Trigger Warnings for this book: sexual content, violence, weapons, danger, panic attacks, anxiety, blood, very graphic descriptions, accidents, and more. If uncomfortable please DON'T READ! Thank you.
The clock on the wall, barely visible through the haze of cheap perfume and desperation, probably read somewhere between 8 and 9 PM. Honestly, I couldn't be sure. Time seemed to blur and warp within the sticky confines of "The Velvet Room." My life felt the same way, a hazy, distorted mess.
I'm Hailey, and at 23, I was a dancer. A stripper. Call it what you want. It wasn't exactly my dream job, not the aspiration I scribbled in crayon as a kid. But dreams don't pay the bills, and right now, my reality was a sequined bra and a G-string under the flickering neon lights.
It was ironic, I suppose, that I found a strange kind of peace here. Most people would recoil, judge, whisper about wasted potential and moral decay. But for me, stepping onto that stage was like entering a sanctuary. Maybe it was the rhythmic pulse of the music, the freedom to move my body without judgment, or the simple fact that for a few minutes, I was in control. Whatever it was, The Velvet Room was my escape.
I didn't care about the leering eyes, the sweaty palms reaching for my skin, the hushed whispers and crude comments. They were just background noise. All I focused on was the music, the movements, the story I could tell with my body. Dancing had always been my refuge.
Growing up, my parents were locked in a perpetual battlefield of divorce and resentment. Our house was a war zone, littered with broken promises and shattered dreams. I was an only child, a lonely observer in a drama I couldn't control. But when I danced, I could create my own reality. I could be graceful, powerful, ethereal, anything I wanted to be.
It started with ballet lessons, then jazz, contemporary, and eventually, the raw, sensual energy of pole dancing. Each discipline helped me express the emotions I couldn't articulate, the pain and confusion that simmered beneath the surface.
Sometimes, I wondered if I could have done more, achieved more. Should I have pushed harder in school, pursued a "respectable" career? But then I looked around at the faces of the other girls, each with their own stories of hardship and resilience, and I knew I wasn't alone. We were all just trying to survive, to find a little bit of dignity in a world that often seemed determined to strip it away.