Rose Thorns & Love Letters

19 ➪ Love, Stephan

•Phoenix•

12/12/1862
Love is a rather complex word, do you not think my darling? One can love another in a brotherly way, one can love another in a friendly way. Though allow me inform you. There is nothing brotherly or friendly about the way I love you. Write me back.
Love, Stephan

__________________

I bang my fist on the large slab of wood before me. I do not need to do this, I just want to be...extra, if you will. My calm and patient façade begins to wear thin as I wait for my presence to be acknowledged.

When I do not get a response, I bang again. Except this time, faster and harder. A few heads are turned and people seem to be captivated by my distress. They mean nothing to me so I pay no mind to them.

I look over to the half-naked, young woman wrapping herself around the metal pole as if her life depends on it. She twists and turns on the long, cold stick and is awarded a loud cheer as well as a couple of hundred dollar bills when she bends over and shakes her ass.

Although the only thing I cannot take my eyes off is the telling frown painted across her face.

The middle-aged men sat around the round tables, drinking whiskey all clap and hail, some even offer a standing ovation. They all look stereotypical. Nothing I haven't seen before.

Men who grimace at a woman having more than two shots but get drunk as a hobby. Men who would beat their wives black and blue if they ever gave another man the time of day, but spend their Tuesday afternoons in stripper clubs, throwing away hundred dollar bills they could use to buy groceries for that week.

I am not a good man. I have never claimed to be. But, at least I can go to sleep knowing I would never lay my hands on a woman. Not a lot of the men who are currently screaming for the dancing woman, at least a decade younger than them, can relate to that fact.

"Are you sure he is in there?" I mumble into the tiny hearing device nestled into the depths of my ear.

"Yep." Bash answers, dramatically popping the P. "Watching him riiighht noooow." He drags the last two words and I grimace at the thought of what he could be watching, and what I am about to walk into.

"Damn, Boss." Bash warily breathes out. "You sure you don't want to go in right now? I'm pretty sure he is about to—"

"Don't finish that sentence." I warn.

I hear Bash's mouth snap shut but I do not doubt the stupid, smug smile he must have sitting on his face. I instinctively push the earpiece further into my ear and straighten my collar.

"Tell me when."

"Three...Two...One...Action."

I burst through the door of the champagne room, earning me a high-pitched yelp from the corner of the room. I look over to see what is presumably an exotic dancer with her hands and knees planted onto the cold marble floor. She is wearing nothing but the top half of her black, lacy lingerie and her matching Louboutin pumps.

Her eyes prick with tears as blood drips from what I am hoping is just her inner thighs. Nothing about it is okay but as of right now, it would be the best case scenario. I can hardly see her face as there is duct tape slapped over her mouth, silencing her cries. Wait. If she has duct tape over her mouth, who the fuck made that..