Craved (Twisted Book 2) (7 page)

They’re also going to fuck. Since when have the club rules changed?

He leans to kiss her, then makes a loop with his belt and slips it onto her wrist, fixing it tight above her elbow. He takes a small box out of his jacket pocket and opens it. I screw up my eyes – there is a syringe in his hand. She throws her head back, now looking at the camera. There is a wide smile on her face. I take a step forward and the uncontrollable ‘No fucking way!’ slips out of me. She’s me! I rush towards the door, feeling the weakness in my legs. There is no handle on the door. I push it hard but it doesn’t move.

‘Open the door!’ I scream and run back to Eric. I turn the chair.

‘Calm down.’ Natalia is looking at me.

‘What’s going on? Nata, open the door! Can’t you see?’ I point at the screen, where the man is already injecting the arm of the other me.

‘You are going to be fine, Julia,’ she says. Her voice is sugary.

‘Open the door Nata! Don’t you see?’ I try to scream, but my voice is losing power and comes out as a hoarse whisper. A hot wave fills me as I watch the man emptying the syringe. An overwhelming sense of pain, fear and despair. Unbearable. My legs give out and I fall to the floor.

‘Help me,’ I whisper, curling from pain. I see her smiling face. It’s blurry. ‘Help me, please…’

I wake up. I am sitting on my bed, sweating. My heart beats fast. I lie down again, turn to the wall and feel the hot tears running onto the pillow. I remember that Lena is with Mark, and Natalia is spending the night with her new boyfriend. I grip the pillow and start crying out loud. I cry until there are no more tears left, then I just ululate without tears. I fall asleep again.

12

It’s 10 a.m. I’ve had hardly three hours’ sleep.

I almost forgot that Lena and Mark have invited Natalia and me for lunch today. I scowl and reach for my phone.

‘Good morning, sister… How are you? Umm… I’m not feeling well. I was thinking…’

‘I won’t hear “no”, Jul. It’s Sunday. You can go to bed earlier, straight after the lunch. What time is it now?’ She says more to herself. ‘It’s ten. Sleep for another hour and Mark will pick you up at 12.’

I turn off the phone and grab my head with both hands, looking at the ceiling. The weird and persistent feeling of being trapped grates me from inside. I roll off the bed, pick my jeans and a wrinkled T-shirt up off the floor, get dressed and leave. I walk to the mall and find a little restaurant with an outside terrace. I order eggs and coffee and light a cigarette. My food arrives, but I can’t eat. I try to avoid the thoughts of last night’s dream, but its disturbing images rule the roost in my head. The stiffness in my chest presses on. I kill the cigarette in the ashtray. Sharp nausea and light-headedness hit me. I lean onto the table, holding my chest. My heart is racing.

Oh no, I’m dying. I’m having a heart attack.

‘Are you all right?’ The waiter approaches me.

‘I don’t know,’ I whisper, without looking up at him. ‘Can I get a glass of water?’

He mutters ‘Sure!’ and runs inside the building. A moment later he comes back with a glass of ice water. I drink and the symptoms start to subside. I sit back slowly and take a deep breath.

‘Are you okay? Should I call the emergency?’

‘No, no thank you. I’m better now.’ I force a half-smile.

I look around trying to understand what that was, blaming the sleepless night and the morning I’ve started with cigarettes. The streets are quiet and I focus on the shop windows, hoping to distract myself. I notice a red sign – ‘Flight Center’ – across the road. I stare at it for a while. Then it clicks.

‘Good morning my poppy seed.’ Lena walks out to greet me as soon as Mark pulls up in the driveway. My sister looks at my T-shirt and shows a worried face. ‘Did you manage to get more sleep? How do you feel?’

‘I’m better thanks!’ I lie and hug her tight.

‘Come on in. Nata is not here yet. I decided to make Olivier, with plenty of eggs and mayo, just like Mom used to. Will need your help with chopping.’

We enter the house. It’s simple, bright and roomy. The living room takes in an open-plan kitchen that is separated from the dining room by a black marble counter and four tall bar stools. The walls, except for one reproduction of some famous artist, are bare. There is a TV area and a tiny office that has Japanese sliding paper doors.

‘It’s so cool and so not him.’ I nod towards the office as Mark heads outside to start the fire.

‘I know. I thought exactly the same when I first saw the doors. His never-changing checked shirts and that stylish eastern feature cannot belong to the same person. Right?’ Lena laughs as we walk to the kitchen. ‘Turns out, no mystery here: Mark has a friend, a designer, who owed him money and offered these doors instead of payment. Did you know they cost a fortune?’ She gets another chopping board and knife for me, and resumes cubing the boiled carrots.

‘Wash your hands, and start with the potatoes. They are in the black pot on the stove.’ She sounds so composed. The role of housewife is definitely something she enjoys. Maybe she is right – maybe marriage is what she really needs to be happy.

Hooting outside interrupts our little chat about Mark and all the details of their living together. Lena wipes her hands with the kitchen towel over her shoulder and rushes to the door.

‘Oh gosh, Jul! Come here! Look at this biatch!’

I hear her laughing and also walk outside. There is a white Volkswagen Golf parked in the driveway, and Natalia is sitting in the driver’s seat. Tom, her new boyfriend, gets out of the car first, theatrically wiping his forehead and sighing in relief.

‘It wasn’t that bad!’ Natalia climbs out too. ‘Just one turn from the wrong lane, which, by the way, was because of you!’ She shuts the door, and the car starts rolling backwards.

‘Oh shit! The handbrake!’ Tom yells, jumps in, and pulls it up.

‘Sorry babes. I didn’t mean to kill you.’

We all giggle and walk back inside.

‘You have your own wheels! Congrats!’ Lena exclaims, as soon as the men have got their beers and have left to watch the fire.

‘Well, technically it’s not mine. Tom just lets me use it.’ Natalia lowers her voice. ‘But I am working on that.’

‘He seems like a nice guy. I spoke to him in the club a few days ago,’ I say. ‘He is quite handsome too.’

‘Oh yes he is. You know what else is handsome?’ Natalia opens the fridge, grabs a bottle of beer and sits on the stool. ‘His penis.’

My brows lift and I glance at Lena. Her face has a similar expression.

‘I’ve never thought about it before, but cocks have their own identity. You know, the way their heads are shaped, the relation between the length and width. Is it slightly crooked on one side like a banana? Or does it look like an eggplant? You know that shape? Like a light bulb? Or sometimes it’s narrow at the end, like a carrot.’ She picks up an orange cube from Lena’s board and throws it into her mouth.

My middle sister stops cutting and moves the board with carrots away from Natalia. ‘Seriously, Nata? Is there a point to your story?’

‘That one…’ she ignores Lena’s niggle and nods towards the terrace, where Mark and Tom are busy talking over the beer and a flaming grill, ‘is one of the most handsome penises I’ve ever seen! And I promise you, girls,’ Natalia shakes her head and looks up as if dreaming, ‘I never thought I would use the word handsome for someone’s dick.’

‘Me neither!’ Lena snaps. ‘Can we change the subject? Not only have you ruined my salad, while comparing the carrots to dicks, but how am I supposed to look at Tom now without thinking about his…’ she pauses, waves the knife in the air, ‘handsome member?’ My sisters look at each other and start laughing.

As entertaining as the conversation is, my head is steering it towards my own thoughts. I can’t even force a smile. I have to get it over with and simply tell them. ‘Girls, I need to talk to you,’ I exhale.

‘What is it?’ Natalia grabs another bottle from the fridge and goes back to her stool.

‘I am going back.’ I pull out all of my strength to sound confident and look straight at their faces.

‘What do you mean, going back?’ Lena reacts first.

‘Meaning I am going back home. This place… this job is no good for me, at least not at this stage of my life. I’m afraid I am going to slip.’ My voice wavers. ‘I don’t know. I haven’t thought it through yet. Maybe I will help Mom in the salon… or… I don’t know. But that’s not the point…’

‘Yes, it is the point,’ Natalia utters. ‘You tried for a month, it didn’t work and you gave up. I get it. No one likes to be behind the others.’

‘Yes, you are right. I feel pressure. I get competitive. I want to make that money no matter what. I am afraid I’ll push it too far. I don’t trust myself.’ I look up at Natalia. ‘I know I will relapse eventually. The whole environment is one huge trigger for me.’

‘Do you think being a good stripper is innate? It’s a job that requires skills, like any other. At the previous places you’d worked, the main skill you had to be good at, was to fuck for money. This place is different and you have to learn and adapt. What you choose to do,’ she throws her arms apart, ‘is run away! Instead of taking a challenge, you want to go back to earning a hundred bucks a month, if you’re lucky!’

‘Nata, you are not her!’ Lena breaks in. ‘You don’t know and can’t know what she feels or goes through! Just because it’s simple and obvious to you, it doesn’t mean it is for everyone else!’

‘Don’t fight girls.’ I look at Lena with gratitude. ‘I’ve made a decision and it’s not up for discussion,’ I say, calmer this time. My body relaxes. ‘I am going home. I couldn’t change my existing return ticket, but I’ve booked a new flight. I just need to make a little more to pay for it.’

‘Ok,’ Natalia says, also calm, but rather disappointed. ‘All I want you to know is that I can help you to learn if you change your mind and stay.’

Lena hugs me. ‘You must do what you feel is right for you.’

13

I need to make at least R2 000, then I’m free to go. It’s Monday – so, regardless of my big plan, I ground my expectations for the night.

Yesterday, after the lunch, Natalia and Tom took me home, silently most of the way. Tom, likely, feared for his life, because Natalia was driving. She was probably buried in thoughts of why the hell her youngest sister can’t be like her. And I, definitely, didn’t give a fuck about what she thinks and simply enjoyed the nirvana my body and mind had gone to since making my decision. For the first time in a couple of months, I could breathe without feeling like I had a gravestone instead of lungs. I’d got home, taken a shower, climbed into bed with a new comedy I’d downloaded on my laptop, and in just fifteen minutes had drifted off into a deep and dreamless slumber.
Simply divine!

As Mondays are, it’s a very quiet night. My goal of making the whole amount in one night recedes as we get to closing time. I am on a thousand so far: not bad at all.

When the DJ calls the last show of the night at 3 a.m., I decide to surrender and enjoy a cup of rooibos. I walk to the bar, weary, land on a stool and, as I place my order, some skinny I-am-a-nerd-but-I-try-to-look-like-a-hip-hop-star youngster walks in, heads to the bar, and sits right next to me.

Hmm…

He orders a beer and mumbles, to no one, ‘I want to have a dance.’

I look around. Only the barman and I could have heard his request. But since the barman is a big, tattooed, straight guy, I assume it’s me the kid is talking to.

‘Hi, my name is Julia.’ I throw my hand out for a shake, still not believing what I’d heard.

‘Hi, I am Dean.’ His lips spasm in a smile, and he avoids meeting my eyes. ‘Can you dance for me?’

The barman sets the steaming cup with a little bowl of honey in front of me. I blink twice at it, understanding that I will never see it again, exclaim, ‘Of course!’ and drag the kid into a private room.

I begin my routine. Slow. Seductive. He rubs his palms against his oversized shiny black jeans. I slide down onto my knees, leaning on him, and strike his crotch with my stomach. He swallows. His huge Adam’s apple goes up the scrawny neck and then drops down again. I loosen my blouse, assume the rider position on top of him, press my chest into his, and blow, tickling his ear. He closes his eyes, ‘Oh God’.

‘Really? Is it that good?’

He bashfully tosses his long fringe on the side. ‘It’s just… I’ve been waiting for this for a long time.’

‘How come?’ I ask, but don’t stop my rubbing routine.

‘I’ve dreamed about it since I was a teen. I promised myself I’d come here as soon as I earned my first salary. A month ago I started a small IT business… Oh God!’ I stand with my back to him, no longer wearing my G-string, my legs spread wide. I lean forward, holding onto the mirror, leaving him nothing to look at but my asshole and my slit.

‘Oh God!’ he blows out again.

‘You were saying about the IT business.’

‘Yeah. I was lucky to get this big job. It took me three weeks with almost no sleep, countless cups of coffee and other energy crap to complete it. An hour ago I finished it, called the taxi, and here I am.’ He licks his lips without taking his eyes off my pussy.

Seriously! Men and women aren’t cast in the same mold. I can’t imagine the average teenage girl dreaming about growing up to stare at someone’s penis. To be kissed by a prince? Yes. To stare at someone’s penis? No!

We don’t get out of the private room until the DJ’s ‘Good night everyone’.

‘It’s R500 please.’ I dress while he counts the money. He hands me five hundreds, counts another five and holds them out.

‘Will you kiss me if I’d give you this?’

I look at the money, then at the camera, trying to remember how much the fine for ‘Kissing a client on the lips’ was, then down at him. I purse my mouth. These pleading eyes, with fairy-tale-like hope in them, are staring at me.

Okay. Maybe the mold is not that different after all.

I take the money, drop onto his lap, scatter my hair on top of his head and shoulders and give him a long and passionate French kiss.