AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter 1
Imogen
Oppressed rage bubbles beneath the surface of my skin, making my cheeks burn, my neck hot and itchy, anger threatening to spill out of my pores in a fiery storm.
But… perfection. A state of mind drilled into my head for years, buried so deep for so long it's no longer a cloak, it's another layer of skin, attached and varnished no matter how hard I might try to scrub it off.
So, the words stay trapped in my throat, the feeling of my righteous anger ebbing and flowing, suppressed and redirected inward. Just smile, Imogen. That's all anyone wants from you, anyway. A pretty smile, blind obedience. Not rage. Not emotion.
It’s not fair.
All I ever wanted was a choice. A pack, a family to love and cherish. But one of my choosing.
Resisting the temptation to stomp my red stilettos down the busy sidewalk, instead, I effortlessly stroll with light steps, so practiced, I could carry a full cup of tea atop my head, none the wiser of my inner turmoil.
I’ve never been to South Loop and certainly never to a strip club, but somehow, being here aligns with how the rest of my day is going.
The bouncer guarding the door eyes me warily, giving me a slow up-and-down perusal, complete with a skeptical eyebrow lift. It's a practical once-over, and I can feel his judgment in one bemused smirk: I don't belong here.
But he swings the door open without protest, and I walk in, head held high, preparing myself for… well, anything, really, who knows what happens in a place like this.
There are topless women everywhere I look, and now, my cheeks flame red for a different reason. The bartender watches me skeptically, but I’m saved when Ophelia shouts my name from across the room, her voice ghosting over the loud bass-pounding music filling the club.
Tentatively, I straighten my spine and walk to a small table near the stage, dodging leering, cat-calling men, laughing, drinking beers, more rowdy than they've a right this early in the evening. A tiny woman wearing nothing but hot pink strings—I’m not even sure what else to call them, just straps and strings criss-crossed and looped and tied that barely cover her pint-sized body—smiles happily beside Ophelia.
"Imogen, this is Franky," Ophelia nods toward her friend.
The short woman with dark, olive-toned skin turns her infectious smile on me and bounds closer. Her natural scent hides beneath quality scent-blockers, while doused in a fruity perfume and a dusting of glitter shimmering across her chest.
"It’s so nice to finally meet you, Immy! Phe Phe's told me you're so sweet, and she always knows all the best people." Franky smiles unnaturally wide, showcasing bright teeth which look purple against the backdrop of the glowing club lights, adorable dimples settling deep in her cheeks. It's the kind of smile I always wanted, but could never manage that level of authenticity.
Her smile isn't perfect: it's too big, too happy, too joyful. It's not subdued or practiced in the way I've been taught.
Unsure how to respond, I clasp her hand in mine to give it a nice, professional shake, but she slaps it out of the way and wraps her surprisingly muscular arms around me. I’m taller by several inches, especially in my heels, but it doesn't stop Franky one little bit.
"Nice to meet you too, Franky," I rasp.
She let go as abruptly as she pulled me in. "Okay, gotta get back on stage. Love you Phe Phe!" She sings happily and, with an alarming amount of strength, launches herself onto the stage in a running jump, throws herself onto the stripper pole, and swings her body around in gravity-defying gymnastics.
"You can close your mouth," Ophelia snorts.
My mouth snaps shut, and I clear my throat, taking the seat beside her. "I hope it’s not rude to stare. She’s really quite impressive."
"Quite. Franky is really fun to watch, and it's not rude to stare. Kinda the point. But if you stare a lot, maybe throw her a few bucks," Ophelia chuckles.
"Oh my goodness, you’re right," I gasp, rushing into my purse. Ophelia stills my hands with hers.
"I’m kidding. Relax. You doing okay? You sounded upset when you called."
Right. I sounded upset. Not like a burgeoning volcano of rage. It was all buried too deep, and what came out was a gentler version of what I actually felt.
I called Ophelia and asked to see her, to vent, but somehow, getting the courage to come here, to a strip club of all places and meeting the overwhelmingly happy Franky, poked a hole in my balloon, and, with the distraction of the club, all that's left as I sit in this chair is… hurt. Uncertainty.
"My parents…" Rubbing my fingers into my temples, I search for the words that hurt the least.
"Oh no. What did they do now?" She leans in closer, taking my hands in hers.
I think back to my conversation with my mother before I left the house.
