing alleyway.
"Are you alright?" A soft voice emerged from behind me.
I spun on my feet, noting that the question had come from a girl who looked to be about my age. Her soft voice matched her appearance, mousy hair with a set of kind brown eyes. "No." I answered her, the realization that all the money I had earned the past two weeks was gone hitting me. "That was everything I had!" I screeched, panic setting in. "I'll have to go back there. I can't go back. I'll die." I said, clutching the sides of my head as the ringing returned once again.
"There's a café up ahead that's still open. Why don't we call the police there? I'll buy you coffee while we wait." She offered, reaching out and dusting me off maternally.
I eyed the girl apprehensively, the pain in my lower lip becoming more apparent with each passing second. "Yes alright." I nodded begrudgingly. "Thank you." I added as we fell into step.
"What should I call you?" The girl inquired politely, pointing up ahead at a sign which read 'Jumpin Bean'. "Really cute place, I've been going there for a few years now. Nice and quiet despite the name, perfect place to read a book and people watch." She said, a dreamy almost faraway look in her brown eyes.
I found myself smiling in spite of my sour mood. "Leila." I told her. "And what about you?"
The girl turned to me and smile brightly. Having reached 'Jumpin' Bean' she held open the door, allowing me to enter first. "My name's Katherine but most people call me Kitty." Kitty, as I had just learned she was called, was not wrong about the 'Jumpin' Bean'. The Café was quaint. With sunken in chairs and the smell of freshly baked goods weaving through the aisles, it would be a marvelous place to pass time reading a book. We seated ourselves and were approached by the waitress. While Kitty ordered us coffee and two cinnamon rolls, I had the chance to observe her in greater detail. Her features remained the same, yet what stood out to me in the brighter setting of 'Jumpin' Bean' was her clothing. I by no means had a sharp eye for fashion, but even I was familiar with the bold 'PRADA' crest on her purse.
The waitress departed with our order and Kitty turned back to me, managing to catch the tail end of my staring. She smiled warmly and pretended not to notice. "How long have you been in London?" She inquired, just loud enough to be discernible over the gentle classical music floating throughout the Cafe.
"Just over three months." I told her, knowing that my Northern accent had likely betrayed me.
The waitress returned with our coffee, placing a mug in front each of us as well as a glistening cinnamon roll. I bit hungrily into the roll. Glancing back up, I saw Kitty watching me feast like Oliver and his comrades had on their sole bowl of porridge. "You remind me a lot of myself when I first got here. Like a lamb sent to the slaughter." She noted sadly.
I slowed my chewing in an attempt to look less pitiful. "It seems like things have improved for you since then." I said, gesturing towards Kitty's purse.
"Immensely. You could go as far as saying I'm a brand new person." Kitty agreed with a small laugh, as if she was in on some sort of private joke.
I swallowed my last bite of the roll, feeling a pang of sadness that there was no more. "Well, it's nice to see this city doesn't break entirely everyone." I said in a somewhat sarcastic tone and regretted it at once. In a city of over eight million people, I had chosen to be rude to the one person that had shown me compassion.
Kitty ignored my rudeness and went on as kindly as she had when she first approached me. "You said you'd die if you went back to wherever you came from."
I found myself nodding, my gaze falling to my lap. A piece I recognized to be by Chopin wavered delicately from the speakers over our heads. "Yes." I said in barely a whisper.
A thoughtful look came over Kitty and she sipped demurely at her coffee. "What if there was something you could do that would keep you from ever having to set foot there again?" She revealed, her gentle brown eyes studying mine.
My pulse began to race. "I'd do it. I'd do anything." I stammered, echoing my sentiments from earlier that night. Whatever it was could never be worse than the Lucky Seven Diner. Whatever it was would finally silence the eternal loop of ringing in my mind, would banish the sound of my bare feet slapping the pavement, would drain out the sound of my Mother's flowery laugh.
Wordlessly accepting my plea with a curt nod of her head, Kitty raised her hand and hailed the waitress, paying for our bill and tipping her generously. "Come on." Kitty said, her tone maternal as she gathered her things and sashayed out of her seat.
"Where are we going?" I inquired, wrapping my arms around myself and an edge of unease to my voice.
Kitty smiled mischievously, offering her hand to me. "You'll see."
Determinedly, I took Kitty's hand and allowed her to heave me upwards, giggling as I nearly keeled over. Dashing off into the London night with my new comrade, I realized it had been years since I had someone I could call a friend. Four years, if I was counting.
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We had ventured into Central London, an area I had hoped to explore but not at this time of the night. Various inebriated uni students and drunken groups of men passed by the pair of us, some of the males eyeing us appreciatively before returning to their antics and search for a kebab shop that was still open. "We're almost there." Kitty announced excitedly, tugging me around the corner and onto a lit up street. In the distance I could make out an aged sign, reading: VICTORY in flickering neon letters. The silhouette of a woman lying seductively –large breasts, a pinched waist, and wide hips dangled precariously below. Prudish Leila who had read Beowulf for sport prayed that Kitty would drag her past VICTORY, that it was not the destination in question. That fleeting wish dissipated however, when we paused in front of the heavy looking black doors of the club, muffled music like footsteps in snow bleeding through them.
Kitty ushered me inside, and at once I was barreled over with the warmth of bodies and the full force of electronic music, erratic and machine like. Stepping around me and grabbing my hand, Kitty pulled me forward and deeper into the club. We were past the entrance way and as once; my eyes were drawn to an illuminated figure swaying on stage, a naked woman. My eyes widened, a faint blush staining my cheeks. The house lights bathed the woman's figure, her areolas such a light pink that at first I was not sure she had any. She sprawled her body onto the stage floor, grinding into it as men and a handful of women hungrily watched from the audience. Her red hair fanned out below her as she rolled onto her back, grasping onto bank notes and running them along her pale skin.
"Cherry. One of our veterans." Kitty said beside me.
My eyes were glued to her. "This. This is how you make your money?" I breathed, unable to help but notice how free Cherry looked, how empowered. Silently I counted the bills surrounding her –hundreds if not thousands.
Kitty nodded wordlessly. "So what do you think?" She inquired, cutting her gaze to me.
It's vile, it's degrading, it's humiliating, it's disgusting. A hundred different ways to describe my outrage fired off in my mind. But instead what crawled out of my mouth was a very soft and captivated "It's beautiful." It was endearing, it was enthralling, and it was everything that Leila wasn't.
Kitty's lips twitched upwards and she craned her neck down towards my ear. "Come. Let's go see Tommy." She said, indicating I follow her. With one final glance towards the stage it was just in time to see the lights fade and Cherry's hair to disappear into blackness.
Kitty and I weaved through plush booths and French styled chairs and towards a set of deep red curtains. Dipping past them, I followed after her, feeling all too much like the Pevensie children when they burrowed through their wardrobe and found themselves in the new world of Narnia. We were to the left of the stage, a handful of women adjusting their lingerie and costumes. One girl dressed as a nurse violently powdered her nose while a middle aged woman dressed as a teacher adjusted her black rimmed glasses. There was exactly one man, with tanned skin he had to have paid for and a youthful face that suggested he was barely thirty.
"Kitty, you're not working tonight." Tommy noted with an infectious smile, giving the nurse a once over and guiding her towards the stage. "You've brought a friend." His eyes began to dance with excitement when they fell on me.
Kitty stepped forward, clearing her throat. "This is Leila. She wants to be one of us." She told Tommy.
Tommy nodded, his gaze still on me. "And what makes you think she's Victory material?" He asked.
"She's like me," Kitty answered, an almost melancholy tone to her voice. "She's like all of us."
"So you want to watch the world burn, do you Leila?" Tommy chuckled quietly, something telling me that he wasn't as cheerful as he pretended to be. "We've never had a Pakistani girl, at least not one this lovely." He appraised me, stroking his chin in thought. "Would your parents support this sort of career choice for you?" He corked a perfectly threaded eyebrow upwards.
I felt myself bristle at Tommy's question. "They're dead so it doesn't entirely matter." I answered coolly, pushing back the sound of a ringing phone which had crept into my mind when I wasn't paying attention.
Tommy's face smoothed, his lips twisting into a smile. "So that's where the fire comes from. You've been wronged, Leila." He began to circle me, taking a lock of my black hair between his thumb and index finger.
"I'm not Leila." I whispered. The vibrant green of Bradford's trees did not seem quite as beautiful anymore; the scent of pine trees as sharp, the lilt of his voice as musical.
Tommy tilted his head. "If not Leila, then who?" He prompted. "Show us." He spoke lowly into my ear, nodding towards the stage.
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Breaking from my trance, I found myself still locked on my own dark gaze in the mirror. Hands shaking, I picked up my mobile, flipping it open to the text message from Harry I had not yet answered. I was wondering if I could get to know the real Leila tomorrow night? Staring at it for a moment in hesitation, I implored myself to reply before I lost my nerve.
If that means getting to know the real Harry Styles, I'd love to. I replied.
A/N: Thanks so much for reading everybody. Harry and Leila's date will be next chapter! Please visit s.t.ri.p.p.e.d.f.a.n.f.i.c.t.i.o.n.t.u.m.b.l.r.c.o.m for Leila's outfits, accompanying music, and fanart! It was suggested by a reader to make a Spotify list for all the music featured in 'Stripped' and I will absolutely be doing so!