Two: Dirty

I stared at the swinging string hanging down from the light bulb hooked into the ceiling in the middle of my small room, three metal springs from the bed poking into my side as I lay curled up in a ball. I had gotten off the floor, a few hours prior and had been laying like that since.

I waited for any more knocks to come, but it seemed like everyone was done humiliating me for that day. I supposed I had it better than other muggles. They were getting tortured and murdered this instant probably, cowering in some corner of their bedroom or kitchen, holding their children to their chests, lying to them and whispering that everything was going to be okay. I picked at the frayed edges of a hole in my jeans up on my thigh, showing off a small section of tanned skin. I thought of Mum holding Eli like that, cradling his head against her chest as they laid down on his small bed, tear tracks stained on her face. I thought of his little six-year-old voice asking, "Mummy?"

"Yes, my love?" Mum would whisper in her soothing voice, full of love and worry and sadness.

"Do you think Genny and Matty will be okay?" Eli would whimper, and he would look at Mum, his puppy brown eyes searching for her hazel ones in his dimly lit bedroom.

"Of course they're okay, my love. You know how clever and smart Matthew is, and you know how strong and brave Gennaveve is," Mum would assure him, but anyone could see the pain and doubt in her eyes as she would stroke his dirty blond hair and kiss his temple again.

I squeezed my eyes shut, more tears leaking out of my eyes as I thought of my younger brother. Matt would always play G.I. Joes with Eli though we were twelve years older than he was. I would watch and laugh, hanging upside down off of Eli's bed. Eli would excitedly show me his G.I. Joe Duke riding a toy dinosaur, and I would smile, telling him how brill it was. Then Matt and I would exchange glances of amusement, silently laughing at how bloody adorable our little brother was.

My heart tightened as I sobbed against the lumpy pillow. That would never happen again. Matty would never play G.I. Joes with Eli again, and I would never watch them. He was gone.

I wished I could stop thinking about all of that, wished that I could stop thinking at all. Then I thought of how Matt was always thinking and how he never stopped. That's who he was. He thought way too much and over-analyzed everything. He told me once that that was why he was placed in Ravenclaw, one of the four houses at his school. Ravenclaw was supposedly known for their wit and logic. Then he told me that I'd have been placed in Gryffindor and that he admired me for expressing my beliefs so openly, never caring what someone thought of me. I smiled briefly. We were complete opposites. I was act-without-thinking girl, and he was think-before-acting guy. And he was such a bloody know-it-all.

Also, not just our personalities were different; we were fraternal, so we had some differences in looks as well. He was tall and lanky with a strong jaw while I was short and curvy with dimples. His eyesight was horrid, and mine was twenty/twenty. His short blond hair was dark like Eli and Dad's, and mine and Mum's were bright. However, our eyes were exactly the same. Brown-and-green hazel with long eyelashes - which didn't really matter because they were blond anyway - and able to read each other like open books.

I felt my eyelids grow heavy and relaxed some. If I went to sleep, time would pass faster, and I wouldn't hurt as much. Dad always said everything takes time.

"Oi, Blondie."

I blinked drowsily and squinted up to find Wolfe leaning over me. She raised her eyebrows.

"Wotcher," she greeted, dragging the chair from the foot of my bed to the side by my face and taking a seat.

"What is it?" I questioned hoarsely, my voice still sore from crying before falling asleep last night. Or was it day? I already lost track of time. It's not like there was a window in my room to tell me so.

She held up a set of clothes in one hand and a bowl of soup in the other, and my eyebrows shot up as I saw the first thing on top of the pile of clothes.

"What the hell?" I asked, sitting up, instinctively putting a hand to my stomach, but surprisingly, I felt no pain. I then accepted the bowl from Wolfe, slurping at it hungrily and loudly.

"Oh yeah, I fixed your stomach," she said, taking out her wand from inside her robes and twirling it around in her fingers before dropping it expertly, making it shoot blue sparks. I stifled a giggle as her cheeks pinkened somewhat. She continued, picking her wand back up. "Jones pretty much made me because, well, he's a little impatient."

"Impatient? No kidding," I scoffed, looking up from my meal that was already halfway gone. I was surprised with myself at how at ease I felt with Wolfe. A smile flitted across her lips before it disappeared.

"Listen, just put these on okay?"

"Ugh," I moaned and downed the rest of my soup before putting the bowl down and grabbing the pile from her and looking at each individual piece. "Where the hell did they get these? A hooker?"

Wolfe was silent, and I looked back up at her. "Seriously?" I questioned, snorting. "Awesome. I'm gonna wear dead street walker clothes. Just bloody brilliant."

"Please just change your clothes," Wolfe asked, something flickering in her eyes. I couldn't tell what it was, though it was almost like they changed color.

I raised my eyebrows. "I didn't know murderers used manners."

I recognized what showed in her eyes then. Hurt. How utterly confusing.

"Just put the damn clothes on, Blondie. Yeah? Or else Jones'll come in here and put them on you himself," she said, exasperated.

I winced in disgust at the mental imagery, my skin crawling just at the thought of Jones putting his hands on me again. I looked down at the clothes then up to Wolfe to meet her gaze. We shared the contact for what seemed like over a minute. For some reason, I felt myself grabbing the clothes out of her hands. Also, I felt myself trusting her. I think I had already started before that point, but I knew I felt comfortable. Maybe it was because she was a fellow woman, I didn't know. But I trusted her.

I stood up and started to strip down until I was stark naked, finding that my bandage had disappeared. I heard Wolfe clear her throat, and I looked up to find her looking around the room awkwardly.

"Well, you sure as hell aren't shy now, are you?" she asked, amusement plain in her voice. I stifled a grin as I pulled on the skimpy black lingerie at the top of the pile.

"We're all girls here, aren't we?" I replied, then shimmying into a tight black dress that clung to every crevice and curve of my body. The bottom stopped high up on my thighs and the top plunged down farther than I'd ever worn before. I sighed, looking down at myself. "I look like a harlot."

Wolfe giggled, and my eyes shot up to her in surprise. She pressed a hand to her mouth to muffle her laughter. Despite the entire situation, I started laughing as well. There we were, in an ugly little room in an ugly little bar in the middle of nowhere, me standing barefoot in a dead prostitute's costume and Wolfe sitting in a chair in front of me in a wizard robe and her nose stud, laughing like lunatics. I suppose it was rather funny.

"You, heh heh, you have these too," Wolfe chuckled, holding up two little deathtraps. Black stiletto peep-toed pumps. "I checked your trainers for your size before they went out earlier."

Luckily, I had practice with heels because of the family weddings I had been to, so I pulled them on and strutted around the room, shaky at first but then with ease. "How long have I been here?" I questioned after a few moment's silence as I raked my brush through my hair, glancing down at the bright blue colored toenails peeking out of my shoes.

"Three days. You slept through the first, yesterday was the second, and today is third."

I hummed in response then tossed my brush back to my bed, smoothing my dress down. "Well?" I inquired, doing a quick turn, hands on my hips.

Wolfe smirked. "Like a harlot."

A smile flitted across my lips before I frowned. "Guess that's my role, huh?"

She sobered and looked down at her feet. "Yeah. That's your role, B."

B? I suddenly wondered whether Wolfe liked me as well.

I inhaled deeply, not knowing what was going to happen in the next five minutes. I exhaled loudly before I walked past Wolfe, opened the door, and strutted out into the hallway. I, again, followed the loud music, listening to the footsteps of the female Snatcher behind me. As soon as I paraded into the bar room with, once again, my head held high and my hands on my hips, the cheers and whistles and cat-calls sounded raucously. The Snatchers parted, and at the end of the pathway sat Jones in a wooden chair with his legs open, an unfamiliar-looking bottle of liquor in his hand, and a drunken grin occupying his face. His eyes looked me up and down, and he whistled appreciatively.

"The slut look suits you, Blondie," Jones commented, beckoning me forward with his large hand, his voice a slight slur.

I gave him a large fake smile as I approached him, stopping just before the open spot between his legs. He patted his thigh, gesturing for me to take a seat. I held back a grimace as I obeyed, crossing my legs.

"What is it you want, my dear Jonesy?" I asked, glancing at the bottle in the hand that wasn't now holding my hip. His touch burned through my dress, and I already felt sick with myself.

Jones chuckled. "Just a good little dance from my good little slut." His alcohol breath washed over my face, and I was rewarded with the urge to vomit. I held it down and stood back up, just to straddle his lap, earning more leers and whistles from the crowd. I plucked the firewhiskey bottle from his hand, much to his amusement, and downed a large gulp. The back of my throat seared in a pleasant yet painful way, and I found myself buzzed already. The cheers seemed to grow louder.

Little dance, hmm? I got up off of Jones, pretending I wasn't about to do what I was about to do. I decided in the back of my mind that I was going to stay alive to see Eli again. To tell him to his face that everything was going to be okay. To make sure no one every hurt my family again. And to do that, I had to survive. And to survive, I had to give a wanker a lap dance.

I closed my eyes, turning around to have my back facing him. I listened to the music and started swaying my hips in time with the bass. I backed up, my whole body in tune with the music. I moved my ass along his leg and felt his crotch up with it. I moved in slow circles, grinding against him, feeling his hands grasp my hips. Again, his touch made me feel dirty, but I kept dancing, drowning out the audience and only listening to the music. I kept my eyes closed and my body moving. I turned back around and dropped my hips lower and lower, moving them slightly around in figure eights, then back up in the same motion. I opened my eyes to meet the pools of black, but he wasn't looking at me, just at my dancing body. I took another swig of firewhiskey.

This was going to be a long night.

I moaned, sinking to my bathroom floor, pressing my flushed face against the cold tile after puking for the third time. I laid on the floor face down and squirmed out of my uniform, nudging it off to the side in a crumpled heap in the corner. My skin was too hot, and it itched. It crawled and felt dirty. I kicked my pumps off gently, trying not to move myself too much so I wouldn't feel the urge to vomit again. It didn't matter. I felt my stomach heave, and I pulled myself up to face the toilet just in time to have yet more firewhiskey come pouring out of my system. I felt my hair being pulled back from my face.

"Bloody hell, Blondie. I didn't even notice you drank that much," Wolfe's alto stated in awe.

"I didn't," I whimpered and collapsed to the ground once more, desperate to feel the cold tile against my fevered skin again. I sighed in relief as the tile pressed against my cheek, my chest and stomach, my arms, and my legs.

"It's probably because wizard alcohol has a different affect on muggles," Wolfe mused, and I listened as she turned the shower on. "Now get up, you drunk harlot."

The way she said this wasn't in an offensive way at all; she said it in a sort of teasing tone, and I felt a smile flirt with my lips. However, I groaned at the thought of moving again. "No... just leave it running. I'll get in eventually."

Wolfe hummed in thought but finally agreed. "All right then. Try not to puke anymore, B."

"I'll do my best," I grumbled into the tile.

The sound of the water hitting the shower floor was soothing, and my mouth felt suddenly dry and disgusting from the bile I had produced a few moments earlier. I lifted my head slowly to peer through the glass shower door. I felt a little surprised; I half-expected roaches and termites or at least freezing cold water to come out of the shower head. I was wrong. The hot water steamed up the bathroom pretty quickly.

With another groan, I got to my feet, swaying but catching myself at the edge of the sink. My head spun for a moment, but I was finally able to peel off the lacy underwear and bra and stagger forward to open the shower door and close myself in.

I moaned as soon as the warm water touched my skin. No matter how hot my skin felt, nothing would feel better than the water that poured out of that shower head right then. It pounded against my back at first, then I turned around and let some enter my mouth so I could rinse it out. After that, I even swallowed some, feeling the water run down my esophagus. It was nice to feel against my sore throat, and it had been a while since I had had a hot shower.

I closed my eyes and finally just focused on the water washing everything away. I might have been drunk when I gave Jones the lap dance and still drunk right then, but I remembered every part of his hands touching, holding, and pinching my hips, waist, butt, and legs. I shuddered then scrubbed at my skin after I felt it crawling. I don't know how long I scrubbed that night, but I know afterwards, I still felt dirty.

AN: And there was chapter two. Thoughts? Comments? Questions? Grammar errors? Let me know in a review!

Kisses,

JAWG