“You’re not working the poles tonight, regular number 12 requested you” Lana called from the dressing room entrance, demanding my attention. I stopped fidgeting with the pearl jewelry in my ear, as I turned to make eye contact with my boss whose eyes held a hint of stress and another emotion I couldn’t quite grasp. “But it’s Thursday and he’s only here on Saturdays” I said as I got up and adjusted my Harness garter belt. Regular clients are numbered when they are guaranteed full membership at Diablo Angels. Client number 12 happens to visit only on Saturdays, as he’s either busy with work or couples therapy. When he actually comes in, it’s either just conversations using metaphors that I long ago recognized or just sex, sometimes both. “Don’t keep him waiting Rose and be careful out there” Lana said in a tired and somewhat sad tone, before disappearing. I noticed something was resting on her head but I brushed it off, deciding to check in on her later. I applied a coat of a fierce red lipstick, threw my lacy robe on, and strutted out of the dressing room into the busy domain of Diablo Angels. I requested for the bottle of Horilka and two cold glasses to be sent to the chambers (private room), all of which goes on his tab. I stepped into the red stained room and saw his figure on the leather divan, with his right foot bent at the knee crossed over his left thigh. His head was bowed and a black wide brim fedora hat sheltered his head. I stood at the entrance and inhaled the unusual aurora he radiated this evening, realizing that something seemed off. I traced my eyes along his figure all the way to his wrists. To see the way his once gold watch which usually rests on his left wrist, is now leather and on his right wrist. “Who the fuck are you?” My voice shot out breaking the earth-shattering silence of the room. “Do it” His intense voice sliced through the room causing a blanket of coldness to fall on my being. Within a millisecond, demanding hands grabbed my biceps and forced my hands behind my back, a cloth was then pressed against both my nostrils and mouth. I then punctured my heel into the captor’s foot, “Bitch” He cried out, releasing his hold on me. I made an effort to escape through the door, but failed as my figure was slammed against the wall. I tried fighting but stopped as something solid collided violently against the back of my head. I’m fucked, was the last thing I remembered telling myself before I slipped into sheer darkness.