bare // harry styles

chapter 1

I bit the inside of my lip. The loud music surged through me, and it felt like my heart was hitting the beats perfectly. I clicked the back of my heels together. Home, please.

But I'm not at home. I'm still backstage, in a skimpy outfit, losing any bit of modesty that I had left by the second. Shouts erupted from the crowd as an announcer stepped on stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the event of the night!" he boomed. Where is Charlotte? I thought, craning my neck to see if I just wasn't seeing her.

Charlotte came bustling through, tripping on her stillettos. "Sorry," she muttered to a lady. Her blonde curls bounced along with her. She reached my side and squeezed my hand. "Last one of the week."

I nodded. "3!" The announcer's voice made me shake. I got into my opening position.

"2!" I licked my lips nervously.

"1!" The curtain flew open, leaving me, Charlotte, and another girl standing there. There were three poles on the stage, one for each of us.

I let my feet lead me out, and wrapped my arms around the pole. What do I do next? I lifted my leg up flat against the pole, then wrapped the other around the pole. Men in the crowd hooted and hollered.

This is bullshit, I thought to myself as I pretty much gyrated against the pole. I tried to follow the routine. Slowly, I took off the top, leaving me in a black lacy bra

I made my way around the pole, keeping one hand on at all times. Next was the leggings. Dear God.

"Volunteers?" The announcer asked. I stuck my leg out for someone to reach. Please not a drunk forty year old man, please, God.

A boy who looked about twenty-ish walked up and ran his tongue over his teeth. He slowly took off my leggings, then spun them around like they were some sort of prize. Sicko.

I was now only in some black lace underwear and a bra. My hands trembled as I went on with the routine. The worst part was yet to come.

"Ladies!" I shivered. I stuck my waist out, on display for everyone to touch. My lips were forced into a smirk. "Tips?" I said smugly.

Men shoved tens and twenties into the elastic waistband of my panties. I swaggered back best as I could, and then the curtain closed.

"I got a fifty!" Charlotte squealed. "Dinner for two, yes, no?" I smiled as we walked back to the dressing room.

The third girl lay in there, filing her nails. "How much did you get?" she inquired, jutting her head toward my waistband, which I hadn't emptied yet.

"Uh.." I pulled out the bills. Three twenties and four tens. "A hundred. Good tips tonight." I pulled my hair back into a ponytail. "I got eighty," the girl said with a shrug.

I pulled on my gray Vans. "Oh." I left on the bra, and just pulled on a big brown sweater from my grandmother, and put on some capris.

Charlotte had on a pull-over sweater dress and flats, all gray."Let's go, chica!" She clapped her hands together excitedly, and dragged my arm out of the dressing room.

We pushed our way through the crowd, keeping our heads low so that no one would recognize us. It happened to Charlotte and I once, and someone wanted a 'private show' The thought made me shutter.

Charlotte's white vintage Jaguar was parked in the reserved spots for the workers. I climbed into the passenger seat, and grabed my purse. The Aspirin bottle was nearly empty. I placed three on the center of my tongue, and then took a big of water.