Funny Love (Hollywood Undead Fanfic) *discontinued*

A Little Death

*2 days later*

*Jamie's POV*

Another day, another table dance. Another pervert telling me to bend over just a little more. Another dollar bill shoved into another itchy thigh strap.

I fucking hate this place.

If it weren't for a certain blue eyed bastard, I wouldn't be here right now breaking my back for crumpled dollar bills from virgins, perverts, and morally incompetent middle aged assholes trying to get away from their aging or pregnant wives.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

Olly's eyes watch me from across the room. The song finishes, and so does the table dance for the awed group of drunk college kids. My eyes catch his and he waves me over. No customer denied, my ass.

I pretend not to see him as I step off the table and wander off to the bar where I grab a drink of water, then order two shots of tequila.

"Jamie!" My manager's voice. Fuck.

"Yeah?" I respond, turning to her.

"The gentleman over there in the white jacket tells me that you ignored his service request," she states, flipping her auburn curls over her shoulder.

"I didn't ignore him, I just didn't see him," I smirk, tossing back one shot and wincing at the slow burn.

"Don't give me your bullshit, Jamie. Either go serve him now, or it's coming out of your next check."

"Aye, aye, captain," I salute. She rolls her eyes and walks off, I toss back the second shot. Here it goes.

I throw on my super stripper charm and strut over to the last person I want to see.

"Y'know, pink is one hell of a color on you," he greets. I brush off the statement with a fake smile, since I know my manager is watching from the other side of the room.

"How may I service you tonight, sir?" I ask sweetly, wishing to die as his eyes travel up and down my body.

He places a 20 dollar bill in my hand and guides me to sit on his lap, bringing me close enough to whisper in my ear. "Can I have a private dance?"

Can you throw yourself off the top of a building?

"Of course," I continue putting on a show for my manager. I glance over and give her the cue, she confirms with a nod.

A shiver runs down my spine as I take him by the hand and lead him to the back rooms, curtained off areas with plenty of space and privacy for private lap dances. I flip the sign outside of the dimly lit room, occupied, and then settle Olly in the lone cushioned chair, positioned in front of a pole.

"Need anything before we get started?" I ask dryly. He shakes his head, a stupid grin on his face.

"The rules are as follows, you paid me 20 bucks, so you get a 15 minute dance, and it's 5 bucks per every additional 5 minutes. You're allowed to touch, but only within my boundaries. If I tell you not to touch me, don't touch me. If I don't feel comfortable at any given time, I can just leave, and you still owe money for however much time you've been serviced. If you can't comply with the rules, or if you offend me in any way, you'll be asked to leave the building or the cops will be notified. Any questions?"

Not that I give half a damn.

"Crystal clear," Olly says, his eyes still shimmering under the red and pink and blue lights. It takes all the self control in the world not to deck him in the throat.

Self control is key. Self control. Breathe. Don't lose yourself, Jamie. Know your worth. Self control.

I focus in on the music now, and I let the tequila guide my movements. I start slow, just swaying my hips to the rhythm of the song. I don't recognize it, but I like it. Maybe I'll remember the chorus and add it to my playlist later. The playlist of songs that remind me of the best and worst relationship I've ever had.