Her Impossible Mate

1- Just Raine

...Raine...

The crisp evening air bites at my nose, the sounds of my high heels clicking are swallowed by the noisy city streets. I glance at my watch to notice my shift starts in ten minutes and sigh. Quickening my pace, the bright lights, city scents and never-ending noise continue to assault my senses on the walk to a dreaded Tuesday shift. Finally, the club lights come into view. I rush myself in, a nod of acknowledgement to security as I finally make it through the door.

Only two minutes late. Phew.

"Sorry Shel, I-" 

"Didn't want to come in tonight?" Shel cuts me off before I can make up my excuse on the spot. We have worked together for two years now, she knows me too well.

She stands by the bar, one elbow resting on it and one fishnet-clad leg resting across the other. She raises her eyebrows in an accusatory way waiting for me to respond.

"Tuesdays really are the worst, Shel." I blow out a defeated sigh and finish with a shrug. She chuckles at my displeasure and struts over to me. Placing a hand on each shoulder, she stands tall before me.

"Yup. Tuesdays are terrible. Monday's hangover, my mum used to call them. But we gotta suck it up, buttercup. Positive vibes only, so go get changed. The sooner we start, the sooner it's over." I roll my eyes at her cheery attitude. Personality-wise, we are chalk and cheese. She is blonde and bouncy and sweeter than sugar. While I am moody, aggressive and will bite your head off if you get on my nerves. 

I sulk off to the dressing room, not before Shel lands a sp*nk on my ass as I go.

"You owe me $50 for that! You can look, but you can't touch!" I shout out mockingly as I dump my stuff on a bench in the changing rooms and start to undress. I hear Shel snort-laugh behind me and smile to myself. As far as work friends go, she is the closest I've got.

I like to keep myself to myself. Life is easier that way. Fewer questions, less chance of people knowing too much about me. To everyone here, I am just Raine; mysterious, moody and often late.

Dancing half-naked for money was not really in my life plans. Honestly, this is the last thing I thought I would be doing, but here I am. The women who dance here have hugely diverse backgrounds. Many are highly educated and married with families but, the reality is dancing here gives us the opportunity for a fast income (at times). For me, I'm the stereotype. Alone, uneducated on paper and in need of money.

I've been making it in this world alone since I was sixteen years old. My parents' death meant I became a burden to the rest of the people I called 'family'. I had never felt more unwelcome in a place I once called home. Their cruel words and, laterally, the physical attacks I had to endure were the last straw. It was a typical Cinderella story, before the happily ever after. Cook the dinner, Raine. Scrub the floors, Raine. Wearing hand-me-down clothes that were practically rags, sleeping in a room that was basically a cupboard. And any resistance was met with the back of a hand or a fist to the gut. I quickly realised, life isn't a fairytale; there was no Prince Charming to sweep me off to the palace. So I left and never looked back.

The first few years were tough, sometimes begging or stealing to get by. Turning eighteen meant I could get a job at the club and now, two years later, I'm feeling settled and as close to happy as I imagine I can be.

"Raine!" Shel's voice from the other room snaps me from my reverie. I dust myself down before heading back through to her. Shel is still at the bar, now sitting with a straw in her mouth, sucking from her soda and lime. Kayla and Steve are behind the bar, bored expressions etched on their faces.

"By your tone, I thought you were overrun with customers..." I scan the almost empty club as I make my way towards them then plant myself on one of the stools. "But, obviously not."

"We just needed you here with us. You are always the life of the party." She's being sarcastic and winks at me while Kayla and Steve smirk and chuckle.

The music is on the wind up as some of the other girls take to the stage. Claps and cheers of approval come from the very few customers that are here. 

"Do you want on next?" Shel asks as I disapprovingly scan over the men in the club. As Shel and I discuss stage set plans for the night, one of the more shady looking men decides to cause a scene. He is trying to get our attention by whistling and clicking his fingers. When he realises that's not doing the trick, he stands and slinks over to us.

"Oi. I need a drink. It's your job to please me, right?" His speech is already a little sloppy, just like his whole appearance. My jaw ticks as I try to remain calm at his rudeness. Shel steps in, knowing I'm not the best person to deal with this.

"Of course, sir. My apologies, what can I get for you and I'll bring it right over." Shel's voice is silky smooth while her overextended eyelashes flutter. She's well practised at the good girl act, unlike me.

"Jack on the rocks, and make it snappy, b*tch." His eyes are fixated on her chest with no regard to the person attached to them. Pig.

Nope. I can't let that slide.

"Hey, asshole!" That manages to shift his eye line. "She was doing you a favour by being polite. I won't offer you that kindness." My voice is sharp and threatening. His eyes narrow, jaw tensing at my words.

"Who the f*ck do you think you are? You're just some w***e shaking her t*ts to make a buck. Now shut up and get me a damn drink, sweetheart." He stands a little straighter as he spits out his words. Aw, he thinks he's intimidating. I laugh at his blatant disrespect while taking a step closer to him.

"Y'know, maybe if you showed women some damn respect, you wouldn't be in here on a weeknight spending your last buck to watch me shake my t*ts, sweetheart." I practically spit the last word in his face, my tone more than condescending as I refuse to back down. Shel stands off to the side, rooted to the spot. Her eyes are darting between us, following our verbal to and fro, as if she were following the ball in a high octane tennis rally.

Clearly, my refusal to let things slide is winding him up even further as his nostrils flare and his beady eyes narrow to slits.

"Listen here, you jumped-up little whore." His voice is almost a whisper as his whiskey laced breath falls over my cheek. I stifle a gag at his proximity and his stench, waiting to hear what he thinks will be the final nail in my attitude's coffin. "When all you have to offer is some nice t*ts and smackable ass, you shut up and do as you're f*cking told. You are nothing more than a warm body and a pretty face to get me hard, so why you think I should treat you as anything more is beyond me." He finishes by giving me a look over that was supposedly meant to wound my ego. It was a look that said I was nothing more than the sh*t on his shoe. The audacity.

"I'm giving you permission to see my body. I'm not giving you permission to treat me like sh*t. So if you don't sit the f*ck down and shut the f*ck up, I'll ram my fist so far up—" Shel reaches for me and pulls me back, interrupting me before I can really get into the flow of my threat. Which, incidentally, was going to be the final nail in his figurative coffin before I literally put him in one.

"I'm so sorry about my friend, sir." Shel's sickly sweet voice is coated in even more sugar than usual. She strokes at his arm before turning to give me an apologetic look before turning back to him and leaning in slowly to his ear. "It's that time of the month. Y'know, women's troubles." He actively recoils at the thought of a woman having a period, his face contorted in disgust.

While he gathers himself from the image of me going through a perfectly normal menstrual cycle, Shel turns to mouth 'sorry' in my direction. It's nothing I’m embarrassed about, despite his reaction. But Shel playing the period card as an excuse for challenging his dickhead behaviour is a bit sh*tty, adding to the idea that my hormones make me dramatic or hysterical. When the reality is I'm just standing up for us. Shel turns back to him with a bright smile and a soft touch to his not so soft cheek.

"How about you take a seat, sir, and I'll bring that drink right over. On the house, of course." She winks, and he nods curtly, ready to get away from me. Probably for fear that my hormone-induced mania would cause me to scream or cry at any moment. I roll my eyes as he finally returns to his seat and returns to drooling over the women he can never have dancing on the stage.

Shel turns back to me, her eyebrow quirked in an accusatory way for the second time this evening. I fold my arms and match her expression.

"Why do you work here again?" She pushes lightly on my shoulder. I allow myself to sway at the contact, releasing my folded arms and guarded stance.

"C'mon, Shel! That guy was out of order. For the most part, customers here are fine. But guys like him... if left unchecked, they can be dangerous." I finish with an agitated sigh and a slump of my shoulders. Shel's hand reaches out to squeeze my shoulder supportively.

"It's not like we're in the business of dismantling the patriarchy here, babe." She rubs soothing circles on my shoulder as I roll my eyes. "Ask not what you can do for misogyny, but what misogyny can do for you." She points up in a comedic fashion, causing me to slip an involuntary smirk. Another quote from Momma Shel, no doubt.

"Now, I'm going to squeeze every last cent out of this guy. And maybe, just maybe, I'll give you a share. Take a breather, sweetie. See you on the floor." She reaches behind me to grab the drink that Steve prepared and sashays over to the disgusting man.

Steve offers me a sympathetic smile before I take a deep breath then head back to the safety and seclusion of the changing rooms.

"Raine!" F*ck. Before I can make it to safety, Jamie's voice booms over the sound of the rhythmic bass. Jamie Fletcher, aka The Boss.

I turn to face him, putting on my best innocent face. He stands in all his glory, tall, dark with his signature deep frown etched into his brow.

"My office, now." His voice is firm and emotionless, as usual. He turns on his heel and struts back to his office. I whisper to myself in frustration as I march confidently after him.

As bosses go, he's not bad. He looks out for the women who work for him and makes sure we're safe. He's reasonable with his cut of the money while overlooking my lateness and standoffish nature on many occasions. But at the end of the day, he's the boss. And he's here to make money.

"Sit." Ouch, ok, so he's more stern than usual tonight. I obey his command no matter how his tone irks me. His robust frame melts into his needlessly extravagant desk chair, forcefully exhaling as he does. He leans forward, elbows on his desk, hands clasped tightly. His rolled-up shirt sleeves reveal the intricate designs inked over his arms, veins protruding almost aggressively.

"Raine..." My name rolls off his tongue, catching me off guard and forcing my attention away from his toned and teasing arms. He quirks his brow, noticing my readjustment of attention to his face. I smile awkwardly, suddenly uncomfortable that my mind had even thought to look him over like that. I clear my throat and shift in my seat, preparing my defence.

"Look, Mr Fletcher." I sit tall, shoulders back, and maintain eye contact with his deep muddy eyes. He leans himself back, clasped hands that once rested on his table now rested on what I can (and will) only imagine is his toned stomach. One ankle rests on the knee of his other leg, a bemused look on his face. He nods for me to continue now he's comfortable.

"That man was so rude. He was demanding and mean. Not to mention so disrespectful to Shelley and me. Someone had to set him straight and remind him that women are more than just there to tend to his every whim, regardless of where he is. I couldn't let him--" He holds his hand up for me to stop, my words catching in my throat before they continue to spill out.  

"I know, Raine. He was rude and inappropriate." He sits up again, eyes boring into me and eyebrows in a deep frown. I sigh at his acceptance of my story, relaxing slightly.

"But your customer service... because this is a business and you have a responsibility to act professionally… your customer service was not acceptable, and this is not the first time." His stern voice made me feel like a schoolgirl in the Principal's office. I suddenly feel small and vulnerable sitting across from this sizeable man in his substantial chair. My nerves have me unknowingly gnawing at my bottom lip, a nervous knot forming in my stomach. Is this it? Is he going to fire me?

"Raine, I like you. You work hard, you're confident and witty, and you are passionate. But your anger gets you into trouble. Top that off with your chronic lateness and your negative interactions with customers..."

Oh sh*t, this is it. 

"...I'm running out of chances to give you." His face almost softens, as if he might actually feel bad for me. 

"Mr Fletcher, I'm sorry. Please, I really need this job." Oh god, I've gone straight to begging. He squirms at my desperation. If I turn on the waterworks, maybe I can seal the deal. F*cks sake, just throwing away all my dignity and principles tonight, huh? I take a deep breath, composing myself and choking down any more desperation threatening to spill out.

"You're right. I'm a mess." My admission has him puzzled, and the frown he squirmed away returns. "I'm late... often... but I promise I am working on it. And the people stuff..." I take another deep breath to ground myself, knowing I have to share something that makes me vulnerable, but in the right way. 

"Before I came to the city, I was in a place where I had no control. When people are rude or disrespectful, it reminds me of that time. I respond in anger but, I'm working on that too." And there it is. The honest truth of why I'm so standoffish. I never want to be in the position of being owned, walked all over or forced to do things ever again. I'm free of that, and I am never going back. 

He looks me over, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. He rubs his hand over his smooth jawline before standing from his seat.

"Go home, Raine." I drop my head defeatedly at his words before rising from my seat too. I give him a half-hearted smile, one that said 'thanks for f*ck all' and turn to leave.

"And come back tomorrow at 7 for a shift in VIP." I turn back with a full smile this time, nearly encouraging one from him too. "You can work on your people skills." I chuckle at his words and nod enthusiastically. His face returns to its typically serious nature as his arms fold across his broad chest.

"Last chance, Raine." The firmness in his voice allows the words to land even harder. I nod again, more timid this time.

"Thank you." I say quietly before scurrying out of his office. 

I grab my things from the changing room and hastily exit the club without stopping to talk to anyone. Stepping out onto the street, I finally breathe out and relax before starting the short walk home.

The events of tonight circle my mind. Thoughts of the blood boiling interaction cause my hands to clench into tight fists and march faster towards home. Reaching the halfway point on the brisk walk (angry march), I pick up on the change in the atmosphere around me. Suddenly, the fresh air has an eerie chill, the hairs on the back of my neck spike in a foreboding way. My ears prick up at the sound of heavy, uneven footsteps behind me.

My walking quickens on approach to a small sidestreet. Reaching it, I quickly duck in away from the main street and out of sight. Looking at the dark and dodgy alleyway I've escaped to, one thing is painfully obvious. It's a dead-end. 

"Perfect." I jump at the proximity of the gruff voice. Not in fear, just surprise those uneven steps had made it this far in that time. I smile to myself, the scent of the sloppy man from the club assaulting my nose once more. I slowly turn to face him, a look of indifference plastered across my face. His confidence falters slightly at how calm I am to be trapped in the alleyway with him. Little does he know, we're here by my will.

"You really need to learn some manners." He licks his lips as his hungry eyes roam my body. I smirk at his naivety. He really thinks he has the upper hand. It's my turn to step forward, my head tilting, menacingly narrowing my eyes as I do. 

This is just what I've need- release. The anger within builds to reach my chest, a low rumble vibrates through my ribs. My overall silence and my predatory behaviours have him well and truly on the back foot now. He was so very mistaken to think he was the hunter and I was the prey.

My eyes glow bright, the beast within finally ready to have some control. He will regret chasing this fight. We'll make sure of it.