Dreams [PRN]

chapter three

The night had draped San Juan in its sultry cloak, the heat lingering like a stubborn guest. The parlor, usually quiet and contained during the day, transformed as dusk fell. It became a place pulsing with life, with loud laughter and the clinking of glasses, the air thick with the scent of rum and cigarette smoke. Rosa's establishment, under the cloak of night, was no longer just a backdrop to hushed conversations; it was alive, chaotic, and unabashed.

I was on stage, a reluctant siren in scant attire, dancing under the harsh lights that left no room for modesty. My body moved to the rhythmic beats that filled the room, but my mind was elsewhere—entangled in the dreams Prince and I had spoken of, in the gentle warmth of his gaze that seemed to promise more than the confines of my current life.

The patrons were mostly men, their eyes greedy and unyielding, taking in the spectacle as they drank and jeered. It was a role I had learned to play, a mask I wore with practiced ease, but tonight, it felt particularly suffocating, as if each step, each sway was a betrayal to the afternoon's reprieve.

Amidst the noise and the crude laughter, the door opened, and in stepped Prince. My heart skipped a beat, not out of joy but sheer panic. The last thing I had wanted was for him to see me like this—reduced to an object of entertainment, my dreams stripped away as swiftly as the garments I barely wore.

His presence cut through the chatter, a stark contrast to the rowdy crowd. He paused, his eyes scanning the room until they found me on stage. The look on his face was not one of judgment, but rather of profound sadness, and perhaps, a deeper understanding of the abyss between the day's conversation and the night's reality.

I felt a wave of embarrassment wash over me, my movements faltering mid-dance. The music and the jeers seemed to grow louder, more insistent, as if to drown out the silent conversation happening between Prince and me—one of shock, disappointment, and an unexpected confrontation with harsh truths.

Prince's eyes lingered on me, his expression somber as he navigated through the crowd, making his way to the bar where Rosa was overseeing the night's business. I couldn't hear their exchange over the music and raucous laughter, but the intensity of their conversation was palpable even from a distance.

My dance routine ended, and I rushed offstage, my cheeks burning with a mix of shame and a desperate wish to disappear. But before I could escape to the relative privacy of the backstage area, Prince intercepted me in the hallway. His face was a mask of concern, the earlier lightness gone, replaced by a resolve that seemed almost out of place in the chaotic surroundings.

"Mayte, I didn't realize—" he began, his voice nearly drowned out by the noise.

I cut him off, my voice sharp with a mixture of defiance and vulnerability. "This is what it really is, Prince. This isn't just a place for quiet talks and dreams about better lives. This is what I am here. This is what we do."

He looked at me, really looked, as if trying to reconcile the woman he spoke with earlier in the quiet of my room with the figure under the glaring stage lights. "I understand that this is part of your reality," he said, his voice firm yet gentle. "But it doesn't define you, Mayte. You are more than this moment, more than this place."

His words were meant to comfort, but they stung, a reminder of the vast gulf between his world and mine. I glanced around, painfully aware of the leering patrons, the other girls with hollow eyes and forced smiles, dancing to the same relentless rhythm.

His words only deepened my embarrassment. "You shouldn't have seen this," I murmured, my gaze falling to the table, unable to meet his eyes.

"Mayte, listen to me," Prince said, his tone gentle as he reached out to lift my chin, compelling me to look at him.