I find her in the bathroom attached to the master bedroom, a curler in her hand, her long silky hair twisting around the curled metal end as her hands continue to shake.
Sadie goes on the floor, still strapped into the car seat (because I learned from Google that it's like, totally unsafe to leave a baby unstrapped in one). Some blessing from an ancient god keeps her asleep as I lean my forearm against the door frame and watch Brooke getting ready inside.
“What's the matter? And don't tell me nothing because I don't buy that shit.” Brooke glances at me in the mirror, but she doesn't stop curling her hair. Downstairs, I hear a TV turn on. A quick tiptoe down the hallway and a glance at the living room shows the twins mesmerized by my phone and the three girls settled in various parts of the living room to watch some weird ass cartoon with glittering purple ponies. Ooookay.
I head back to Brooke and cross my arms over my chest.
“Well?”
“It doesn't matter,” she says as she sniffles one last time and squares her shoulders, feet spread apart in a warrior's pose. “Telling you won't change anything.”
“You won't know that until you actually conjure the words to speak, huh?” Brooke whirls around, still clutching the iron and glaring at me with those vibrant eyes of hers. The color might be pale, but the intensity is … just wow.
“Let me have some pride, okay? If I tell you then everyone will know. I don't want everyone to know.” Her eyes water again, but she glances away before the tears can fall. When she pulls the curling iron away from her face, a bouncy brown curl drops onto her forehead.
“It can't be all that bad, right?” I ask and then wish I hadn't said it as her breath catches hard in her throat and she tosses the curler into the sink, leaning forward to put her hands on the counter. I step into the room, putting a hand on her lower back and rubbing in circles. It feels good to touch her, like my hand's on fire, the palm licking flames against the small band of exposed flesh between her pants and shirt.
“I'm stripping,” she whispers and it takes me a second to register that. “Is that what you wanted to hear? Tonight, I'm taking my clothes off for fucking strangers, and I hate it. I hate it. I feel sick to my stomach.” She leans even farther forward, putting her forehead against the white linoleum surface. “This is my body. Mine. I don't want to do this. I don't want to take money for this.”
“Then don't,” I snap, getting pissy and defensive. This is so fucked. So, so, so fucked. A cute little na?ve girl like this? She … this isn't right. I feel protective and righteously pissed on her behalf. “Take some more time. Find another job. Hey, listen, it's not like I need the money, okay? You can just not pay me.”
Brooke lifts her head and looks at me in the mirror, curls tumbling around her face. Some loose strands of hair brush my hand from where they rest on her back.
“That's nice of you, Zay, really. But I need food. And I need rent. And my sister hasn't bought Bella shoes in like three years. All of hers have holes in the toes. I need gas to get to the university, and I need money for electricity. I don't have another choice. Eureka isn't exactly a bustling metropolis. There aren't a lot of options for me here. Look, I know we don't know each other and this is kind of the last thing you want to be dealing with.”
“Not a big deal,” I say even though it kind of is, but hell, it's not really her that I'm pissed at. I'm not exactly sure who I'm supposed to be mad at, so I curl my hands into fists and lean into the door frame again as Brooke starts to fix her makeup. “I can understand why you don't want to do this.”
“It's worse than you think,” she says and I raise an eyebrow as she accidentally smears liner across her cheek and curses, grabbing a wad of toilet paper and trying to dab it off. “Have you ever heard of a virgin stripper before? Only in stupid romance novels. And this isn't a stupid romance novel.”
No, it's a damn good romance novel, I think and then wonder where that weird ass thought came from. Anyway …
“What do you mean virgin?” I ask as Brooke smears red across her mouth. “Like virgin as in never stripped before or …”
“Virgin as in never been poked.” She said it, not me. Both of my brows go up now as I hook my fingers behind my head and suck in a deep breath. Holy hell. A twenty-two year old virgin. I mean, those aren't unheard of, right? My buddy at the shop has a brother who's twenty-five and still a virgin, some hopeless romantic kid that wants the one. Is that who this girl is? Holy fucknuts. “So now a bunch of weird, gross guys are going to see me naked when I haven't even gotten to decide who I want to show myself naked to.”
She starts to shake again and I see why this is such a seriously big deal for her.
Ouch. I can't even imagine. Yikes.