Raven: Watching Eyes
Raven POV
The bass shakes through my body as I move between the tables, letting my hips sway slow and deliberate. I blow a kiss at one of the men watching me, and the way his eyes lock on me makes me smirk. The music fills the whole place, and I use it to my advantage, letting it guide me as I dip lower, the table there to steady me. I tease them with the way I move, tempting them to reach out. One does, and I shake my finger at him with a playful tut, his friends bursting into laughter while he pulls his hand back, red-faced.
I drop down, knees hitting the floor as I lean back, the cool ground pressing against my spine. My hips keep moving, rocking up and down in a rhythm that leaves just enough to the imagination. Covered, but only just.
I don’t linger. I get up and head to the next table, climbing onto it and using it as my stage. This time I don’t even look at the men staring. I drop to my knees, facing away from them, letting them take in the view. I feel fingers slip paper into my garter, but I keep moving, not breaking the flow.
When I rise, I turn back to them, my hips swaying harder now. One of them looks like he’s about to melt right into the chair, eyes glued to me, jaw slack. Then I notice the other one, the one who slipped me the money. My mother’s fiancé's son. His eyes are wide, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. He's shocked, disgusted, maybe both.
His mouth hangs open, and for a second it almost makes me laugh. I give him a little wave, even throw in a wink, not something I usually do but enough to make him squirm. Then I jump down, not letting him ruin the moment, and make my way back to the stage to finish my solo.
Backstage, I flop into a chair, exhaustion weighing me down. Tonight’s going to be a blast, facing my mother after this. I’ll need a drink for that. I scroll through Facebook, looking for local parties. Once I spot one, I change into a cropped vest and black denim shorts, pulling on my boots. On my way out, I nod at the other dancers, nothing more. I know their names, but they don’t matter. My life isn’t really mine anyway, but I live it because I don’t have a choice. Passing through the tables, I don’t miss his eyes on me as I leave.
I almost pity the fact that his father is falling for my mother’s tricks, but pity only goes so far.
The smell of my car greets me as I slide behind the wheel. I drive until I reach the house, if you can even call it that. The windows are shattered, the roof barely hanging on. Cars fill the yard, headlights cutting through the dark, music blasting from one of them.
I grab a drink from the trunk of a car and slip into the crowd. These are my kind of parties. Thrown together, messy, anyone can show up. Some people know each other, some don’t, and no one really cares. It makes it easy to disappear, which is exactly what I want.
The hours blur as I drink and dance, letting the alcohol warm me. A pair of hands finds my hips, pulling me back into someone’s body. I don’t turn to see who it is. I just keep moving, the empty bottle slipping from my hand as I toss it toward the trash. My hips grind faster, and he matches me, holding steady, saying nothing. I wait for him to stop or pull me closer, but he just keeps moving with me, and for now, that’s enough.
Staying late isn’t an option. No doubt I'll be moving tomorrow. My body spins and I kiss the unknown male who has danced with me. Without even looking at the guy, I walk backwards, slowly rounding the building to where no one is. Moans escape my lips as he pushes my shorts down.
Some may call me a whore, but I see it as taking control of who touches me. I see it as trying to ensure the feeling of his hands on my flesh that seeps through my nightmares will be stopped by another man’s touch. Although it always fails, his touch washes from the shore of my nightmares and into the very first thoughts that I awaken to.
He expertly lifts me, despite his drunken state, my legs wrapping around his body, needing his touch to erase the feel of before. The drunken fool though, barely even leaves a lasting feeling on my body as he fucks me quick and restlessly, groaning and finishing, while I’m barely even panting. It felt like a warm-up for the warm-up. He steps back, straightening his clothes and walks away.
I laugh, his touch won’t chase away the devil’s in my nightmares, but I knew whoever I wanted to sleep with tonight, wouldn’t help. Everyone is past the point of drunk, yet I expected more than a thirty-second fumble and him groaning in pleasure. Groaning in disappointment, I sort myself out and walk back to the party. I continue to dance and drink, watching as the moon begins to disappear like a warning I need to leave.
The taxi back is a reminder that everything is set to change, again. Going to my room, I strip down to my bralette and panties before I lie back on the bed, sleep whisking me away.
My body jolts at the bang on the door. I sit up fast and see my mother standing there, her face twisted in fury, a look I know too well. Here it comes.
“You just had to, didn’t you? Stop whoring yourself out, Raven.” She throws my coat at me. “Pack up, we’re leaving.”
She spins to walk out, but I’m not letting her dump all the blame on me.
“Oh, right, because it’s my fault your fiancé's son was in a strip club?” I shoot back, staring right at her.
“It wouldn’t be an issue if my slut daughter didn’t work there! Every time, Raven, you mess things up for me!” she screams. I can’t help laughing.
“Dean walked into my club, that’s on him, not me. Bob, your last husband, threw you out the second he realised you were only after his money. And Richard before that? Fine, I’ll take a little blame.” I laugh again, hollow and sharp.
“Just pack. Here’s the address.” She tosses a crumpled piece of paper at me. I glance at it. Great. Another place miles away, hours of driving, more wasted gas.
“So what’s his name then? Husband number six?” I grin at her. “Does he know you jump from man to man, draining their cash? At least I’m honest about how I make mine. I dance, I strip. You lie to one man at a time, pretending it’s love until you’ve got your eye on someone richer.”
“That doesn’t matter. He’s gone for the weekend. Pack your shit. I told Dean we’d be out before he got back from work.” Her eyes narrow at me. Pack my shit? It was never unpacked, mother dearest.
“Fine, Mother. I’ll see you at the new house.”
I don’t even bother unpacking anymore. I live out of a suitcase and a box. The only things I ever keep out are my speaker, my charger, and a couple of other basics. I shove the few clothes lying around back into my case and throw the rest of my stuff into the box. That’s it. That’s my life.
It’s enough. I’m not like her. I won’t play men for gifts and new wardrobes. I’d rather work and buy what I can afford. After years of her endless carousel of fiancés, I can’t look at anything they’ve given without feeling sick. Nothing about it feels innocent.
With every new man, every new house, and every new town, her pile of clothes, perfumes, jewellery, and shoes just grows higher, even though she already has enough to last her a lifetime.
I haul my stuff out and call a taxi back to the rundown house where I left my car. When I get there and step out with my bag and box, I can’t help but smile a little. There are still a few people passed out on the grass or slumped in their cars. No shame here. No one pretending. This place is far enough from where we lived that nobody cares who you are, and there aren’t any rich kids strutting around like they own the world.
