forty-eight [ ON HOLD ]

part one

part one















chapter one// saturday, march 08

day zero.







chauncey









The clock struck 12, signifying me that it was time for me to wake up. I sighed, getting up and scratching the crud out of my eye. I didn't know why I continued to wake up every morning to go bartend at some stupid club. From the looks of it, most of my tips were from people who felt sorry for me, for I knew, and they knew, that Sin City wasn't paying me enough for this.

Just two days ago, I had been cleaning up puke for our custodians were too busy "cleaning the dance floor." From the looks of it, Rosa, our head custodian, wasn't cleaning anything but the floor with her crusty ass weave. But the little money I earned would be kept in a safe, and every Sunday, I'd count the contents. Each lousy tip I accepted from my customers were getting me closer to my goal: seventy-five  thousand dollars.

So far, I'd managed to gain about one thousand dollars throughout the past three years. I could've had more, but during those years, I'd spent most of my money on myself, and of course on my siblings. I was the middle child, Aron being the oldest of us three. He had it hard all by himself, trying to "father" us the best he could. The last thing I wanted to do was to add my crisis onto him.

So I kept it to myself. I knew I could get the money by myself, but the question was, could Jermaine wait another fifteen years for his money? Based on the fourty-eight days he gave me, I knew he couldn't. He was already being looked down on, for catching feelings for someone like me, letting me slide on my dues. I was beginning to regret getting myself into this. I should've stayed away from the drugs like everyone had warned me. But it was so easy to gain access. Jermaine practically handed it to me for free.

But of course, I've noticed that everything came with a price.

I got up off my bed finally, heading over to the shower. I stripped naked, admiring my tattoos and scars. I had a couple, two from a car wreck, the most noticable one from a gun wound. I remember exactly how it had happened. I had been associating myself with Jermaine, only getting myself in more and more of trouble. Of course, someone had to get hurt, and everyone was scared of big dog Jermaine, so it had to be his girl, or as everyone liked to address me: his bitch. I hated the name.

I found the name so demoting, for in a matter of days, I'd went from his girl, to his bitch. No matter how many times I'd protested against the name, Jermaine had just warned me to be quiet. I was already the laughing stock of the gang, considering I had made it plain and clear that I believed that the drugs were free. I didn't need any more attention than I was already getting.

I hopped into the shower, the cold water dripping down my skin. I knew many who took hot showers, claiming that it helped them think. But I found cold showers alot easier to think in. They were refreshing for I had lived a cold world, and it was good to know I wasn't the only cold thing in the world.

The wounds still stung, despite the time distance between one to another. I had learned to get over it, for I knew what real pain was. I'd witnessed it millions of times, from watching my mother die slowly from cancer. I'd watch my father be taken from my own hands. I'd watch my brother suffer raising my sister, Ayako, while battling school and work.

During that time, the only person who'd seem to take away my pain was Jermaine, promising me that the drugs he'd given me would help me, help me cope with my pain. I believed him, for his kisses, and his touches, seemed too real for it to be a lie. He'd taught me the way of men, he'd taught me how to fend for myself. Though he was a terrible person to everyone else, he was the sweetest thing to me. I was grateful for him.

I hopped out the shower, wrapping a towel around me. I entered into my room, fishing through my closet for something to wear. I'd learnt that the skimpiest thing you wear to the club, the more tips you'd recieved. For this, my work clothes usually consisted of sheer clothing and tight fitting jeans. For example, my outfit today was a fishnet blouse layered ontop of my pink bra, cleavage showing to the max. To match that were my leather pants and pink Jimmy Choos.

I threw on a long jacket, for Aron believed I had been working at a daycare, then working a night shift at a local store. He'd believed this since I was old enough to work. When in reality, most of the time I was out snorting cocaine and smoking weed. He'd never questioned me for he didn't find a need that I'd lie for something like that. In reality, it was surprising that I was lying too. I opened my door, walking towards the kitchen.

Our condo was quite small, three bedrooms, two and a half baths. It was cheap, and it lasted. So even though I was yearning for more, this would have to do. "Going to work Chauncey?" He asked, whisking up eggs in the kitchen. I nodded, kissing him on the cheek. "Tell Ayako I said hi when she wakes up?" I asked grabbing my house keys. He nodded. "Of course. Be safe okay?" He asked. I nodded, blowing him a kiss before walking out into the lobby.

"Work Miss.Lee?" the receptionist, a young black lady: Towanda, asked. I nodded. "Oh, any mail for me today?" I asked. Towanda flipped through the mail stack shaking her head. "You be safe out there okay?" She stated. I nodded, a bit skeptical about why everyone was telling me to be safe now. I held my hand up, trying to gain attention from taxi drivers.

After waving my hand for about five minutes, I sighed. The only way to get what you want from people was to give them what you want. I opened up my jacket, revealing my fishnet shirt. Immediately, a taxi stopped, whistling as I gathered my things and entered inside. "Sin City." I stated, ignoring the lustful looks from the taxi driver. "If you perform there, I'd love to see you do your thing." He stated, addressing the strippers who worked their way around the pole. I scoffed. "I'm a bartender." I answered, insulted that he would associate me with some strippers. But at the same time, my attire was quite tempting.

I plugged in my headphones, drowning out the taxi driver. I knew he was talking, for his mouth was running at a million times per hour. I found it quite sad how he had yet to noticed that I wasn't paying him no mind. Finally, I caught sight of the empty parking lot of Sin City. "Thank you." I answered, handing him his money. "On me sexy." He answered, shooting me a smile, revealing his top row of gold teeth. I gagged, mentally of course, before walking out of the car.

Emmanuel, my boss, stood stone faced, staring me down. "You're thirty minutes late." He stated, crossing his arms. Emmanuel was the sweet guy, who tried to act as if he was the tough guy in front of one his least liked employees. Apparently, I was one, for around Diamond,our head stripper known for her fascinating moves, he was a darling. It could also be due to the fact that he wanted in. Into her pants of course.

"Traffic." I stated, pushing past him and entering inside the empty club. It was usually like this in the morning, for who on Earth comes to a strip club at one? I headed towards the bar, sending a smile at my friend, Jordan. She'd been working at this club way before I came, teaching me the ropes of the club. "You look drained, honey bun." She stated, as she read over some recipes on her phone. I nodded. "I am, Jermaine wants his money in fourty-eight days." I stated. Jordan shook her head. "That's what you get for running with them hood boys. I would help you, but I got children to take care of." Jordan stated, addressing the two kids she'd given birth to during her marriage with Gerad Long, a locally known NFL player.

I groaned. "I'm fucked. How am I suppose to earn seventy-five thousand dollars in fourty-eight days?" I cried. Jordan shrugged. "You could always work over time, or you know, get another job." Jordan suggested. I groaned. "You know I can't do that. On the weekends, I work here, but on the weekdays I have a responsibility to take care of: Ayako."

"Well find you a sugar daddy." Jordan stated winking. I knew she was just joking, but the thought itself sounded hopeful. I had connections as well. Jordan usually invited me to her husbands annual St. Patrick's Day BBQ. That place would be flooded with rich black men looking for someone to satisfy their needs. I could have fifteen thousand dollars in a matter of hours. "Is there still a St. Patrick's party this year?" I asked, trying to make it seem as if I was just starting up a random conversation. Jordan face palmed herself. "Oh yes, thanks for reminding me. I'll email you the details later." Jordan stated.

I nodded. If everything went like I planned, this whole fourty-eight days thing will be a piece of cake.