"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?"
She laughs, cradling the phone between her shoulder and chin. "I'm sure," she repeats for the second time. "I'll be fine."
He sighs. "Fine," he relents, but she can hear the reluctance. "But call me when you're done, please?"
"I'm a big girl, Rick."
She knows it's only his concern showing, given what happened the last time she was at the club, but she's perfectly capable of going there by herself. She has to tell Victor that she's quitting—the only reason she hasn't gone back before today is because he, surprisingly, told her to take a few days—and it'll be easier if she doesn't have Rick with her, no matter how comforting his presence tends to be.
"I know. I'm just worried, and I think I have a pretty valid reason." His voice tapers off at the end, and yeah, he does have a valid reason for the concern.
She moves around her room, rummaging through her closet and dresser for something to put on. It's been a lazy day so far and she hasn't had a reason to get dressed, but she can't very well go to the club in pajamas. Comfortable? Yes, absolutely. Suitable for a nightclub? Not so much.
"You do," she agrees as she pulls out a pair of jeans. "And I appreciate it. But I'll be okay." She pauses. "And I'll give you a call when I'm done."
She can practically hear him smiling. "Thank you. Dinner after?"
"Deal," she grins, digging through her drawers to look for a shirt. "I have to go, gotta get dressed and head out."
"Okay. Be careful, Kate."
She smiles at his concern, says goodbye, and hangs up, tossing her phone onto her bed with a silent plop. The clothes laid out will have to do—a pair of skinny jeans and a nice maroon top—and she picks them up, wanders into the bathroom to change. The light switches on and she winces at her reflection, bringing a tentative hand up to brush at her eye. The black eye has faded some but it's still visible, still stings when she touches it, and she assumes it'll stay like that for at least another week. It's gotten easier to conceal, though, and she's able to make it look like a slight discoloration as opposed to a full on black and blue.
Grabbing her makeup bag, she pulls out the cover up and other products she needs to put on her face. Her fingers hover over the eyeliner and she wonders whether or not she actually wants to bother with it. It takes longer, it's a hassle, but it also makes her look more... presentable, she thinks. With a sigh she takes it out and leaves it on the sink next to the rest of the pile.
When she's done, she looks pretty much decent again, more alive. Black eye mostly covered, eyeliner on, and a touch of eye shadow just to take the attention away from the parts of the bruise that can be seen.
She pulls her shirt over her head and switches into her newly chosen outfit, stopping momentarily to glance down at the damage. Her ribs are still bruised, a variety of different colored splotches overlapping, some fading quicker than others. These bruises are more visible than the one on her eye is, and they're also more painful. It still hurts when she breathes in and she can't bump into anything or brush it too hard without a searing pain, but she figures that'll ease up within the week too. She hopes, at least.
After she's dressed she grabs her bag, doing one last check in the mirror before she walks out the door.
It's finally time to leave this place.
The club is bustling, even more so than she's used to, and she takes a steadying breath before weaving through the crowd. A few people turn their heads in her direction, shoot what she assumes to be their "come hither" looks at her, but she keeps her focus straight ahead. She's not here to partake, she's here to tell Victor she's quitting.
She takes a few more steps, almost knocking into one of the girls on the floor.
"Sorry," she mutters, moving to push past but a hand grabs at her arm. She's about to shake it free and flee, but she recognizes the voice that's talking.
"Kit?" It's Celine. "Haven't seen you here in a few days."
Kate gives her a small smile. "Yeah, I'm—I haven't come by."
Celine looks at her, trailing her gaze up and down before it comes back to her face. "You look different. You working tonight?"
"No," she says, shaking her head. She shifts on her feet, anxious to just get this over with and leave. "I'm actually, uh, I'm quitting."
"Quitting? But why?"
She opens her mouth but it closes seconds later. Celine's eyes are wide, as if she's genuinely surprised to hear that she's quitting, and she doesn't exactly blame her. Her entire time here she's been business—going on when she has to, doing her job, giving the other girls a quick hello and goodbye, and then she's gone. Nothing alluded to a person who was ready to quit.
She nods. "I'm not feeling up to it anymore," she shrugs. It's not a complete lie.
Celine looks her over as the lights overhead change, switching to some kind of tacky multi-colored club theme. The blonde's face drops, and Kate wonders why for a moment but then she thinks she's got it figured out.
"That's a bruise," the woman says before she has a chance to make an escape. Her hand comes out, but stops short of actually touching her face. "Did Victor do that?"
Kate's brows scrunch together. "What? No. No."
The question makes her wonder if he's actually done it before after losing his temper.
"A client?"
"Not exactly," she says on an exhale.
She really doesn't want to be talking about this.
"No one—they didn't..."
"No," Kate breathes, giving Celine a smile for her concern. She's almost surprised by it. "I'm fine. Just don't want to hang around here anymore, you know?"
Celine nods. "I do. I don't blame you."
"I have to go find Victor, tell him I'm done," she says a minute later, eyes canvassing the floor to see if he's out here. "Maybe I'll see you around."
"I hope so," the blonde says with a nod. "Take care of yourself, Kit."
Kate nods back. "You too."
She gives one last wave to Celine and then leaves, pushing past a few more people before her eyes land on Victor. He's in the corner near the back door and she can only hope he doesn't go back there because while she doesn't want to do this at all, it'll be easier if there are witnesses. She doesn't think he'll do anything violent, but she can't be too sure, not now.
"Kit," she hears, low and gravely and she cringes.
No. This is not what she's come here for.
She doesn't stop, just keeps moving, her legs taking her closer to the back door at a quickened pace.
An arm wraps itself around her waist and she's being lifted off the ground, pulled backwards, and all she can think to do is let out a scream—that's barely audible over the music—and kick her way out of the grasp. The shock and the contact have her bruises protesting, blinding pains shooting through her body, up and down her ribs. Tears prick at the backs of her eyes but she pushes them back, fights through the discomfort with a grind of her teeth.
She's put back onto the floor and she swivels, slightly unsteady as her arm curls around her ribs, and is met with the ever so repulsive face of Bobby. Figures—it would've been too good to be true getting out of this place without running into him.
"What the fuck?"
He grins. "Calm down, sweetheart. Just trying to have some fun."
Her eyes roll and she breathes, turning on her heel to remove herself from his little bubble of disgust.
"Hey, don't walk away from me, bitch." She keeps walking. "I said," he grabs her wrist, tugging her towards him, "don't walk away from me."
"Let go of me, Bobby," she grits out, piercing eyes darting from him to her wrist. "Now."
He relents, holding up his hands. "You haven't been here in a while, Kit. I missed you."
She snorts. "I'm sure you have. Goodbye, Bobby."
"When do I get my dance?" Lap goes unsaid.
She pretends to consider him, fingers resting on her chin. "When you pay one of the other girls for one," she deadpans.
His eyes narrow. "No," he leers, eyes traveling up and down her body. "You're my girl. You'll dance on—I mean, for," he grins, "me."
"I'm not your girl," she spits.
"Of course you are. Though, you could spice it up a bit. Why don't I go take a seat while you go get changed?" He gestures to her outfit. "This is not sexy."
She resists the urge to punch him, only because she doesn't think Victor will take kindly to her knocking out a paying client and then quitting. Though, maybe if she punches him, he'll fire her instead. Win, win.
Her hands clench at her sides and she plasters on the fakest, most condescending smile she can muster. "Goodbye, Bobby. Enjoy the show."
"When are you coming back?" he calls after her.
She turns. "I'm not."
He takes three large strides and is already behind her, hand on the small of her back, skating around the hem of her shirt. "Don't I get some kind of parting gift?" he grunts. She wants to throw up. On him. "You know, a little something to remember you by?" His hand lowers, squeezes. "Maybe a piece of this?"
She slaps his palm off of her ass, grabs his hand in her fist and squeezes his fingers. Her thumb and index finger wrap around his and she yanks, bending his fingers back in an unnatural, and extremely painful, position. He lets out a yelp and she grins, doesn't let up.
"Don't fucking touch me," she smiles, batting her eyelashes. "I will not be touching you, least of all your little man. Now I'm going to walk away, and you're going to go back to your seat and maybe order some ice for your hand. Got it?"
He grumbles but doesn't answer, so she pulls back harder.
"Fine," he huffs, and she lets go of his hand, reveling in his pained features as he soothes his fingers. "Slut."
"Must be pretty sad that even a slut like me won't fuck you, huh?"
Her face breaks into a grin at his shocked expression as she walks away, a sense of accomplishment bubbling through her system. She didn't know telling him off would feel so good, but damn she feels great. She's been called worse, much worse, so little jabs like this don't even faze her anymore. It's all kind of hilarious, if she's being honest.
Of all the girls, she's pretty sure she's been called a slut—or a whore, which is one of Bobby's other favorite insults—more than any other.
And she's the one who doesn't give out extra services. They're such cliche digs, but given the intelligence level of the clubs clientele she's not surprised it's all they can come up with. Just because she doesn't—didn't—offer more services on the side doesn't mean there's anything wrong with the girls who do; they laugh about the supposed-to-be insults too, noting how they fall hilariously flat.
She's finally made her way to the back corner but Victor's no longer here and she sighs, knowing he's probably gone backstage. So much for there being witnesses to whatever reaction he's about to have.
Her hands push the door open just enough so she can slide through, and then she's looking both ways down the hall, considering her options. Down to the left is the back room where the girls get changed and ready, and to the right is the small, almost too pathetic break room. It's not even really a break room, just a tiny, square room with a ratty old couch and a water filter.
She doesn't even want to begin to think about what's happened on that couch.
Her best guess says that unless he's entertaining a lady friend, the odds of Victor being in the little room are slim, so she goes left, makes her way towards the back room. The door is open when she reaches it so she just walks in, does a quick assessment of the space. There are two girls getting ready, but she doesn't acknowledge them. They don't acknowledge her either.
"Victor," she says, having found him in a back corner fiddling with one of the pay cards.
He turns. "Kit," he nods, looking her over. "Hasn't healed all the way, I see."
A hand instinctively comes up, brushes beneath her slightly-concealed eye. "Probably won't for a while," she says, letting her hand fall.
Victor steps away from the wall and closer to her, and she credits herself for standing her ground and not taking a step back.
"Are you working tonight?" he asks, looking past her to the other girls who are getting ready. "Didn't see your name on the roster."
She shakes her head. "No, I'm not. That's why I came, actually—"
"Go ahead, get dressed," he nods towards the benches. "You can go on in 15."
Her mouth opens, and he's already walking away. "No, that's not what I meant."
Victor stops and looks back at her, his face void of much emotion, just a questioning glint in his eyes. "What is it that you meant then, Kit?" he asks, taking a step closer to her.
She lets out a breath. "I quit," she rushes out, both elated and terrified now that the words are finally free.
His eyes widen a fraction, and he takes another step. "Quitting?" She nods. "Why?"
She huffs, a finger pointing to her eye. "Because I signed up to strip, not to get thrown around like a rag doll."
"That's nothing," he says, waving her off. "Cindy was put in the ICU once, came back a week later and got back up there."
Her mouth hangs open. "The ICU? And that's your idea of a pitch to get me to stay?"
"She was fully recovered in a few weeks after the incident," he clarifies nonchalantly, as if he's talking about a breakfast order and not the serious injury of a girl. "If she did that, you can come back after a little black eye."
"It's a bit more than a little black eye, Victor." His eyes question, but she shakes her head. She's not showing him. "I have no plans to end up in the ICU."
He shrugs. "Play your cards right and you won't."
Well if that isn't... cryptic. And slightly threatening.
"Look," she sighs. "I quit. I'm not coming back. Once was more than enough for me, I don't need any more black eyes."
Victor looks as if he's about to protest—or shove her into the wall himself and demand she stay—but to her surprise, he just nods.
"Fine, Kit," he says, looking at her once more. "You're one of our best, and if you wanna leave, go ahead. Just know that you can't just change your mind and walk back in here. Without some kind of payment."
He walks away and she doesn't even bother worrying about what he's implying with that last bit because she's done. He's gone and she's free from this hell hole.
No more stripping, no more sticky substances adhering to her skin, no more Bobby, no more skin tight pasties.
She smiles, letting out a shaky breath. She's really done.
She bounces towards the back door before stopping short, her breath catching in her throat. It's habit going out this way when it's crowed out front, but she can't do it now. Her breathing is rushed, her heart in her throat, pounding in her chest. She knows, realistically, that the odds of there being someone out there waiting for her when she's not even scheduled to work tonight are slim to none, but that doesn't help soothe the fear gripping at her insides, curling around her ribs.
Her eyes close and she takes a deep breath.
If she's going to leave, she wants to be able to say she's gotten over this. There'll be no reason for her to come back in the future, and she won't have to wonder if she'd ever have been able to walk out this door again.
She takes a few steps, her hands braced against the back door. It swings open with her weight and she slides out, taking a hesitant step onto the small walkway. There are lights she doesn't remember being here, lining the ramp, and a small bit of tension leaves her shoulders. There's light.
A few more steps, her hands gripping tightly against the railing, and she gets flashes of being slammed against it. She shakes her head, pauses for a second. She can do this. It's fine. It's just a door, just a ramp, just a way to get out of this place and then she never has to step foot in here again.
Her car is on the other side—she parked in the front—and she realizes now that she'll have to walk around the place, but she's come too far to just back out now.
She makes it off the ramp and she leans herself against the corner of the brick, peeks her head around to make sure there's no one hiding in the shadows.
Empty.
No one's here. It's just her, and she can let out a breath.
She makes it to the front of the club easily, a bounce in her step and a smile on her face because she's truly done and she walked out the back without having a full on anxiety attack.
Or being attacked. Which are both huge pluses.
"Kate?" His voice is laced with concern and anticipation and she has to bite her tongue. "Kate, are you there?"
She laughs, locking her car door and cradling her phone to her ear. "I'm here."
"How did it go? Is everything okay?"
"Went... well," she decides, unsure whether or not she wants to tell him about her run in with Bobby or what Victor actually said.
He lets out a breath. "Really?" She pauses, a beat too long. "Kate?"
"Yeah," she assures him. "I'm done."
He hesitates. "Come over?"
She opens her mouth, eyes wide, surprised by this. When he asked if she wanted to have dinner when she was done, she just assumed it was going to be at some small restaurant or maybe a street vendor. She didn't expect him to invite her over.
"It's getting kinda late," she settles on saying as she puts her seat belt on, rests her free hand on the steering wheel. "And don't you—isn't Alexis there?"
Up until this point, she's only ever gone over to his apartment late at night when Alexis was already asleep or when she was out with his mother for the day—unintentionally, honestly, as it's always just happened that way despite their lack of planning.
His silence is enough of an answer, but he does speak eventually. "Yeah," he says. "She's here."
He sounds almost sad, dejected.
"Shouldn't I wait, then?" she asks slowly. She hasn't met Alexis, and she isn't sure that's the best thing. His kid is young and she doesn't think she's any kind of influence, given her job. Well, former job.
"I thought, maybe..." Oh. He thought? Does he want her to meet his daughter? "But you know, forget it, it's okay—"
"Rick," she cuts him off, takes a deep breath. "Do you want me to come over?"
"Yes," he says, hesitant, as if she's about to shut him down. "I'd really like it if you did."
She nods to herself, her fingers grip on the wheel tightening. "Then I'll come over," she decides, then adds, "Meet me downstairs first?"
"Deal," he breathes, and she can hear the relief. "I'll see you in a few minutes."
They hang up and she closes her eyes, giving herself a few minutes before she starts the car and peels out of the parking lot.
He's already standing in the lobby when she walks in, leaning up against one of the walls.
"How long have you been standing there?" she asks as she makes her way up to him.
He shrugs. "Not long." She raises a brow. "Maybe like fifteen minutes," he admits, gives a sheepish smile.
She laughs. "Sounds about right. Sorry, it took a bit longer than I expected to get here."
That's not a lie. She just doesn't tell him that she's been parked around the corner for ten of those fifteen minutes, trying to psych herself up for this.
But he just shakes his head. "No problem, don't worry about it," he smiles. "So, how did it really go?"
"It went well, really," she says, shooting him a smile. "Ran into Bobby, so that was pleasant."
She grins at the memory, still fully proud of herself for that one. He's nothing more than a piece of pond scum, and putting him in his place has been the most rewarding thing she could've possibly gotten out of this entire thing.
"Oh, this is a good story," he grins, gesturing to her expression. "Your face is giving it all away. Do tell."
A laugh bubbles out of her. "Well," she starts, swaying in her spot. "He grabbed me and was his usual, nasty self." She rolls her eyes, alleviating the concern she can see in his eyes at grabbed me. "Long story short, he asked me for a parting gift in the form of sex so I bent his fingers back until he backed off. He called me a slut and I made a comment about how it must be discouraging that even a slut like me won't fuck him."
He laughs and she's still grinning, but she can see the anger behind his eyes at the things Bobby said and did.
"Rick, it's fine," she says, running a hand up his forearm. "It's not a big deal."
"But it—yeah, you're right," he sighs, though she sees it in his eyes that he's not convinced. He's still upset about it. "You're out and that's all that matters, right?"
She nods. "Right. Now, you wanted me to come here..."
He pushes off the wall, no longer propped up against the tile. "Yeah! I, uh—I figured you'd be hungry after dealing with the club, and I did promise you dinner. Have you eaten?"
"No, actually." She meant to grab something small on the way to the club to hold herself over but she forgot. "I haven't."
He smiles. "Excellent." One of her brows lift. "I mean, not excellent that you haven't eaten. I just mean—now we can—" He stops at her laughter, and she clamps a hand over her mouth. "Very funny, ha ha."
"It's sweet," she drawls.
He extends a hand. "So, this way?"
She hesitates for a second, but grabs his hand, stills him. "Alexis..."
His face falls a bit, the smile faltering. "If you don't want to meet her—"
"What? No," she shakes her head. "That's not it at all." She drags a hand across her face. "I just didn't think you'd want me to meet her."
"Seriously? Kate, you're my friend, of course I do," he says, putting a hand on her arm before letting it go. "Why wouldn't I?"
She lets out a forced laugh. "Most people don't want strippers around their kids."
"You're not a stripper," he reminds with a small smile.
"But I was."
He nods. "Yeah. And I once took a job in college as that poor soul who had to wear a giant hot dog suit outside in the heat. Doesn't mean anything now."
She takes a breath, chancing a glance up at him. "You're sure? Because I don't want to be a bad influence or—"
"Kate, stop," he says firmly. "You're not even remotely close to a bad influence. You did what you had to in order to make money, to put yourself through school and help your father. That kind of determination is what I want Alexis to have. I have some serious respect for strippers, no judgement here." She huffs. "Meredith, Alexis' mother—I caught her cheating on me with her director, in our bed. That is something I don't want Alexis exposed to. Not you."
Her eyes widen slightly at the information, but a smile tugs at the corners of her lips and she nods. "I—okay."
A grin takes over his face and he grabs her hand, tugs her gently towards the elevator. "Come on, she's probably getting impatient. The food awaits."
"What's on the menu?"
He smirks. "You'll just have to wait and see."
She laughs and rolls her eyes, nudging his shoulder with hers.
"Alexis chose. Hope you're adventurous," he teases just as the elevator doors close.
I don't really know what else to say to express how thankful I am for all of your sweet words about this story other than... well, thank you. It means so much and I love hearing what you think!