Pack or Prey (Wolfblooded book 1)

Chapter 12

July 7th 2011 8:46 p.m.

While I didn't quite like being forced to take a few personal days before returning to work, I was grateful that Andre hadn't fired me over this mess. After the cop pointed out that I’d been in the middle of both incidents, I thought my boss might also have this revelation. Though neither of them had the insight I had on just how connected they were, it was a short jump from victim to liability.

I had no idea what to do with myself for three whole days. I didn't really have a lot to clean because, living alone, there just isn't a lot of mess accumulated. At least not for me. I would have classes, but that would be no different from any other day. It was after classes were over that I found myself idle and clueless.

I sat at my computer desk, chin resting on my palm, and perused the internet for a while waiting for inspiration to strike me. All I found were seven friends announcing what they were having for dinner on Facebook and a spam email telling me, in rather large and rude shouty capitals, that I no longer had to suffer from Erectile Dysfunction. Oh yes, a day well spent.

Switching off the computer, I leaned back in my chair and let loose a long disgruntled sigh. I was completely and brain-numbingly bored. Some might think, because of my line of work, I had a ton of friends and parties to go to. That I was a creature of the night and there was never a dull moment for me. Well, obviously, they would be wrong. I was not my chosen profession.

Stripping, or burlesque dancing, was not a way of life for me like it was for many of the girls I worked with. It was a job to put food in my house and to pay rent. That's all.

I didn't rock and roll all night and sleep all day. I was up at seven in the morning and going to classes at the local college until about four or five in the evening. I took a brief nap or studied until about eight, and then got ready for work so I could be there by ten and normally didn't get home until three in the morning only to start it over again. There was no time for parties or a girl's night out. There was just the unchanging routine of my life. To be honest, it was a godsend after a nomadic life of uncertainty.

Many people have asked me why I chose stripping. Wouldn't it just be easier to get a "legitimate" job at a fast food place or a call center? To them, my life would have been easier and more manageable than hardly sleeping and staying out all hours of the night.

My response to them was usually one of two things: One, there was nothing illegitimate about my line of work. I didn't get paid under the table and I paid my taxes like I was supposed to. I offered a service and received compensation just like any other person.

Two—and this is the big one—I liked dancing. It not only paid my bills faster than any minimum wage or entry level job could offer, but I actually enjoyed it. I refused to apologize for the high I felt when I knew I was playing to the fantasies of others, be they men or women.

When I was on stage, I became a living fantasy and god damn if I didn't love the idea of that.

Call me a whore, call me easy, but the people who spewed that kind of venom were only spouting their own insecurities, not mine. To me, stripping was the best thing for me until it wasn't anymore.

However, without a night at work to look forward to, I came to understand that my life was little else than studying and stripping and that was a bit unsettling.

I glanced at the phone sitting on my computer desk and debated on calling Liz. Normally, I wouldn't think twice about calling her to chat it up, but after the other morning, I was still trying to think of what to say to her. How much longer could we go on like nothing happened?