Slowly, I move, swinging my hips and focusing on my curves. I’m trying to look at myself, as if I’m not me.
As the fog clears, my face becomes clear once more. The bruise and the swelling make me look horrible, but as soon as it’s healed – I’m going to have to put my skills to the test. We’ll see if Jeff really did teach me anything.
Chapter Sixteen
I stay at the motel for a few days. Just enough time to let the swelling and the bruising on my face clear up so it can be covered sufficiently by makeup.
I don’t have much money left. Between the cost of the room, food, make up and an outfit to go clubbing in, I’m almost broke. I seriously contemplated stealing the clothes and food, but that’s something I hate doing, unless I’m desperate. No one wants to be caught shop lifting. It seems like the lamest thing to be busted for after everything I’ve done so far.
I have a plan to try to get into a night club tonight and find a guy, who has his own place and wants to take me home. I’m trying not to think about what kind of person that makes me. I might not go through with it if I do.
The outfit I bought is a sleeveless, skin-tight black dress that barely hits the top of my thighs. It’s one of those dresses people make comments about. They say things like ‘That girl is asking for it', and I am. That’s exactly what I want.
My makeup is dark and smoky around my eyes, and my lips are painted a deep red. It’s the same red as my shoes. I look so much older than I am.
I put my denim jacket on and leave the motel room with my backpack hung over one shoulder. I haven’t settled my bill for today, but I’m not expecting to come back.
I walk to the train station and catch the train all the way to the city this time. There are pubs and clubs on every street in there. Surely, I’ll find one that will let me in as well as someone to let me share their bed.
Walking along, I notice a club with a long line up and move closer to get a look at the bouncer. He’s checking every person’s ID before he lets them in. God I wish I had a fake ID, but they’re not easy to come by, not unless you have an older friend who looks enough like you.
After an hour of trying to find a club, I give up and go into a regular pub. It’s full of people, but no one is checking IDs at the door.
Moving slowly through the crowd, I suddenly feel really silly with all my makeup and shorter than short dress. The people inside look as though they have come straight from work. They look classy. Compared to them, I look like a hooker.
Embarrassed, I immediately head for the bathrooms to at least remove some of my eye makeup. I have to push through the long line of women waiting for the stalls to get in front of the mirror.
Staring at my reflection now, I roll my eyes. I look ridiculous. Pulling at the paper towel, I run it under some water and start blotting at the colour I had been so proud of applying earlier.
Beside me, a couple of women are chatting about the men they’re having drinks with, as they fix their makeup and check their hair in the mirror. They appear to be in their early twenties and the one closest to me has her hair dark brown hair braided tightly down her back. A few loose curls escape and frame her Mediterranean features perfectly.
I look from her face to mine, and try to watch her without being caught.
There is no ledge to put our bags, so they are all sitting on the floor by our feet. I kneel down to look inside mine and glance over at hers. I can see her purse, but I don’t for the life of me know how I can get my hands on it without her noticing.
Someone stumbles in behind us and knocks us all forward. I fall on my hands and the girl I was watching, turns around to yell at the person for being so careless because she just smeared her lipstick.