The Strip

Part 1

Rebecca POV:

"Come on, Bec, just one drink."

You huff out an annoyed breath at your sister, flicking through the channels on your screen and pointedly ignoring the blonde.

"It's your birthday, please ," she begs.

You sip from your mug before acknowledging her. "I am fully aware of the day, Amelia."

Taking this as a cue to continue, Amelia falls to her knees on the cheap linoleum, hands grasped together as she crawls - yes - crawls towards you.

She makes a last ditch effort to get you to agree, and you know it's coming long before it happens, and you know that you're going to cave anyway, so you bite down on your bottom lip to give yourself just a moment to pretend you have a backbone.

Amelia pouts.

That bitch.

You sigh. "Honestly, Amelia, I have zero interest."

"Who the hell is not interested in beautiful women?" Amelia snaps, jumping to her feet with a speed that her skinny jeans should not have allowed. Her combat boots thump heavily against the ground and you've already let your mind wander to how long before the neighbour beneath you bangs on the ceiling.

Amelia's indignance is blinding in it's clarity.

Because, really, who isn't interested in beautiful women?

"I never said I wasn't interested in beautiful women, I said I wasn't interested in watching naked women on stage ." You tug at the sleeve of your hoodie and immediately scold yourself for doing so. It's one of your tells and you know it; Amelia knows it, too.

You let out an annoyed sigh; not sure if it's directed towards yourself or your sister.

"It'll be fun!"

You snort. "It'll be embarrassing. And pervy ." Your cheeks blaze with a warm pink.

"What about all your feminist shit -- these girls are making money by flaunting the patriarchal system. They're geniuses, Bec."

Obviously, your sister is right; however... "I never said they weren't, but --,"

Amelia lets out a dramatic groan. You roll your eyes. "You haven't been out of the house in months, Squirt."

You shift uncomfortably, continuously picking at the hem of your sleeve until it frays under your fingernails. You know you've fallen further into a slump; this time of year weighs heavily on you. It always has. Guilt crawls lazily through your bones, coating you with a heaviness from the inside-out. "Don't call me that," is all you can say, and the guilt is palpable as your tongue slurs your response.

Amelia reaches across the table and places a hand on your knee. Her eyes are soft and her touch is even softer. It makes you squirm. "Come out with me, Bec, it'll be good for you. It's your fucking birthday, you dumb fuck." And just like that, the softness is gone. And rightly so; it was starting to creep you out.

Amelia's eyebrows are slowly crawling up her forehead as you silently stare at her, mulling over whether or not you would be able to worm your way out of this. By the time they reach the pinnacle of her head, nearly disappearing in her hairline, you murmur, "Just one drink," only to immediately roll your eyes when Amelia fist pumps.

"Perfect. One drink, I promise." Amelia coughs obnoxiously and trails off, tapping on her phone and doing that thing with her eyes whenever she's trying to hide something from you.

"What was that?" the amusement in your voice is not lost on either of you. You're excited and you know it. And so does Amelia.

Because, really, who doesn't love beautiful women?