Break Me: A Dark Romance Serial

by Alpha, Alicia

  Once more, I make my way outside, having an unpleasant sense of déjà-vu. Everything will be fine, I tell myself softly. It’s strip night, so there’s a pole in the middle of the dancefloor. I don’t have much experience with it, but I’ll work with it.

  I twist my body quickly, sexually. It’s all a game, and I’m the puppet master. I’m playing with my audience, teasing them into oblivion, making them want me … Desire is all they should see before their eyes. I know I’m good. I let go.

  I’m spinning.

  Moving.

  Dancing.

  Moaning.

  I’m everything and nothing. I’m sex and I’m innocence. I’m wild and I’m free, I’m bound and captive. I’m all of it. I’m everything you want me to be. All of it, just for one night.

  One night only.

  I come to a stop, trying to catch my breath. My feathers are ruffled and I can barely see through my mask, but I can hear them cheering perfectly right. I know I’ve got every single one of them turned on. All of them wanting me. Longing to touch me, fuck me. I don’t care if I’m a whore. Someone wants me. And that’s enough to stop the nightmares.

  Even if it’s for one night only.

  Exasperated, I make my way off of the stage and into the back, where girls are already cheering for me and gasping about how good I was. I feel embarrassed, though. Dirty.

  When I danced ballet, I was all innocence, like a musky white floral perfume. Powdery, soft.

  Now I’m dark vanilla, red pepper and incense. I’m dark but soothing, harsh and so intense it hurts your head when you wear it.

  I’m the black swan now.

  As I’m contemplating my dance, my boss comes through the door and whistles me to attention. I get up, smooth my skirt and make my way over. “Yes?” I ask expectantly, fully expecting praise for what I know was an amazing performance.

  He looks me over, appraising my appearance before he speaks up. “You’re wanted for a private dance.” So, no praise then.

  I nod quickly before I change my mind and start moving in the direction of the private rooms, but boss grabs my hand before I can get past. “They requested the outfit you wore a few days ago. A spiked bra and a thong?”

  I look at him, completely confused. Who on earth would want a private dance with me is he’s seen the disastrous dance I performed a few days ago?

  As my thoughts rush through my head, I come to a hopeful realization. I nod vigourously and disappear in the back, rushing to change out of my costume into the one I wore on that night. With trembling fingers, I smooth my curls down and plump my lips with my favourite cherry red lipstick. I press a lipsticked kiss to the mirror and grin wide at myself.

  I always get what I want.

  Chapter 7 – Pay for me

  I’m painfully hopeful as I make my way to the room, my heart beating erratically in my chest – well, at least that’s as normal as can be, even if I am trembling with fear and excitement.

  I unlock the door slowly, trying to prepare myself for seeing him. I knew he would come back. I knew he couldn’t resist me. Slowly, I start opening the door, until half of me is exposed. I look up from the floor through my thick fake lashes and look at the couch in the middle of the room.

  He’s there.

  He looks none too pleased, though.

  I laugh softly and flip open the door, my hands caressing the door frame, my eyes playing with his as I lean against the door. I bring a finger up to my mouth and look at him innocently.

  “Came to walk me home?” I ask in my best clueless voice, flicking my curls over my shoulder.

  His mouth recoils at the sight of me and I feel slightly discouraged. He’s frowning hard, but I still make my way over to the couch, coming down next to him, sitting right on the edge of it, inches away from him. My back is arched and my lips are parted as I look at him questioningly.

  “You don’t look like yourself,” he groans finally, looking at me with so much contempt I’m wondering why I haven’t burst into flames on the spot. I contain the anger I’m feeling and keep looking at him sweetly. He will not get to me. Not before I make him hard and make him sorry for being so mean to me.

  I get up quickly and slide onto his lap, lowering myself slowly until I’m sitting right atop the bulge in his trousers, feeling turned on already. I look at him from above, grinding my hips so lightly you would think it a mistake if you did not know any better. “You don’t like blondes?” I ask softly.

  In a split second, he lifts me up and carries me over to a wall, letting me go so I almost drop to the floor. He presses up tightly against me and I can feel him throbbing against my leg. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  “I fucking love blondes,” he says through gritted teeth.

  “Too fucking bad,” I whisper back and rip my wig off, so my natural waves engulf my shoulders in a crimson wave. I hear his sharp intake of breath as I grab his shirt with one hand and pull him closer, closer, too close for comfort. We’re in each other’s faces, me smiling softly and him snarling at me like he’s about to take a bite out of my neck.

  I want his lips on my neck, my lips, my everything. I want him pushing into me, holding my hands above my head as he thrusts his hips, biting me until I’m sore but screaming for more.

  “What’s your name?” he asks hoarsely, looking me right in the eyes.

  “Opal,” I say softly.

  “No.” He looks angry. “Your real name.”

  I grin widely and lean in closer, grazing my teeth along his neck, biting him ever so softly. “Opal,” I whisper against his throat, licking him so softly it could be mistaken for a kiss. He tastes just as I imagined he would. Delicious.

  His hands are around my waist now and he’s buried his head to the side of my neck, his lips brushing my collarbone. My heart is beating so loudly I bet he knows there’s something not quite right with it, but he doesn’t say anything. He keeps brushing against me, though – feathery light touches, like he’s teasing me, showing me how good it could be.

  As far as I’m concerned, I’m fully, totally convinced.

  “Want to play?” I ask softly, moving away just enough so I can give him a devilish look.

  Suddenly, another mood swings kicks in and he abruptly steps away from me. His eyebrows are knitted together once more and he’s glaring at me with such hatred I get scared for my safety. Subconsciously, I bite my lip and look tentatively at the door, as if looking for an emergency exit.

  “I told you already,” he says quietly, but very determintely. I look up again, having no idea at all of what he’s about to say now.

  “I don’t fuck whores,” he finishes adamantly as he looks at me once more, again with all the disgust he seems to have mustered up. At this point, I’m angry as fuck. My blood is boiling in my veins and I’ve had just about enough.

  “Would you stop insulting me for one second?” I say with my voice raised and full of so much venom it’s spilling out of every syllable. “You think you’re all high and mighty? You think you’re all that, so special? You paid for me, you stupid shit. You paid money to see me dance, and you were all over me a second ago.”

  I’m lunging at him now, my claws out and ready to scratch that stupid chiselled face. I’m about to dig my way into his skin, when he grabs my hands and holds them above my head.

  Just as I hoped he would.

  He pushes me against the wall.

  Just as I wanted.

  He kisses me, rough, deep, wild, demanding. His tongue explores my mouth, not giving me any space to breathe, to question this, to protest. He’s fucking my mouth with his tongue.

  Just like I imagined.

  I’m about to melt in his hands when he lets me go once more.

  “I didn’t pay for you,” he says, the disgust apparent in his voice. “You were a gift.”

  “A gift?” I whisper, confused, as I watch him get his jacket from the couch and wipe his lips like I’ve left a bad taste. Bastard.

  “A very badly chosen one, I mi
ght add,” he adds, before throwing me one last look of contempt and slamming the door as he leaves.

  My mouth gaping, I’m left standing next to the wall, wet between my legs and wanting more, but at the same time boiling with rage. I’m left frozen for a couple of seconds, but when I come to my senses, I scream at the top of my lungs out of sheer frustration.

  ***

  It takes me a few minutes to gather myself and pretend this was just a normal lap dance, even though I know I probably won’t even be paid for it. I gather up all of my pride as I walk back to the dressing room with the other girls.

  All of them are busy, screeching and running around as they get ready. Boss is there, though, and he approaches me with a wide grin. I return a small smile and wonder what the hell that’s about.

  “Good one?” he asks me, waggling his eyebrows. I roll my eyes.

  “Yeah, sure,” I shrug as nonchalantly as I can possibly manage. “I’ll have to get going now.”

  “Don’t you want your prize?” he asks teasingly, waving a stack of bank notes in front of my face.

  My eyes widen. So someone paid for my time after all. I snatch the money out of bosses hands and count it with expert fingers. My eyes widen further.

  “Got a handsome tip,” he nods happily. “I left half of it in for you. You deserve it, if you keep in bringing customers like that.” He tips his fedora off to me and turns around, ready to walk off. But before he can make a single step, my hands are on his, pulling him back.

  “Did he … Who paid for me- I mean, it?” I ask, my voice shaking.

  Boss looks quite confused, but finally shrugs. “Some blond guy, short. Not the one you were with.”

  My heart sinks.

  “It’s custom though, right?” he adds, shrugging again. I whip my head back up and look at him, confused. He elaborates.

  “It was a bachelor party. The tall dark guy way the groom. Hope you two had fun!”

  Chapter 8 – For the love of Christian

  Christian was a disease. He was a walking, talking monster. And I was just about to find that out.

  His fist slammed into the wall, only inches away from my head as he cursed loudly. Whether it was out of his anger at me or the pain he must’ve cause himself, I didn’t know – nor care about. I was trembling, scared of what was happening. He had never been like this before.

  “You looked at him,” he spat at me. “You’ve been looking at him all night.”

  “Please, you know that’s not true,” I begged. “You know I would never!”

  “Shut up,” he said disgustedly as hot tears burst out of my eyes. I was humiliated, and most of all, so sad that he didn’t believe me. I would never cheat on Christian – I just didn’t have it in me. All I wanted was for him to love me like I did him.

  “You’re nothing,” he added viciously, his spit landing on my chin. “You’re a whore. You’ll never be anything else.”

  I started convulsing, my tears coming out like a flood. We were in the country club where Christian’s parents had been members for years, and he had just accused me of checking out his cousin – I didn’t know how to defend myself, and the fact that we were in an, albeit luxurious, stall in the women’s toilets, didn’t make me feel much better.

  “Please, calm down,” I asked softly. “Let’s not make a scene.”

  He looked at me with such contempt I wondered how he even slept next to me. How could he hold me if he felt such … disgust, utter disgust for me?

  He confirmed my thoughts by slamming his fist in my face, hard.

  I heard the crack of my cheekbone as it split, but I only moaned softly as I kept looking at him.

  “Whore,” he spat out for the last time, before turning on his heels and leaving.

  ***

  The next day, I was just about done packing when he came home.

  I had taken everything, all neatly folded in the suitcases I came here with only a month ago. That’s what we were doing the previous day – celebrating by having dinner with his parents. But after he hit me, I knew I was done. I would never let a man do that to me. Let him hurt me, like I was a stray dog.

  I gritted my teeth in anger as I heard his key turning in the lock of the expensive 3-bedroom apartment his parents had gotten him. I mustered up all my strength as I stuffed the last of my things into the suitcase I was currently packing, then tucked the tendrils of hair that had escaped my bun behind my ear before making my way into the hall.

  He was looking sheepish, of all things. It surprised me – I had never seen Christian look anything but confident, if not even cocky.

  “Baby,” he muttered slowly, and I looked away, filled with the pain of his hit, which still reverbated in the bruise on my cheek.

  He came closer and I felt tears gathering in my eyes again, no matter how hard I tried to stop them. I tried looking away but found I just couldn’t, so I focused my gaze on his, sobbing lightly.

  “Baby, I can’t believe I did that,” he said softly, stroking ym face as I cried freely. “I can’t believe I hurt you. You know I would never … I could never … It won’t happen again.”

  I looked up at him and I trusted him. I knew he didn’t want to hurt me – knew he loved me, despite never having said that. So I let him hold me in his arms, and I let him help me unpack.

  I even let him fuck me that night before we went to sleep.

  And the next time he hit me, only two weeks later, I was already making excuses. I told myself he would get over it, he had a drinking problem, he would sort it out. He would love me back, too.

  I was a goner.

  Chapter 9 – Find you

  I’m not done with him.

  I’m a vengeful person. You screw me over, I do it back – worse than you did.

  He should be very afraid.

  My thoughts are fulled with hatred as I hurry down the block. It started snowing yesterday and the streets are covered in soft, fluffy snowflakes. Pretty to look at, but not very good for the suede thigh high boots I’m wearing today. With the money I got from my private dance, though, I couldn’t care less as I can easily buy another pair. Take that, Mr. Dark and engaged.

  Honestly, I still can’t believe it. I’ve done many things, and you might think it’s funny I have morals when I just told you I fucked a married guy only a week or so ago. However, this guy holds my personal interest. And when I choose someone myself – not that it happens, ever – I like to do it the right way. And I definitely don’t like being led on.

  I have a flash back to a scene from yesterday.

  “I need to talk to you,” I say to boss. He looks at me from under his fedora, grinning that dirty smile of his that has me thinking of all the things he’s probably seen and done over the years. I’d rather not even imagine.

  “What’s up, doll?” he asks as he comes down to sit on the edge of our makeup table.

  “I know it’s against the rules,” I start tentatively as he holds out his hands, laughing.

  “Is it now?” he laughs at me, crossing his arms in front of his body. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

  I blush violently but don’t let that phase me as I continue. “I’d like the address of the …”

  “The guy you danced for?” Boss interrupts me. I’m quiet, but he implores me to answer with his eyes, so I nod sheepishly. He claps his hands and lets out a thunderous laugh. “I knew it!” he adds triumphantly. “We’ve finally broken you in, little doll.”

  I look at him questioningly.

  “Every girl has one,” he winks at me. “Every one of you has a customer, convinces herself he’s the one, he’ll save her, give her a better life.” He leans over closer and whispers in my ear. “Let me tell you something, doll. It’s all a bunch of bullshit, and you should know better.”

  My expression turns sour as he moves back and raises his hands in the air. “But,” he says, the laughter in his voice apparent. I perk up instantly. “But, it’s sort of a rite of passage. I’ll help,” he adds, flash
ing his perfect teeth, stark white against his coffee bean complexion.

  I smile happily, but his forehead creases the next second, and so does mine. “What?” I ask worriedly.

  “Problem is, doll,” he continues, scratching his chin. “I don’t have any of his information.”

  I look completely crestfallen as he says this, but an idea quickly pops into my head. “What about his friend, then?” I ask hopefully. “The one who paid for the dance?”

  “Oh, doll!” Boss laughs. “That’s going against all the rules. That guy is a regular. You wouldn’t want to get me into trouble, would you?”

  I get up and slide forward until I’m touching boss’s leg with my fingers in a suggestive manner. He licks his lips as he looks up at me. “I’m a good dancer, huh?” I ask sweetly. “Best one you have.”

  He nods vigorously.

  “You wouldn’t want to lose me?” I add softly, letting my eyes flicker to his crotch for just a second too long. He nods again. I grip his shirt and snarl at him. “Then give me his fucking address.”

  Boss gets up and starts laughing like a mad person, raising his hands in the air. “You drive a tough bargain, doll,” he manages to let out between laughing. “You’re lucky he paid with a credit card.”

  I dance with all the passion I can muster that night, scanning the audience in hopes he’s here the entire time. No such luck, though.

  When I come into the dressing room later, completely exhausted and in demand for some private dances already, I see a note with my regular clothes.

  217 Woodmills Lane. Kyle Jackson. Watch your step, doll.

  I grip the piece of paper and grin widely.

  Game on.

  ***

  213. 215. And finally, 217. I’m here.

  I’m standing in front of a pretty house. White picket fence, and there’s the obligatory golden retriever rolling around in the snow in front of the house, oblivious to my arrival. So much for a guard dog. I could be a robber for all he cared – he’d probably sniff my hand and offer his belly for rubs.