Prism

Chapter 1- No body, No Crime

This one was whiny.

He was loud and ever so whiny. It made me want to kill him slower. Unfortunately, I can't. The bar is closing, and again, he's loud. I can't afford this kind of noise.

"Can you shut him up?" Olesia pops her head into the room. It's slightly concerning that she's able to hear. Our soundproof "private" rooms are not the best quality. But they're usually good enough.

The men that touch my girls get murdered. This man, in particular, thought it best to put his fingers in Olesia's underwear. Not many people get away with touching any of the dancers. Definitely not touching my best friend. Olesia is not one to touch. Not only is her best friend the psycho chopping up these men, but she's the one helping.

"Lesia, let me enjoy this. Two minutes and he's dead. Just turn the music up."

"You're not supposed to be enjoying this. God Adeera is the therapy working at all."

"Well, I can't really tell my therapist that I am killing men who violate women as a way to combat my personal problems with it, so no, with this, it's not helping."

I can always tell when Olesia is getting scared of what we do. She's anxious. I would be too. I should be. Olesia is impatient and worried. She wants this over with.

Olesia grabs the knife from the man's leg and lodges it in his throat. Not the cleanest way to get rid of him. Just another mess for me.

This man's name is Martin Carlson. He likes to come in on Thursday afternoons. Martin works as a teller at the Bank of America. His wife, Kathleen, has DAR meetings on Thursday afternoons. Martin Carlson comes to my club, touches the strippers, gives us good money, and leaves. Last week, he went to a bar not too far from here on Thursday instead. Right next to my apartment. He dragged a girl outside and assaulted her. I knew I would kill him the next time I saw him. He deserves it.

I don't believe people like Martin deserve a place in this world. Some say I just like to play god. Others would argue that I am just defending the women they harm. It's not necessarily my decision to really make. But I made it. And who's going to do much about it?

It's far too fucking cold in New York. I grew up in Phoenix. I was never made for the freezing temperatures of the New York City winters. You would think driving would be made a bit more convenient in a city that forces people to walk through 28-degree weather. I'm approaching my apartment soon enough.

I reach my hand in my pocket to pull out the red and white box my nimble fingers have become quite familiar with this winter. The cigarette fits in my hand like it meant to be and I swiftly light it with the end in my mouth. With two fingers wrapped around the stick, I deeply inhale that sweet fresh air and allow the smoke to fill my lungs.

The smoke evokes a new warmth in me, helping me get home faster. Once each step is climbed to the third floor, and all my locks have been opened and re-locked, I am chained to my bed.

I've been at the bar since twelve this afternoon. It's now two in the morning. I need sleep.

I always heard that strip clubs care more about their bartenders than their strippers. Since the dancers are "devalued" more focus, more pay, and more tips would go to me. It's fucked up. I'm well aware of the patriarchy rooted in that mindset. But I still knew I wanted to be a bartender while I was in school. And I knew I would make more money doing it at the club.

As it turns out, the clubs protect their bartenders more than their dancers. I protect the dancers. My little killing game is simply a measure of protection against the pedophiles roaming the streets. If I killed every single gross man who made the strippers uncomfortable, we would have no customers. So please, don't go thinking this is a nightly ordeal. You have to really fuck up to get the privilege of my time.

My eyes feel heavy like bricks resting just beneath them on a string. I need to get up and wash my face, desperately. One more night falling asleep in my makeup and I will be breaking out like a 12-year-old girl. However, I simply cannot bring myself to open my eyes. Just five minutes and then I'll get up.

It wasn't five minutes. I'm unsure of what time it is, but it certainly wasn't five minutes seeing as the sun is now shining through my curtains. There's a pounding on my door and a high-pitched whine behind it.

I very slowly open each lock on the door, creeping it open to see who so desperately wishes to speak with me.

"Olesia, what time is it?" I say through a slight rasp.

"Did you for real just wake up?"

"Yes, what time is it?"

"It's almost noon, Noah and I brought you lunch."

Noah stands there behind the door with a plastic bag displaying the words "THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU" on it. Most likely from the pho place on the corner they love so much.

"Are you going to sit there in the doorway or are you going to come in and eat."

Noah flashes his perfect smile and makes his way into my studio apartment. It's nothing big, definitely nothing fancy. But I can afford to live here on my own while going to school and I see that as something to be proud of.

"Noah if you do not take your shoes off in my home."

"Yes, Mother. I do as you say." He mumbles.

"Adeera, I have a favor to ask you."

"I just woke up and you already want something. Very fitting."

"No need to be grouchy, will you work tonight? Cassidy called out and I told Sam I'd find coverage for her."

"You work tonight?"

"Yes, Ma'am. Noah would be your bar back." Olesia smiles as if her smile will convince me. It will. She's a beautiful girl, she could get time to stop with that puppy dog eyes big smile combo she's hitting me with right now.

"Fine."

First chapter!! I am by far not a writer but I am trying and will get better!