Ruined by my Stepbrother

I learned very early in life that silence was safer than arguments, it did not cost me anything to stand still, it did not cost anything to lower my eyes, it did not cost anything to let my mother’s voice slice through the kitchen like a blade looking for something soft.

Plates rattled in the sink, the television in the living room played a game show too loudly, the apartment smelled like stale gin and burnt stew and yet I all want is for her to just shut the hell up.

“You think I don’t know where you go at night?” Sophia Denver, my so called mother screams her voice cracking through the air.

“You think I’m stupid?” she adds, her red hair sticking to her face as she takes a menacing step forward.

I force my gaze back to the cracked tile floor not wanting to incur her wrath so instead I counted the lines in tiles the way other girls counted money.

One.

Two.

Three.

“I’m working,” I say quietly, knowing any more words is just giving her more to attack me on.

“You call that working?” Sophia steps closer, her perfume still could not hide the stench of alcohol in her breath.

“You’re barely bringing enough. Do you know what he said to me today?” she yells but I did not ask who because I already knew.

Victor Devereaux.

The name had been echoing in this house for months like a curse wrapped around my neck threatening to choke me.

My thoughts are forced to the back of my brain as Sophia moves, sending her palm back before letting them fall on my cheeks.

I heard the crackling sound before I felt the sting, my head snapping to the side as metallic taste floods my tongue.

“You are useless,” she hiss, her eyes burning red as her fingers dig into my head wrapping around some black strands in my hair.

“If you weren’t so pathetic, we wouldn’t be drowning like this.” she screams, pulling harder with each word.

I press my foot down as I lan towards the counter refusing to cry because I already knew it would only make it worse.

“I’m trying,” I whisper, the air crackling as her knee just up meeting my ribs in a hard blow.

I stumble forward, crashing into the tiles as pain explodes in my system but she doesn't stop, another slap lands on my back before it turns to a punch.

My shoulder, my back, ribs everywhere that could be covered by clothes, that's how strategic and evil she was.

I want to do nothing but scream at her, that she took the loan from Victor, she was the one who gambled it all away while she fed from scraps, she drank away every penny.

I want to ask why I have to pay for debts she accumulated, why I have to suffer for it.

But I don't dare.

“Trying isn’t enough,” Sophia spits. “If that man decides to collect in other ways, don’t think I won’t let him.” the words tears through me faster and deeper than any words or hit she has ever give me.

My fingers curls into my sweater and for a moment I imagined grabbing the knife on the counter to just teach her a goddamn lesson but instead I take another step back.

“I’m going to work,” I tell her knowing that is the one thing she won't stop me from doing.

“Wear more makeup,” Sophia snaps. “You look tired and no one pays for tired.” she adds, hissing out loud before heading out of the kitchen.

The walk to my room is short and as I stand still staring at my reflection in the mirror all I could see was a stranger who lived in my body.

Black hair straight and heavy runs down my back, my dark eyes too large for my thin face as I study the faint red mark blooming on my cheek.

Great, one more bruise to cover up, my fingers immediately reaches for the familiar bag where all my make up are kept.

The makeup Sophia bought for me so I can use them to look pretty so she said, but I know better she just wants me to use them to hide the bruises.

And so I do, pulling open the bag I follow the process, foundation, concealer, powder, everything covering up each bruise until all that remains is the memory.

I moved with ease changing into jeans and an oversized hoodie immediately becoming Ashley Denver, café girl, the version the world could tolerate.

Dolly would come later.

~

The café smells like roasted beans and sugar, smells safe and harmless whipped around the promise of a life I would like to not have one day.

My fingers move in autopilot as I tie my apron around my waist and force my lips into something that resembles a smile.

“Morning, Ash,” her coworker, Dimitri called moving past me to set the tables and chairs in the cafe.

“Morning.” I mumble, buying my head into my station at the counter as I stayed taking orders.

Lattes, cappuccinos, pastries in paper bags and the entire time my hands are steady even when my thoughts are not.

No one looked twice at me, no one saw the storm behind my eyes or the rage in my heart and I liked it that way.

Better invisible than seen.

By five in the evening, I was counting tips in the staff room, it would not even cover half of what her mother owed.

I take in a deep breath, pushing the dollar notes and coins into my bag as I head out into another life.

Another version of me, one I hate the most.

~

The club was a different universe, neon lights bled into darkness as music pulses through the floor like a second heartbeat, the air tastes like perfume, sweat, and secrets.

Once I am in the dressing room making sure to take the back door that leads there straight so I avoid people, I pull off my hoodie and become the one person I hate.

Dolly.

Silver mask, glitter along her collarbones, a costume that shimmered under light but felt like armor in the dark.

Gigi is busy reapplying lipstick in the mirror beside her, swaying her hips like she was born for this.

“You look pale,” Gigi says, eyes flicking over to me slightly before moving back to the mirror “Rough day?” she adds.

“Why do you care?” I snap at her, my insides turning at her awful attempt to like me. I know she doesn't.

But she just keeps pretending that she does, like I don't see her glare when I make more or her subtle snide remarks.

Gigi smirked. “Smile, Dolly. Men tip better when you look like you enjoy breathing.” she say ignoring my earlier chide like she always does.

I roll my eyes placing my mask over my face, the silver covered everything except my mouth and in a split second I became Dolly.

Dolly who did not have bruises.

Dolly who did not have a mother who hates her.

Dolly who did not owe anyone tears.

“Let's give it up for Dolly.” The crowd goes wild at the sound of my stage name.

The curtain opens to reveal the stage in front of me with a pole in the middle.

I take slow strides to the pole, ensuring I look confident. The men are plenty as usual, because I am the most wanted stripper that stopped being a hooker yet I still dance.

Things like that are bound to draw men. I grab the pole, and start dancing.

I move my hips according to the song, my fingers move to my belly, down my legs, then I swing my hair back. That's when I see him.

The first thing that captivates me is his eyes, blue like the ocean. He is sipping a drink and his eyes roaming around my body as I move sexually.

He is sitting far back but he still captives me, there is something familiar about the way he sits.

The gaze is electrifying, I don't feel disgusted like I do when I see a man eye fucking me instead I feel heat rise between my legs.

My core throb just by the way he is looking at me. Fire burns through me, holding the pole tight I throw one leg behind it and spin my body.

My gaze stays firmly on his. His hair is tousled, shirt unbuttoned at the first two, his muscles flex inside his shirt.

He licks his lips, gosh those lips. I bite my lips imagining they were his. He folds his arms under his chest, making his muscles more defined than before.

Gosh, kill me now. I can feel the wetness pool between my legs.

Get a grip young woman.

I scold myself, forcing my eyes to look away. I finish my dance. The cheer of men fills my ears as I walk away, I can't help but look around and find his eyes once more.

He is staring at me. I duck my head and leave.

The feeling is electrifying, I slap my head repeatedly as I walk to the changing room, my legs wobbling a little.

This isn't an attraction, I am just horny. It's been almost two years since I last slept with a man.

Stop lying to yourself.

Throughout the months, I have never felt even a smudge of sexual arousal until I saw him. The blue eyed man.

I shake my head to get rid of unwanted thoughts.

I pray I make enough to at least go quarter way in the debt mom owes or even my savings. The money the men pay to watch my show is split into three, one belongs to me while the two belong to the madame

Not fair, I know.

“Come in.” Madame's famous cold voice rings out as I knock on her office door.

I push the door slightly, walking into the room. Madame’s office is nothing out of the ordinary, everywhere is painted black and red.

Her desk is at the other side of the room behind her desk is a floor to ceiling window. Two couches are seated in the middle of the room facing a TV that I have never seen on.

I walk to her table to pick up the envelope placed on the table and count the money.

A thousand dollars.

It's a lot of money but not nearly half of what I need. Mom owes Victor nearly twenty thousand and I would need extra more if I want to leave this city.

I usually perform just once in a week, sometimes two, but by the looks of it I am going to have to ask to come perform tomorrow.

“A man asked for you for the night.” Madame’s chill voice says, her head not raising from her laptop.

“I don't do that anymore Madame. We already talked about this.” I frown.

She stops typing, and raises her head when she speaks. It sounds scary, and cold.

“You think I didn't tell him that.”

“So—”

“He is offering to pay five thousand dollars for the night.” She cuts me off.

My eyes widened in shock.

What!!