Hush.

2::Ignite

I hated my job.

I prided myself in being a firm activist in the belief of women's rights, and the immobilizing of all derogatory discretions towards them. I was a steadfast believer that we were above jobs seeking only to gain revenue from assets explicitly owned by our particular sex. So you could imagine the kind of desperate position I'd found myself in to resort to the kind of job I had.

The whole thing was abominable, really, especially the fact that I had to rely on inefficient public transportation the thirty minutes out of my way there and back-a sixty-minute round trip-every other night, to dig up within me a side I'd hoped to suppress forever. If my friends (or anybody for that matter) knew what I turned into at night, I would probably be ostracized and kicked out of the country on the account of being such a deplorable example for young girls.

Couldn't say I would blame them for it, either.

I parked my car and waited a bit, my usual routine before entering the chaos that was Hoover's Night Club. Yep. A club. To which, of course, you had to be twenty-one to enter in or work at. Again, you could do almost anything if you lied well enough. And flashed a little of what you had to offer. I felt like a scummy piece of trash doing it, but all I had to do was remember the house, and my mother, and the fact that if I didn't do this we'd be broke and homeless, and I managed to drag my ass inside every time.

Two years I had been working there. They knew I was only seventeen, but hell, the place was so sketchy nobody cared. I wasn't proud of what I did, but after a while you get used to it. You learn to hide the guilt, hide the shame, because you didn't work at Hoover's unless you had one damn good reason to.

"You can do this," I breathed to myself, voice sounding small and unconvincing in the lonely confines of my car. "You don't have a choice."

Right.

I stared down at myself, at the fishnets and the skimpy dress, and the fact that I might as well have not been wearing anything. I closed my eyes and envisioned myself far away, at the beach or something, and with that in mind ventured inside.

I was hit immediately with an onslaught of noise, alcohol, sweat, and thumping bass.

"Hey sweetheart," some douchebag said, and slapped my ass. All I could do was smile seductively and wink, as per job responsibility.

God, I hated this place.

"Hey, Annie," Polly, one of the other girls, greeted as I assumed my station behind the counter. She was only a few years older than me, with blonde hair and blue eyes similar to mine. I got along with her the best. She was half-way decent to me, at least, and had to take the job because her parents died when she was young and she had nobody else to help her out.

I stifled a yawn, bracing my elbows on the counter. "Hey."

She smirked. "Long day?"

"You could say that again."

"I hear that. And unfortunately, it's not going to get any easier. The guys this evening are assholes."

I rolled my eyes. "Isn't that every evening?"

"True."

I shoved Polly playfully with my elbow, just as Donna, the woman in charge, called on her to serve a table. Waitressing tables was our primary duty, among other side favors in our job description. Favors that included stealing men's company and attention, where the more you got the more money you earned. The whole system was fucked up but what was to be expected? Half the customers we attracted were previously in prison, down on their luck, college drop-outs, or looking to strike a deal. An illegal kind of deal. I was bound by a questionably legitimate contract not to say anything about the activity I witnessed. I was there for money, and nothing else.

"Annie, table nine wants a round of beers."

I nodded toward Donna, grabbing a trey and swooping by another girl for her to deposit the mugs on top. I licked my lips and readied myself, and approached the rowdy bunch of guys to be served. Damn.

I really hated this place.

One of them wolf-whistled when I approached, and the sultry smile that spread across my face was more out of habit than anything else. "Hello, boys," I greeted, making sure to stoop over extra low. They liked that, as was proved when one of them stuck a twenty in my top. I winked at him, grazing my fingers along his bearded cheek. "Thanks, honey."

"Plenty more where that came from," he growled, much like an animal, and I shivered in disgust. Not for the first time, I found myself ticking down any options in my head. Day jobs were a no-go, seeing as I had too much else shit to do. Nothing else paid enough money. My mother certainly wasn't going to pick up any of the slack.

So, yeah. I really was stuck.

The booths were constructed extra wide for the lap-dance special, what every girl in the place both dreaded and desired. Usually if you were called upon, you walked home with over a hundred bucks in your pocket. But it left you feeling dirty and gross and plain nasty. It was the primary reasons the other girls hated Polly and me. We got more lap-dance specials than they did, since being hired.

I knew that was where I was headed, the moment the guy who seemed to have taken a particular liking to me snagged my wrist and yanked me closer to the table. I swallowed hard, trying not to focus on the fact that he was probaly thirty and smelled like cigarettes and urine and beer. Happy place, I told myself. Go to your happy place.

"Why don't you stick around, sweetheart?" he suggested, trailing a thumb down my side. "Make yourself . . . useful."

Useful my ass. Making myself useful would be volunteering at a hospital, or picking up trash, or mentoring kids at an underprivileged summer camp. This . . . this was not making myself useful.

I caught Polly's eye across the room, and she mouthed "Good luck". I sucked in a sharp breath and plopped right down in the man's lap, much to the delight of his inebriated companions.

"So what's your name?" I crooned, methodically undoing his buttons. Oh, God, his chest was hairy.

"Cal," he replied gruffly, fingers digging sharply into my hips.

"Mm, good to meet your acquaintance, Cal." I promised myself to splurge for a nice long bath when I got home as I pressed my mouth to his jaw, cringing at the grimy stubble aggravating my sensitive lips. I felt him shove another wad of bills into my top, and feeling encouraged, I scraped my nails down his sweaty chest, nibbling on his earlobe. "I like twenties," I whispered.

More money was shoved into my top.

"Good boy," I said, and only endless job shifts had accustomed me to not jumping when I felt his hands sliding all over me. When I first started I completely freaked out, was so sure I couldn't pull the job off. But it got easier. Everything became easier with time, and when you didn't have any other options.

I wasn't proud of anything I did to Cal in that booth. Not a single thing. But by the time I had finished, I must have had a good three hundred dollars stuck in various places in my outfit, so I could swallow down the dignity lost and move on. There was nothing I could do but move on.

Feeling thoroughly violated and ashamed-I mean, come on, I was a seventeen-year-old basically selling her body for a living-I escaped into the back room to culminate my earnings. I passed by a few of the girls who were smoking, who cast me hostile glances. I ignored them, entering my personal space and closing the door behind me. Each girl was given a private room to prep in or swap outfits. The space was no bigger than a closet, and only accommodated a mirror and a few changes of clothes. I dialed in the combination to the safe on the tiny vanity, depositing the money inside. Whenever I was attending to a customer, to distract myself from the more violating aspects of the job I would calculate how much I needed to make that night, to keep on schedule and make ends meet. I could pay off plumbing and water, but the electricity I'd have to wait on, along with the rent. Rent would be the prerogative, and then electricity. I sighed when I realized I'd have to take a trip to the Laundromat before getting started on that homework I'd neglected.

Another long night for me.

There was a knock on my door. I shut the safe quickly. "Come in."

The door opened to reveal Polly, much to my relief. She had a concerned look on her face. I knew it was for me. Always for me. She genuinely cared about my well-being, and knew how much I detested having to lower myself to the level I did to scrape by. "Hey, Annie."

I glanced off to the side, crossing my arms tightly across my chest. "Hey."

"You okay?"

I didn't answer. What would I say? She knew I wasn't. None of us girls were.

Polly stepped closer, frowning as her eyes were drawn to my cheek. She rubbed her index finger against the skin, and I winced. When she pulled away her finger was speckled with blood.

"I don't even know how that happened," I stated truthfully, rubbing the back of my wrist against the thin slice.

Polly sighed. "Are you sure you're okay, Annie? How are things at home?"

I had named her my confidante, since there wasn't really anybody else I could trust. I didn't have any close friends. Nobody but the circle I surrounded myself with at school, and it wasn't like I could tell them the truth. "Bad."

Her mouth quirked up into a dissatisfied twist. "I'm sorry."

I shrugged. "Not your fault."

"It's just not fair, what you have to do. I mean, you're still in high school. Those responsibilities shouldn't fall on your shoulders."

I said nothing. I'd heard it all before, anyway. How many times did I look at myself in the mirror and ask my reflection how things had turned out the way they did? How I could let it all happen? How I could let my life spiral so out of my control?

Funny, my reflection never had an answer.

"I'm handling it," I informed Polly quietly, staring at the floor. At my stupid fishnet-clad legs, and the stupid dress that didn't cover anything.

"Really?"

I nodded.

"You know you shouldn't have to, right? You know you shouldn't have to do this?"

"Yes," I whispered, swallowing hard. Of course I knew that . . . right? I didn't know. The responsibility line was becoming more and more hazy, the definitive distinction between child and adult blurring. Alas, I was the adult, and my mother had experienced an infantile relapse. Dependent. On me.

Everything in my life was so, so wrong.

"Don't worry about me," I said, an automatic response to any detected concern. I didn't need anybody worrying about me, even if I may have wanted it. Worry led to interfering, interfering led to CPS, and everything snowballed from there.

I was almost eighteen. I just had to get there, and finish high school, and things would be that much easier.

"Polly! Annie! Get out here and work!"

Polly blew out a long breath, the corner of her mouth pulling up in an encouraging smile. "We do what we do because we have to, yeah?"

And in the end, when the day was over, that was always the truth.

~*~

It was one in the morning when I got off my shift.

I was beyond exhausted, worn out to the point that if I tripped over the sidewalk and fell, I wouldn't be able to stand back up. I'd stopped by my house to gather all the laundry lying around and started off on the walk into town. Compared to hellish public bus rides, the ten minute jaunt was nothing. Of course, the impending cold weather reminded me it was time to invest in a jacket, seeing as my only good one had gone to my mother, and it had disappeared.

I must have been a sight, wearing rubber ducky pajama bottoms with a long-sleeved top, make-up still on my face, and hair thrown up in a sloppy bun. Not to mention the bag of laundry I was hefting behind me. And the fact that I was alone in the dark. But whatever. Heart wasn't exactly a hot spot for crime, unless you counted the guy that stole a cinnamon bun from the bakery a month ago. But even he returned the next day out of guilt and paid the cashier back.

My mother hadn't been in the kitchen when I returned. In fact, I was pretty sure she wasn't even in the house. I had no wish to learn of her clandestine adventures, sure they didn't involve anything the FBI would smile upon. I just gathered the clothes and left, knowing the faster it was done the faster I could return home and devote the next hour to math, science, and history.

Good thing my body had reconfigured itself to needing only an average of five hours of sleep a night.

I arrived at the Laundromat, extremely grateful. One other woman was inside, keeping mainly to herself, reading a magazine. I wondered, briefly, who else would be washing their clothes at one in the morning besides me, and decided they were probably people in a situation similar to mine. The empathy was automatic. Life was a bitch, and we all knew it.

I fished change out of my pocket and got to work stuffing the clothes inside. I started the washer and glanced around the filthy place, sighing. I should have brought work to do while I waited for the freaking clothes to wash. I'd be there for a good hour, at least. And then they would have to dry . . .

I collapsed into one of the stiff, uncomfortable chairs, tossed my head back, and was soon fast asleep. 

Something was nudging my foot.

I realized that with minimal consciousness, shifting around. I frowned. It didn't feel like I was in my bed, so . . .

What the hell?

The annoying bump disappeared, and I snuggled in to drift off once more, when I felt something hit my knee.

I released an exasperated breath, eyes flying open. "What do you-oh." I shoved the heels of my palms into my eyes, forcing the fatigue out of my system. Right. I was at the Laundromat, not in bed.

Checking the clock on the wall showed it was two in the morning. Excellent. I'd fallen asleep. And screwed up my entire schedule while I was at it.

I sighed, moving to stand, when I noticed him. He hadn't said a word during my inward berating, just stood there as the silent giant. And he was pretty big, around six feet, solid build, dark green eyes, not the kind of guy you want to run into as a single girl at a Laundromat in the middle of the night.

Not that I cared if he kidnapped me. Maybe I'd be able to get more sleep that way.

"Sorry," I muttered, and then wondered what I had to be apologizing for. I'd quietly fallen asleep. It wasn't like-

"Oh, God, did I snore?" I ran my hands down my face in pure embarrassment. "I did, didn't I? Ugh, I'm so sorry you had to hear that."

The man smirked, but still didn't say a word. He stuck his hands in his pockets. It was then I realized there was something around my shoulders, and upon further investigation I realized it was a jacket. His jacket?

"Is this yours?" I questioned, and when he nodded, my heart just about burst at the kind-though unexpected-act. I couldn't remember the last time somebody had did something nice for me for the heck of it. "You didn't have to do that," I said. "And on that matter, why did you-"

I trailed off when, instead of a verbal response, he pressed his fingers to the back of my hand. I glanced down and saw that I was shivering. Terribly. Visibly. I blushed.

"Thanks," I whispered. I glanced around the building, finding the place empty except for us. Even the lady reading the magazine, who looked like she might have set up permanent residence, was gone. At the guy's feet I saw a basket of laundry and a bag. My bag. Filled with my clothes. Folded. Clean. Dry.

I didn't even know where to start, couldn't get passed the disbelief widening my eyes and clogging my throat.

"Did you finish my load for me?" I asked. He shrugged, turning sheepish as he rubbed the back of his neck. "You really didn't have to do that."

Another shrug.

"Do you talk?"

He looked away.

"Fair enough," I smiled, rising to my feet. "I'm Annie. I appreciate that, it's been a hell day, you know how it is. I guess I'll get going, then."

I tried removing his jacket, but his hands appeared and stopped me, tugging the clothing back over my shoulders. I pushed my arms through even as I said, "I couldn't possibly take this. It's yours, and I don't even know you."

He shrugged again, his favorite response, and turned away to begin putting his clothes in the washer. I couldn't stop gaping at his back. What kind of a stranger finishes your laundry and more or less donates his jacket to you?

The too-good-to-be-true kind of a stranger, and I pinched the back of my hand several times to wake up from the dream.

I didn't.

I grabbed my sack of clothes and threw the bag over my shoulder. I would admit, the jacket was insanely warm, even if it fell nearly to my knees. "Thank you," I called one more time. He didn't glance my way, just nodded, and with that as our goodbye I started on my way back home.

I never thought I would see him again.

I didn't think I would be wrong.