Flaunt

Signing the visitors' sheet with a smile to Jemma, I walk towards room 357. Pushing the door open, the stale image of my Mama in a ghastly white bedgown welcomes me. Her eyes are wide open as she steers into the distance. Searching for what her mind could remember at least try to remember.

After Papa had died of lung cancer, we were alone with no income because Mama didn't have schooling. She came here from Mexico after her father married her off to mine. When he put his body into the ground in life, my mother worked as a cleaner for the rich she found herself employed by a wealthy woman.

Some of the stories she told were of this woman who lived in a house that could be a castle and from her understanding that the Miss of the home owned it alone. I think she was amazed at it all and how real something more could be. 

She told me of this woman who had a wall covered in certificates and achievements that decorated the wall like a museum of achievement.

She did not learn these stories from any of the encyclopedias and journals she dusted and organised. I'm sure she could barely read the titles. No, the stories and lessons came from the little boy who lived in the home, surrounded by far too many who called his young self Sir, and Mr When his mother was out in the world becoming more than a woman her son would sit in the kitchen and through the paid hours he and Mama went through his school work. 

When she would return home, she would recite these stories and books to me while braiding my hair. Then one day she came home with a book. For years I didn't know what book it was because before it could even be opened in a room of the house it met the fire that kept us warm. "This is not worth bread, not sugar and not worth our pride Carman. Just because they give us pity does not mean we should take it, we are not them. Don't let them fool you." 

Papa was not an evil man, no. He laughed with his belly and had me believe the hastest peak in the work was at the top of his shoulders. He also grew bitter in poverty and hardened with the calluses on his hands. Some days I felt that he was ashamed that he could not educate me, and when she had brought up that book and her knowledge, it made the failure all too real. 

The night that the book fuelled our fire my mother told me the story of the girl with the knowledge of the world in her head. How the girl would drink the words like a cure to an illiterate bloodline. Then with that information, that knowledge and understanding she would choose. I always remember that story. She never finished it as she had struggled to find words, describe them like she wanted.

After that day, each time she told me a story she would ask me what I loved about the tale she told me. Each day was different. Some days she had me speak with her, while on others, she told me stories of men of war, some days of the world on fire, women in numbers uncountable in the streets. She taught me all she could retain and after each, she would ask me what I liked, what I remembered, and what I would have changed.

Years later, with the reaper's shadow in his sights, Papa shared his dying shame. Coughing through each confession that he was too proud to give me what neither of them could have, and that was education. Wishing that death was not the cause of this realization. Then he called my dear mama into the room once more, with breaths countable in his lungs, and held her hand "Forgive me for being blind to the light that you held, and the one you birthed into our child. I give you my last thank you, for being smarter than me, knowing that knowledge would be her crown. Thank you, my wife."

She remembered because that meant that I would too. That I would learn that until age stole more than the time or my father from our lives. This time it took her memories and the tales she would recite to me. Mama knew what was coming so before time took her memory, she handed me a small package, and in it was a hardbound copy of Pride and Prejudice. This was the book that fuelled the flame "Que este sea el primero de muchos cuentos que leas, mis días de recitarte han terminado con mi guerrero" (Let this be the first of many tales you read, my days of reciting to will die with me little warrior.)

From there it was like watching the pages of a book fade in a basin of water and the words washing away. While her memories ran through laps and laps of lucidity it became my turn to tell her the stories I had been learning. Just as I do each time I visit her. I sit with her, braiding her hair before telling her tales I read in the books at work.

Even if she asked me who I am each time I visit.

I close the door at the last glance I have of her for the day as she lies in her bed. I walk to the reception and there I am given the statement for her medical bill which makes me release a heavy breath at the numbers I see on the page. If I keep working as I am right now, along with a few flaunt jobs she will be able to stay here until time takes her too. I just need to make sure that I keep steady it will be fine. I will make sure she is fine.

Walking through the hallway with my focus falling on the papers in my hands as I calculate and schedule what I would need to do to pay for this. My attention was drawn by the instinct that someone was walking makes me lift my focus back high to manoeuvre. Only my steps begin to slow when I pass a tall figure, a long black coat, and a black suit. His eyes are covered by slim shades as he looked down at his phone. My energy shakes as I pass this man, so I look back and see the man walk towards the reception and if my eyes do not deceive me. It's the man from the club. 

Rushing as I see his body start to turn before he can see me, I go to the exit and walk down to the entrance, holding my jacket tight.

He can not manifest into my life, not now, not ever. He is already stuck in the space of the red room I find power in, which now he receives me as an offering. But in I am not Evita there. Feeling like I am being watched and so I look behind me at the glass-walled building when I see a figure in a long black coat look through the glass, straight at me.

He knows, what made me think he wouldn't?

Tearing my gaze away, I rush back to my apartment because, according to the statement, there are no free nights. Not at the luxury of my mother. Walking into the Righteous a few hours later, I greet everyone, checking on Terror after she went through an incident with a client who didn't appreciate her not to fucking him. After making sure she was okay, I head over to Black's office to get what I needed for tonight's job. Some nights a man just needs a pretty girl on his arm, they have the girls they fuck but us.

Girls like Terror and I, are the eye candy to all of this, and that means that some nights, we smile, and laugh like we are having the time of our lives, while men hold us tight and get a little more touch than they would in the club. 

Why? Well, that's easy, a woman to them is an accessory of envy. Seeing a powerful man with a beautiful woman. Well, that makes every man in the room wish they were him. The closest they can get to is knowing you and they will take it to be the powerful man with the sexiest girl on his arm. That's my job, to create that envy.

Walking into the office I face the normal image of Black, who pushes the head of our new girls lower onto his dick. He always tests out the girls on bases 1 and 2. Those are the ones who accept the fucking, any kind, anyway. For a price, that is. Stepping into his office he sees me and smiles, running his eyes down my body, "You asked for a flaunt. The moment I mentioned your name, his wallet spilt. You got Pierce; your dress is in the back." Pierce isn't that bad. That is until he gets a few drinks in him. Then you have to play it cool and still follow his rules.

Brushing my hair. I look into the mirror while watching each strand go through the bristles of the brush. There are rules when you have to flaunt Pierce. Never move his hand because that is allowed. He can touch and grip my body as he wishes. Let him kiss your lips, neck, cheek, and shoulders as though you like it. If you don't, then you don't show it. Hold him like you want to fuck him because that is what you are paid for.

Most important, finish your hours. Pierce works with some gruesome people. Killers for hire, drug kings, dealers, traders and others who don't say what they do because you never ask. It's a mistake on your part to ask. 

When one of the girls tells me that Pierce is here, I place my brush back on the table. Standing up from my chair, I run my hands down the floor-length, thin metallic-coloured dress. I look up, running my finger carefully to clean up my matt red lipstick. As I stare into the mirror, I wonder what Mama would say about where I am now. That's if she could even remember me.

The event is in a secluded area, but the building is all but subtle in its danger. No lights, cars, people, or life could be seen outside the large building. Driving closer, the high-height gates open and let the black Mercedes SUV drives closer until it goes into a parking area located on the side of the building. When we come to a stop Pierce steps out of the car after having said nothing the entire drive, letting the driver open the door on my side after he opened Pierce's side.

Walking to him, I let his arm slip around my waist in a constrictive action, "Don't think, don't speak unless spoken to, and do not dictate my movements. Are we clear?" Looking at the plain cruelty set in the dark-toned eyes he burns me with I nod, "Yes, we are Mr Pierce."

That's what I do. I stand next to him as he speaks with men who take pleasure in watching my breasts spill from the material of the dress, licking their lips as they rain toxic energy through the room just by their actions. Even with women in their arms, men will never have enough.

Pierce's hands throughout the night, get tighter, bolder, and more daring in their location as he speaks of my body to men who stand 2 feet from us. Bile could rise when I remembered the years I spent touched by such men, touched by him. "Isn't she just fuckable. How do you like it, baby girl?" Asks a tall, muscular man with short hair showing the disarray of tattoos on his neck and head.

"However I'm told to like it," I say, knowing that no matter what I say, he will never be allowed to touch me because Black makes it very clear about his higher girls. You don't fuck them unless he gives you the okay, and with our history, he never does. Base 5 girls like Terror and I and a few others have worked our way to where we are. Unspeakable ways but now we live better, with more control.

Noticing that my words have caught the drunk man's attention, Pierce pulls me into him "Fuck off, Jimmy. She is off-limits." See, the men in this room get what they want, whether it be by money, threats, and even blood. You can see it in their eyes, their expressions, and even how they move towards the weapon that a few drinks could convince them would be the person's show of dominance. 

You can read this and I know how to read the aura of a person and Jimmy seems like a man mad at being told what he can and can't do. And right now, that is towards Pierce and me.

The night continues as I shut off my humanity to allow the display of my body, more clothes than I am when I am in the red room, yet more vulnerable than ever. Here I am on display but I don't choose how instead I am being shown like a sick toy yet the hairs on my back can't seem to shake off the feeling that I am being watched. Turning around I don't see anyone but the feeling doesn't leave me.

Yes, men are around us watching as us flaunts do our jobs but this doesn't feel like the target eye of someone who wants to fuck. I feel like I'm being stalked. Hunted I am in the eye of a predator yet I don't see one. The last time I felt like this... I was on my knees in a room of red lighting.

He couldn't be here, could he?

Not finding any sight of him, I convince myself that I am being paranoid and continue my job until my hours are complete. When I am no longer in service after one of the base 2's come into play. I slip to the parking lot, where my car waits for me closer to the end. The parking lot is filled with cars but empty of life, echoing my heels hitting the floor echo through the space.

As I walk, I hear the sound of shoes thumping to the ground so I look behind me when I see him. Jimmy walks towards me, making me rush my steps when I feel his hand wrap around my arm. 

Whipping me into his body trapped in his grip, "Let's see how you actually like it." He growls in a stench of whiskey and cigars pushing me against the beam of the building with enough force to have my breath taken. My body shaking in fear "Please, let me go." I sob while my tears run down my face as fast as this predicament happens.

My tears only fuel him further as he rubs his erection on me while holding my wrists in his hand. No, this is not how I let this night happen. No. No. No. Repeating, the words as I feel him tear the slit of my dress further, pulling the dress down and letting my breast fall out of one side. As he focuses on the visual of my breast, I sink my nails into his skin. The pain pulled his attention before I pull my head back and with all the power I brought it forward just as he looked up. Knocking him in the nose. 'FFUUCCKKK!" He screams as he held his nose that starts to bleed. Not having time to shake the dizziness off I bring my knee to his crotch, and when he bends, I bring my knee up again, hitting his nose once again.

His intoxicated body cashing on the floor so, I leave no time to think and run, my heels hitting the floor like bullets as I rushed to the exit of the building. Taking a few seconds to look back as I slip my heels off, I keep running, hoping that I can reach the gate when a car's bright headlight drives towards me towards me.

If I run back, I have no doubt I am going to find Jimmy furious and now vengeful, but I don't know who this car belongs to. My blurred vision from the tears running down my face caused me to shield my eyes from the bright lights in front of me.

With the little vision I have, I see a figure step out of the back of the car. He says nothing, leaving the door open as he took steps towards me. Blinking the blur away, I see the man walking toward me. 

He is here. He was watching me. My hands fall to my side in disbelief that he was here. Why is he here?

Standing in front of me, I soak in the instant aura of dark safety he brings. His hand lifted mine as he looked at my wrists, now bruised from the grip that surrounded them just moments ago. I look up at him as he does me, lost for words. Taking my hand into his, he takes me to the car, that hummed in the silent terror of the night. 

Allowing me in first, he follows me and closes the door. "You followed me?" I question in silent disbelief while I look at him as he turns to face me. Taking a moment to almost soak in my presence beside him like he was filling through all the reactions and options of response he wanted to go with.

"Are you hurt?" He asks as he looked down at the blood on my dress. Looking down at the torn and blood-stained dress, I shake my head. Bringing his hand to my face, he gives me his attention, undivided and concerned making me come back to focus, "Your words are important so use them." A shiver runs through my veins at the tone of his authoritative yet gentle words.

"No. It's not my blood." He almost grins at my words.

Holding my head in his hands, he looks at the bruise on my head, "Do you feel dizzy, nauseous, trouble focusing?" His questions are formal, practised like how a doctor would ask their patient "No, just feels a little painful." I answer softly feeling none of what he had listed. I must be really lucky to have hit Jimmy as I did. He simply hums and gives a last look at the bruise before letting me go.

Looking outside I watch the car drive in an unfamiliar direction "Where are you taking me?" My voice was rough from the crying.

"Somewhere safe." Settling my nerves at the vague answer he chooses to give me I lean back into the seat while my arms hold my body that continues its fear-filled shivers. Seeing my affected self in the state the encounter has put me in he comes closer, slow like he was testing and hesitation I had with him coming close. I had none. Now closer to me I find myself leaning into him as his finger brushes up and down my arm. Goosebumps trailing down my arms. He is warm, yet he is stone stiff. I'm invading his space. In a gentle motion, I move my body out of his space but he keeps me in place.

A hand runs through my hair when he runs his fingers into it holding it in a soft grip. Slowly he pulls my head up to lock in my gaze "Don't..." He almost groans in a strained tone. What is he afraid to say? Why is he always so afraid to speak what he claws to say? I will let him speak his story when he is ready, but now I know what he says. Clearly. Don't move.

And so I don't.