43 Workdays

Walking into the building entrance where the rented apartment is, I stand there for a while, leaning my back against the wall and quietly start knocking my stupid head against it.

For fuck’s sake, Anya, what are you doing?! What the hell are you even saying?! Why are you giving Nazar some kind of hope if you’re not cut out for relationships at all?! He’s so good and kind, and you?

You melted, relaxed in his arms like a damn rag doll! You can’t be drifting like that just because some guy’s hot! They’re not supposed to crawl under your skin that fast! Have you completely lost it?

You need to snap out of this sudden crush. You’ve got a shift at the club tonight, remember? So get that pink fog out of your head. And one of the best ways to do that is right there, in the club.

Then why the hell does it suddenly feel so heavy in my chest? Like some worm crawled inside and started squirming and gnawing under my ribs. I should probably get checked for parasites!

After standing there with my eyes closed for another five minutes, I head toward my real place. My mood crashes hard, and overall I feel like I’m sinking into some mix of melancholy and apathy. Like everything that mattered to me for years is starting to fade and lose meaning.

Club “Shine” greets me with its usual bright neon lights. At the entrance, the bouncers, nicknamed Baby and Valerchik, politely greet me and wink as they let me in.

Inside, it’s already packed and the party’s in full swing. The girls are working the dance floor, the DJ is killing it with his tracks, and I head to the dressing room.

“Oh, baby, hey!” Ksyusha cheerfully kisses my cheek. “Jocelyn came by and said you’ve got two sets tonight—‘Wings’ and ‘Leather.’ Also, three clients already paid in advance for full strip privates. Guess who one of them is?” she smirks, and I roll my eyes in irritation.

“Don’t tell me it’s Flick again?” God, that guy pisses me off with how clingy he is and his total inability to take a hint. “I’m so sick of him! When will he finally back off?” I ask rhetorically, sitting down to start my stage makeup.

“Wings” and “Leather” are two of my many acts. One features white angel wings that glow under neon light at a certain moment, and “Leather” is danced in a leather outfit, handcuffs, and a whip.

I love what I do, constantly coming up with new performances. For me, these exotic dances are like a sport, and I make them complex and varied. Obviously, every dance ends with some level of stripping. In the main hall, I usually stay in panties, fully exposing my chest. Exceptions are private parties and bachelor nights where it’s full nudity. And of course, private dances happen in special rooms. Full strip costs more, private dances cost more, and both combined cost a lot more.

If I’ve got three full-nudity privates tonight, I’ll make good money. Just a few days ago, that thought would’ve made me happy. But not today, for some reason.

“He’s not going to back off,” Ksyusha snorts. “You shut him down hard.”

We exchange a look and burst out laughing. Yeah, Flick is a whole damn category on his own.

Soon I’m already in my white costume with bold makeup, slow music starts, and I step out to the pole. My thoughts instantly shut off from the outside world, and I give myself to what I love. There’s only me, the pole, and the music. Nothing else matters… nothing. No problems, no guilt, no pain. This is my personal nirvana, my meditation, my protective cocoon from reality.