Nearly suffocating... Like every Friday night. The smell of whiskey, cigarettes and all other source of pollution envelopes the strip club.

I emerge from behind the screen seperating the stage and the dressing room. I so anticipate the familiar scent which has been embedded into my nasal memory

note sarcasm

.

The whistles and cheers of the mostly half-drunkards echoes, aligning with the electric tunes blasting from overhanging speakers.

If it weren't for the high pay attached to this five star strip club not even concealed from within the vast coverage of Las Vegas, I wouldn't step a millimeter near the adjoining curb to the flashy entrance.

But coffee waiting pay was not decent enough to scratch a dent in my little sister's monthly medical bill. Sure it was good for running the single bedroom concrete we live in. But sadly that's only what I could do before I saw the "want to make money ad" of my current job surfing the net to download free pdfs.

It was a long debating session of weighing the issues at hand and the temptation to click on it caved on me due to elaborate details of privileges that come with.

So here I am, in my best dress for this line of work, a silky see-through, which leaves little to the imaginations as the crowd gawk at me, hundred pairs of eyes, lazering my every move as I dance as sensually as I can, thrusting my hips seductively where I can to the beats. Heavy silence weighs under the music.

My mask is the only thing that gives me a tiny sense dignity amidst all the diminutive emotions that eat at me every time it's my turn to bring in show. With every twist and turn, follows an unethusiastic sigh internally.

Thirty minutes later, I am back in the dressing room, brushing my damp chestnut curls into a scrunchie. The coolness of the atmosphere touching on my skin after the mini workout feels satiating.

Some of the girls here have extra duties which I didn't vouch for so I get to leave early. I have more responsibilities to take care of and plus, I didn't want to loose myself into a dangerous line.

"Happy one year stripping anniversary Lia," Monica squeals, hugging my sore shoulders from behind.

I stiff a groan from the action, smiling up from my sitting position. I catch her outfit. She is practically nude in a bright suggestive silver lingerie, getting ready for her demonstrative duties.

"Thanks Monica."

"Oh how sweet," Rain coos beside us non-comittal with a scowl, rolling a tube of dark red lipstick on her inflated banana lips as she pouts into smudged mirror, illuminated by tiny white bulbs. The black strips serve as censors on the too sensitive to expose parts on her body, leaving everything else in the open.

She is the main star of the show and she makes sure everybody is aware of it.

Monica was the only one kind enough to show me the ropes and give me private mini dance classes after I had first applied. I sometimes wonder how such a nice person like her is in a place like this. Well, I think the same could be said for me from my standpoint.

"Isn't it Rain, she's grown up now, you were just a tiny baby when you first started," Monica resumes sweetly with a venomous slight. Directing her toothy grin at me, she purposefully ignores Rain's remark. Her big green doe eyes are twinkling, a false tinge of innocence on her freckled face. At first glance, you wouldn't associate with her profession.

Rain scoffs, marching away on her knee high boots which match the black ropes hugging her body.

"Tiny baby huh?" I laugh. "Pretty sure babies are a no-no at this gig."

"Well, either way, I'm a proud Mama. Take care on your way home LiLi," Monica skips away to one of the dimly lit hallways.

"And you be careful Monica, take your time," I call after her, my voice ladened with concern.

"My customers wouldn't like that now would they?" Monica winks but there is the edge of seriousness in her features as she nods, bobbing her wine red coils.

It was probably a one time incident but it still lingers in the premise, a foul reminder of most inevitable risks prominent with this line of work. A girl was found dead two months ago in one of the demo rooms after everyone had cleared out.

The incident still haunts me.

"Where is Lia?!"

What does he want now?

"Over here Emil, getting ready to leave," I emphasize the last word as I carry my leather hand bag, proving the action.

"Well I wouldn't leave so fast if I were you, an offer just came up and the customer specifically asked for the masked lady." Emil folds his brawny arms on his chest, not missing a beat of his thick accent.

"You know I don't do demos Emil," I attempt to brush past him. "I remember clearly not circling that part on my regimen."

"Hold up will you? I told them that you don't do demos but they said they will triple the standard pay, and plus it will be at a private getup," Emil lulls his voice in a tempting proposition, stopping me in my tracks.

"Well?"

My mind goes into overdrive. I hate the idea of doing a demo for some drunk idiot and I've always swore I would be caught dead doing it but I do need extra money to pay for my books, I'm sick of always been embarrassed having to share a textbook in class.

I turn a sultry face to Emil. And boy, do I wish to slap his smug smile off his face. Pretty sure if I do that, I'll be let off faster than I can say fired.

"I think..."