Into the unknown

Chapter 2.

Standing in the shower, I allowed the scorching hot water to pour down on my body, my body shivering against the heat. Having the water at such a high temperature allowed me to feel human. I went through a lot of my life being numb to everything, the intense heat reminded me that I was still real, I could still feel, I was still living. Once I felt satisfied that all the sweat and dirt was off of my body, I turned the shower off and wrapped a towel around my body.

Despite my only exercise being when I cleaning the house, I was fairly proud of the shape my body was in. I had a flat stomach, the faint lines of my abs visible. My legs were long and tan, currently glistening with water droplets. My breasts were on the bigger side, definitely something I was happy about. Although, they weren't my favourite part of my body when I was at work. A lot of men, drunk and sober, shamelessly allowed their eyes to roam over my chest as I worked behind the bar. It wasn't as if I was dressed in a way that showed off my boobs, but the fitted t-shirt I wore clearly highlighted their shape and showed them off. My bum on the other hand, wasn't my best asset. Whilst it was plump and defined, it was a tad on the small side, something I wanted to work on and change, but I didn't really have much time to work out. The man I married would need to be a boobs over bum kind of guy.

After drying and moisturising my body, I slipped on my matching black lace underwear. Whilst some women wore matching sets in the presence of their partner, I wore it for me. Looking in the mirror and seeing the matching bra and panties made me feel good about myself, it made me feel like a bad bitch, a sort of smugness took over me. In a way, it made me feel that I had my life in order, even though that was far from the truth. Yet, seeing is believing, so this was a start.

Sitting on the floor in front of the mirror in my bedroom, I began to put on my face. I wasn't a big fan of make-up, but I knew all about appearances. Every single person who walked through the door of Valencio was dressed up in dress or suits. It was one of the more high-end clubs that definitely did not allow trainers or t-shirts. My uniform was simple, so make-up was one of the only ways the female bartenders would and could attempt to look like they belonged. Whilst it was kind of part of the uniform, the make-up was also a way for me to cover up the scars and blue-ish marks that faulted my face – curtesy of mum and Darren. When either of them got a little too drunk or angry, I tended to be on the receiving end of it.

With my index finger, I smeared some light foundation onto my face, using a brush to spread it across. It was very rare that I wore eyeshadow, normally choosing to let me big brown eyes speak for themselves. The make-up I usually wore to work consisted of a natural look, using as little as I needed to, aside from the red lipstick that I smeared over my plump lips. Darren often referred to the red lip as my whore look, and often assumed I was going out to sell myself, which has previously resulting in a few bumps and lumps on my body. Mum never showed a clear dissatisfaction in my make-up choice, her most generic response being that it was a little too much. Red lipstick made me feel good, a little more confident, that's all that mattered, so I continued to wear it when I went to work.

Grabbing the blow-dryer, I began drying my long brunette locks. My hair was a dark brown, with natural hints of golden brown running throughout, and reached down to the middle of my back. It was light and smooth, allowing me to easily run my hands through it, something I often did when I was stressed. As much as I loved my hair, the length did irritate me sometimes. It often got in the way and so I normally kept it tied in a ponytail. I have fantasised, more than once, about chopping it off, but when I looked at the scissors in my hand, I backed out and decided against it.

As I stood up from my criss-cross position on the floor, careful not to put too put pressure on my injured hand, I shimmed into my signature black skinny jeans and put on the black short sleeved t-shirt that read Valencio in white cursive writing on the back. Although it was a plain and simple work uniform, it showed off my curves and hugged my body, which I quite liked. I had seen some of the outfits that others bar's made their bartenders wear, and I knew that my attire could have been a hell of a lot worse. I had often wondered why our uniforms were so basic when our customers were dressed with such sophistication, but I never voiced my concerns because I was quite happy with what I had to wear.