I hated being dragged to these places. They were potentially scarring, the last time I was in one I saw a two security guards have to physically remove a middle aged man from the leg of an exasperated looking teenager. Other times you could see the concoction of determination, sadness and resignation in the girls' faces as they gyrated against each other with desperate abandon. I couldn't see the attraction, there was very little I found arousing in the pain and misfortune of young women.

My brother Emmett, however, seemed to remain oblivious to this. It was his stag night, his last night of 'freedom' (though of course he wouldn't say that in front of his wife-to-be Rosalie). She was fully aware of this last venture of his, and I had to applaud the woman... She was self assured in her own beauty. So confident of her man's affection that she even brought home a small wad of one dollar bills and joked with him to save one to slip in her panties when he got home. Theirs would be a happy marriage, I could tell. It seemed to run in the family, which only singled me out as the anomaly. Everybody joked that I must have been the milkman's.

Back to this dimly lit room, the red low lighting trying to induce a sense of carnal mystery. It looked tacky, like the set of a low budget vampire movie. I swept my gaze over the women, it was still early so there was no big show yet, just a few women clutching onto their freshly buffed poles as if clutching onto a gleaming life raft. The music was loud, and generic songs with a steady, pulsating rhythm blended into one another seamlessly to ensure that these girls didn't once stop the incessant swaying of their barely covered hips. I looked at their faces, a rare trait in their clientele I assumed. Their plastered on make was almost as unappealing as their subtle discomfort. I turned back to our group.

"First round is on me, what's everyone having?" I said, breaking the various stages of entrancement with these women that the guys were experiencing.

"Six beers and six tequila shots, bro!", came the excited cry of my brother, "and thats just for me, what are you guys having?" He added with a loud guffaw that signaled that he truly thought that he was funny. He was sadly mistaken.

I walked up to the bar, where the door for the changing room for the dancers was just adjacent. I ordered the drinks and while the bartender was sorting them for me I turned my attention to the soft voice I could hear just behind the door.

"Lauren, would you mind if we swapped outfits for tonight. I don't think I can wear something this revealing with..." The voice trailed off.

A harsh, nasal voice cut her off before an explanation was offered. "Well you should have thought about that before you became a cheap stripper then Bella. See you out there".

The telltale clatter of heels against the floor came, getting louder and more concentrated as she walked towards the door. I grabbed the tray of drinks the bartender had just finished arranging and I walked over to our table. There sat my brother Emmett, my brother - in - law Jasper, our friends from college Ben and Eric, and Emmett's new work colleague James. The way he was looking at the blonde draping herself in front of him was not one of lust or of admiration, but of indeterminable disdain and a scheming glint in his eye. I instantly disliked him the moment I met him.

The lights went down some more and a rousing crescendo of music began. Some big production was about to happen... A long line of scantily dressed women paraded out of the dancer's room and onto the freeform shaped stage. They all looked much the same. Big smiles showing perfect white teeth, tan skin whether from a bottle or from the sun. Mainly blondes with heavy eye make up to create a sultry look of allure.

Until. A girl. Not a woman, a girl. By far the youngest of the group, she didn't even look legally old enough to be in a place like this. Her brown hair fell almost to her elbows in soft waves that framed her pale, heart shaped face. Her eyes, free of the make up sported by the others, were wide and innocent and filled with emotion. In them I could see fear, and nerves. I gulped before I let my eyes trail below her face. Where other girls had been wearing corset type garments, or netted lingerie, this girl was wearing a 50's style 2 piece. While it accentuated her waist, which was slender in the extreme it also left what looked like a birthmark she had attempted to cover with make up visible on her hip.

Their routine continued with some suggestive dancing with each other to some slow paced song I may or may not have heard before. I couldn't keep my eyes away from this girl. She shimmied her way over to the side of the stage where myself and the rest of the guys sat. James whistled and waved a dollar bill up in the air. I sighed and looked at her again closely. It wasn't a birthmark. It was a bruise, the perfect shape and size to be an imprint of a hand. I gazed up at her face in shock and noticed some yellowing along her hairline. Only just noticeable, it was the sure sign of ageing bruises.

She caught my gaze and looked panicked. She stumbled back, surely looking for an escape from my penetrative gaze. As she did, she backed up into another dancer who then quickly shot across the stage leaving the poor little brunette to crash into a silver pole.

"Swan! Here please!", came a voice behind us, in a deafening stage whisper.

She quickly exited the stage and ran towards the door while the rest of them continued as if nothing had happened. Her eyes were swimming in tears. I got up to leave, my brother and his friends were laughing at the apparent hilarity of it all. I made my excuses, telling them I needed a smoke.

The front of the club was packed with would-be clientele so I made my way to the alley that was situated to the side of the building. The street was only vaguely lit by lights from the main street. But I had all the light I needed to recognise the tiny brunette sat on the stairs to the side entrance, huddled into herself making the unmistakable sounds of someone who has sobbed themselves out of all their energy.

I walked up towards her with all the resolve of needing to deliver my apology. It had been my fault I had thrown her off her groove, so to speak. I stood directly in front of her. She slowly lifted her head and took me in. Her eyes mildly panicked. I took in a breath to say my piece. But she beat me to it.

Robotically, she said, "It's $50 for an hour, $200 for the night. God knows I need it now."

She burst into tears again and I was left wide eyed and speechless.

Thank you so much for reading. Please let me know what you think.

P.S. And it's not what you think! Don't hate on Bella!