Reject You to Break You (To Reach You Book 2)

Chapter Three: Happy Bitchday

Song: Rockabye by Clean Bandit, ft, Anne-Marie and Sean Paul

Now-

North-

It is universally acknowledged to strippers around the planet that when stripping one mustn't appear disgusted. 

However, it stated nothing of how said stripper should feel. 

Therefore I am at a leisure to feel disgusted if I please to do so as long as I don't let it show on my face. 

Other women, when stripping would maybe feel powerful, and confident. Powerful because of the affects their body is causing and confident that they would find more than thousands of willing men that would gladly screw them in a bathroom stall after the showcase of what their mama gave 'em was over. And the said whores would probably be up for a second round. 

But then there are others who hate it, believe it or not, while some strippers love the jobs, there are others like me, who do it because it's their only choice. Who hate every minute of it. 

The job does pay well though, and I don't even have to be fully naked, mostly it involves prancing around with bras that barely hold anything in and thongs. I need to pay for the house rent that I share with my roommates and save up for college, both aren't easy feats but not impossible either.  

Today is my birthday, but besides Caste, no one knows of it. No one besides my roommates would care anyway, and they know I don't do party shit. Today I turn seventeen, yet another year of disgusting planet Earth with my presence. 

Failure. I think as I put on the baggiest clothes I could find. 

Failure. I think as I put in my earlobe earings, washing my face. 

Just as terrible as her father. 

It appears that a particular old depressed old douche was right, whoever he may be: the apple really doesn't fall far from the tree. 

My mom was a stripper. And so am I. 

I head to the bar as soon as I'm done, meeting Trish, who gladly pours me a coke, knowing I don't drink. 

"You done for the night, sugar?"

At forty-something, Trisha is gorgeous, with blond hair that falls effortlessly into place and bright blue eyes, she possesses slutty attire, just like that of the other bartenders, and looks in her early-thirties, needless to say men come around here and flirt, not only for free drinks but to actually get in her pants. And they do. Indeed they do.  

Trisha is referred to as a slut sometimes, but not by me, she just uses guys as much as they're using her. Sure I hate even being anywhere near guys, let alone in my pants, but I get where she's coming from. Trisha's husband died of prostatic cancer when she was twenty-five, three years after their marriage, they were in love, usually, I would refer to love as total bullshit, but her sadness over him proves that he really meant something to her. Thus the guys, a distraction and nothing more. And she never does guys who have a real family they get back to, Trisha is many things, but she isn't a home-wrecker. 

Some sicko thinking he's got a chance with me slides in the stool next to mine, grinning at me. He's twenty at most and does look decent. Very decent actually. 

"Hey, I'm Kay,"

I snort. "That's a fucked up name,"

He grins, apparently, men don't have the ability to realize they're being insulted. "Yeah, so I've told my mom, what brings you here, you can't be older than eighteen?"

Glad you noticed, now fuck off. "I strip,"

His eyebrows rise. So he didn't know that? "Oh,"

Awkward silence that I don't try to fill. 

"So there's this party, at my friend's place--"

"I'm a lesbo," I drone. It's the easiest way to get them off my back, plus I might as well be, with my lack of attraction to guys. A normal girl would probably see him as quite the sexy one and would currently be riding him in a bathroom stall. 

Eyes widen. "Oh, must be interesting to strip with a bunch of girls then," he chuckles. 

I sigh. "What, pray tell, would be the easiest way to get you off my back?" I say bluntly. 

He raises his hands in the air in surrender. Gives me a crooked smile. "Come to the party with me and I will leave you alone,"

"I'm not screwing you,"

"Never did say that,"

I look at him with an arched eyebrow. "You're not serious,"

He arches an eyebrow right back before winking. "And you're not a lesbo, party?"

I glare at him for several seconds before Trisha decides to wisely intervene. "Toots, you need to cool off for some time, and you don't have any more dances tonight, if he tries anything we both know you can kick his ass,"

I purse my lips, trapping my tongue in between my teeth. "Fine, you try anything I'll remove that dick you're so proud of, in result causing millions of women to cry themselves to death, wanna take that risk?"

He holds his hands up again. "I won't try anything,"

Fine then. I glare at him somewhere, making him squirm for a second. 

"Okay," I say, smirking.