Stripped By reagan o'connor.pdf

Stripped By reagan o'connor

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/4921446/1/

PART I

BELLA

Chapter 1

The Present

I awoke to the western sun slanting through the window. Scowling, I rolled over

on the futon, hiding my face in the crack between the wall and the covers. This

new schedule was taking some getting used to; I wasn't accustomed to sleeping

away the entire day. There was something seedy and desperate about being a

day-sleeper. I laughed humorlessly; I was seedy and desperate, after all.

I yawned and stretched and walked through the small apartment into the four-

square-foot kitchen, turned on the coffee maker and combed my fingers through

my long, tangled dark hair. I thought again for the hundredth time how the word

"efficiency" did not nearly describe the small space I'd been living in for the past

three months. Living my seedy, desperate life. Running away from everything

and everyone. Hiding from those who would hurt me, even kill me.

I shook my head, willing the thoughts away. Walking towards the bathroom, I

grabbed the remote and turned on the television.

By seven o'clock I was on my way to work, radio blaring over the loud truck

engine. At a stoplight I lit my first cigarette of the day and rummaged through

my bag for another CD. I breathed deeply, already surprised at how quickly I'd

taken to smoking. Most of the girls at work smoked, and one day after a couple of

drinks and a desire to impress my manager, I bummed a cigarette. I'd done OK

with that first one; I'd lit the correct end and hadn't choked on my first drag. I

smiled to myself as I remembered seeing a drunk sorority girl light the wrong end

of a Marlboro in the off-campus bar where I worked. Every time I saw the girl in

my Econ class with her entourage of rich, coiffed BFFs, I pictured her waving

around the blackened filter, spitting out bits of tobacco and smiled.

Now I was a pro. At smoking, at running away.

The light changed. I put the truck into first and gunned it. I smiled ruefully as the

truck lurched forward; no one would ever want this truck for anything. It barely

got 10 miles to the gallon, and didn't quite get up to sixty on the expressway.

Still, it was one of the few things I owned, a gift from Charlie. Back when life was

normal.

How had I fallen so far so fast? Everything was fine in Forks, Washington. I'd

graduated from high school with good grades and a partial scholarship to

Dartmouth College, of all places. Charlie had been thrilled to have Ivy League

Material for a daughter, and wasted no time in sharing the good news with the

entire town. Renee had been just as excited and even offered to sell the house in

Phoenix to help with the tuition. Phil had been offered a contract with the

Houston Astros farm team, and they were living in a condo outside of the city. I

suspected that Renee was only hanging on to the house for my benefit, but I

wasn't exactly sure why.

I shook my head at the memory. There would have been no earthly way to swing

Dartmouth, and Mike had been adamant about us both going to Peninsula.

Mike.

I cringed.

Mike Newton. The all-around nice guy from a good family, who practically courted

Charlie before trying to date me. He went fishing with Charlie a few times a

month, and finally convinced me to date him during our senior year of high

school. After a year of dogging me at every turn, not to mention having Charlie

driving me nuts about what a "nice boy that Newton kid is," I had acquiesced and

agreed to go out with him. Once. There was no turning back after that. He'd

started picking me up for school every day, following me around town, even

shadowed me when I went to Port Angeles a few times with Angela for a girl's

day out. A few times I even had the distinct feeling that he had been in my house

when I wasn't there… but I shrugged it off as an overreaction. Part of me thought

that some of his actions seemed strange, but a bigger part of me was happy to

have the attention and the diversion of an attentive boyfriend.

Mike had always seemed a bit insecure, but that insecurity went through the roof

when he found out I'd been accepted to Dartmouth. He accused me of running

away, of leading him on, of not taking our relationship seriously, of putting myself

above everyone else around me. When he brought up how expensive it would be,

and what a financial burden I would be for my parents, I acquiesced quickly, not

wanting to create problems. I enrolled at Peninsula.

Mike had decided that since we were both going to Peninsula, we needed to live

in Port Angeles instead of commuting from home. He wouldn't even consider

living in the dorms, and insisted that we get an apartment together, and I'd

needed to find a part-time job in addition to a full load of classes my first

semester. Mike had decided that he couldn't work and go to school at the same

time, so the brunt of the responsibility had fallen to me to pay rent and living

expenses. I'd seen him have a few beers here and there, mostly when we went to

First Beach at La Push with other kids from school. But nothing prepared me for

the raging drunk Mike became once exposed to campus life. It mortified me to

remember how he'd smacked me around a few times (always apologizing

afterwards), and I'd found more than a few new phone numbers in his cell phone.

I knew better than to approach him about it, as he'd either get mad at me for

snooping (most likely), get defensive (very likely) or claim that they were the

numbers of English tutors (only likely if he was drunk). Regardless, I would be in

for a very bad evening. It was usually better to leave it alone. And since my

name was on the apartment lease, I couldn't very well leave without losing a lot

of money.

Until the day I'd come home from work early and found him in bed with one of

his English tutors. I'd stood in the bedroom doorway, too shocked to speak, while

English Tutor had gathered her clothes, giggling nervously. Mike had lain back in

the bed – our bed – and lit a cigarette, acting as if nothing had happened.

I'd been wooden, incapable of movement, the shock and surprise too much for

my system to process. I'd finally walked into the living room and sat down on the

floor, not even looking up when English Tutor closed the front door behind her

with a soft click. This was the man to whom I'd given two years of my life; given

up my dreams, my freedom, my virginity. At the thought my stomach lurched. I

scrambled to my feet, barely making it to the toilet.

Afterward I wiped my mouth, splashed my face with cool water, and picked up

my toothbrush.

It was wet. English Tutor must have borrowed it.

I dropped it into the garbage can and began to cry.

Three months later, I was living on my own for the first time in my life, a small

apartment I'd procured with a little help from Renee and the belongings I'd

managed to stuff into my truck one night while Mike was passed out, sneaking

back into the bedroom one last time to grab the laptop Charlie had given me as a

graduation present. Some things were just more important than a security

deposit.

I'd crossed into northern California and stopped when I came to a town called

New Journey, in need of gas and food and human interaction. The very name of

the town seemed significant, so I stayed. I'd called Renee to let her know where I

was, and despite her obvious shock, she didn't ask as many questions as I

expected. I told her that I was having an attack of needing to be on my own for a

while, and asked her to call Charlie for me. I figured that Charlie would hunt Mike

down and kill him if he knew what had really transpired. Besides, he'd be

embarrassed that his judgment of Mike was so far off, and so I steered clear of

having that particular conversation with him.

I started slightly as I pulled into the parking lot. I'd been on autopilot the entire

way here, lost in the fresh memories. I cut the engine, grabbed my bag and

locked the truck.

A tall, well-muscled, dark-skinned security guard stepped out of the doorway on a

side of the building and walked towards me. I smiled and waved. "Hello,

Laurent."

He smiled back, eyes scanning the lot behind me.

"Hello, Bella."

Chapter 2

I stopped when I reached Laurent.

"How is it today?"

He shrugged.

"Pretty quiet, actually. Not too busy, but that's typical for this time. You know

how it is." He didn't looking at me, still scanning the lot with his deep brown

eyes.

Not exactly. After all, I've only been doing this for about a week now. I'm not

entirely certain what 'typical' is.

Something about his eyes made me uncomfortable. "Everything OK?"

He didn't answer. "Something just seems a little off, that's all." He finally looked

at me and smiled, an obvious attempt to be reassuring. "I'm sure it's nothing."

He backed towards the door and held it open for me.

I walked inside quickly, not sure if the chill I felt was due to the blast of air

conditioning or something else.

The Past

I had shown up here less than a month ago, answering an ad in the local paper

for a waitress. The bartender directed me to the manager's office, and I shook

hands with an attractive, muscular blonde man seated behind the cluttered desk.

"James." He introduced himself.

"Bella" I answered.

He cocked his head to one side and looked at her thoughtfully. "You don't look

like a 'Bella.'"

I puzzled. What does a 'Bella' look like?

"Amaryllis will know what you look like." He nodded.

Amaryllis?

James smiled at me, showing a lot of straight, white teeth. "It doesn't matter. It's

an act, anyway. Amaryllis has been working here a while. She'll know what you

look like, she'll choose your name."

I need a new name to be a waitress? Aloud I asked, "Does this mean you're

giving me the job?"

James smiled again. "Have you ever been a waitress anywhere?"

"No, but I used to cook at home all of the time, and I worked for a sporting goods

store when I was in high school. And I was a bartender…" I trailed off, not

wanting to provide more information than necessary about my more recent past.

"For a while back in college."

James looked at me thoughtfully. "Waitresses make five bucks an hour and

whatever tips you get. You give the bartender ten bucks a night. Bus your own

tables and be on time. No touching patrons."

I looked quizzically at him. "Why would I be touching patrons?"

James was incredulous. "You do realize that this is a strip bar, right?" he asked.

My eyes widened. "A strip bar?" I repeated.

James laughed again. "Yeah. A strip bar. The same rules that apply to the

dancers apply to wait staff. No touching patrons either male or female, no

touching the other girls, no nudity. The dancers don't take kindly to the wait staff

horning in on their tips, if you know what I mean." He looked at me carefully.

I processed this. Then I asked, "When can I start?"

James crossed his arms and sighed. "Well, the thing is… "He drew this out, as if

he didn't want to tell me something. "Right now, I don't really need wait staff."

He sat back in his chair. "I just hired a girl a few weeks ago. I usually run the ad

in the newspaper for a month, since I get a better deal that way. Besides, if they

don't work out, I usually know within a week, and I have someone else interested

without having to run another ad." He assessed me thoughtfully. "You might work

out as a dancer, though."

I nearly choked. "A dancer?" I tried stifling a laugh and failed miserably. "There is

no way I could do that." I shook my head for emphasis.

James hitched his shoulders. "It's up to you. You are attractive enough, kind of a

'girl-next-door' thing going for you." He pointed at my chest. "Those are real,

aren't they?"

I crossed my arms over my chest reflexively. "I'm sorry?"

James laughed. "I can usually tell, and yours look real. Which is a plus. You seem

well-proportioned." He nodded. "Would you be interested in dancing?"

I was taken aback by the suggestion. I'd always been such a wallflower at home

in Phoenix. When I'd moved to Forks, several of the boys had quickly taken

interest in me, and though I'd been embarrassed, I had also been flattered by the

attention. Then there was Mike, who had always told me how pretty I was, and

was so protective of me. At least, at first. To have this guy be so straightforward,

calling me attractive, it was nice in a weird way.

Attractive enough to be an exotic dancer?

I straightened in my chair and crossed my legs. "I'd like to think about it."

James smiled at me and nodded again. "Why don't you give yourself a week, then

come back next Monday and audition? We don't open until two o'clock, so you

can get a feel for the place, try out the stage, and there won't be anyone here

but me and the daytime bartender."

Would it really hurt to consider it?

"Oh, I almost forgot." James continued. "Dancers usually make between thirty

and eighty bucks an hour. On average." He eyed me carefully, but I kept my

expression impassive. "Fifteen to the bartender, fifteen to the DJ, each shift. We

have several shifts to choose from. You aren't on the books, we don't pay you a

dime. You're kind of a 'private contractor.'" He laughed at his own joke.

I remained impassive, but I did the mental math. Thirty bucks per hour cash plus

tips was probably more than Charlie had made as Police Chief Swan in the small

town of Forks, considering taxes...

I chewed my lip. "I'm not really sure… how. I mean, I've never done anything like

this before." As if he hadn't realized this already.

"That's OK. You can always just stop in, sit at the bar and watch. Most of the girls

check out a bar that they want to work at. The bar opens at eleven in the

morning, although evenings are busiest. Tuesdays are the slowest day of the

week."

"OK." I stood and held out my hand. "I'll see you next week, then."

A million thoughts had raced through my head that night as I lay in bed.

Could I really do this? Where would I find stripper clothes? What kind of music is

good? How would I learn to dance right? Would the money be good enough?

What if I fall down? (Considering my serious lack of grace, this was definitely

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