S. Laughter.

The next day she was surprisingly enough unlocking the door to her apartment like all was normal again but as she knew to avoid that one loose board two steps in, the muscle escorting her did not and stomped over it with a cringe-worthy creak. She winced but said nothing. The brute could snap her spine like a matchstick.

An hour ago she was roughly jerked awake and ushered down flights of stairs -ignoring the questioning glance at the body and bloody Beware message- and into what could only be described as the classic white, kidnapper van. A skinny, rat-faced man spared her one glare with shiny, beetle-black eyes before starting the engine and pulling out. She huffed directions as she was thrown side to side in the vacant, belt-less back area; it would probably have been better if there were say, actual seats to balance on. Four battered limbs later she was here, home with it's complete lack of furniture and butchered support beam marking a tiny kitchen.

Scarlett turned around with a calculated air, eying the large brute scrutinizing random areas; fine, as long as he didn't see the hall. 

"Y'know if you're hungry, just help yourself." As they say about flies and honey... She didn't think the fucker could smile, but there it was. All half grin of off-white, crooked teeth. Whatever's on the menu back at their hideout must be that bad, judging by the way he bustled off to the kitchen and leaving her standing with no stern threats on trying to escape. She shrugged, that could still be in the cards but not before a scalding shower.

The young stripper avoided the mirror as she undressed, waiting for the water to heat. The steady rush of water battering the tub made her shudder; she hated that sound. Next, red contacts were plucked out with blind precision. She blinked, now her vision a little clearer. The clothes were then literally peeled off and tossed in the trash bin. They were ruined anyway.

Water sluiced over dirty skin and stung healing cuts, some bringing tears to her eyes. They could be infected for all she knew, but she would know by now, wouldn't she? Regardless soap was scrubbed harder into the injuries until the water gurgling down the drain was a faint pink.

Finished, she finally felt half-way human again: Crimson hair dried and falling in loose ringlets, not the russet, lank mess it was; skin smooth and a clean-smelling pearl; mouth sterilized to the point of tender, bleeding gums; eyeshadow a restrained pairing of black and copper; fresh red contacts centered on each iris.

"Hey there, Gorgeous!" she announced cheerily, gazing at her improved reflection. It felt great for the outside to no longer match the in. The only complaint was the small cuts on her face concealer couldn't help.

With a towel wrapped loosely around her, she believed for a moment that this accomplished series of rituals were the start of an ordinary day; and as she stepped into the hall with the intention of choosing from her wardrobe what to slither out of in at the club, the illusion was shattered into sharp, tiny bits. The large goon stood casually at the other end, chomping away from an opened can of cold ravioli and studying the clown-themed newspaper clippings plastered to the wall. She stopped in her tracks, pink burning through the light rouge on her cheeks.

Finally, in what seemed like forever, he noticed her there. A look of bemusement on his shaggy face as he idly wiped a trail of tomato sauce from the corner of his mouth, crusting on his beard. "You really like the boss, huh?" He tilted his head at the overly organized collage.

"... no-- no one's supposed to see that."

"But you do though, right?" he persisted, his interest more in the conversation than the naked exotic dancer feet away save for a flimsy towel. "These pictures are..."

"Yes, I know," she sniped. 

She did not want to have this conversation.
Not with anyone.
Ever.

"But... why?" The confusion, the derisive raise of a bushy eyebrow, the judgment, it was making her itch.

How... How could she not? So many reasons spun in her head into a jumbled mess of shrapnel confetti and red-slashed smiles.

"I-- I'm going to go dress now." She backed slowly from the conversation. The intrigued gleam in the man's eyes made her want to blurt, "Take the TV and never speak of this again," but she held back. Instead she inched into the only bedroom and all but slammed the rickety door shut. 

There, that was the end of that.

She eased down onto her bed, sure that she never felt anything so soft in ages. She should stay here. Forever. It was better and safer and no more disappointments--- yes, that was true and realizing it now made her red in the face. This wasn't turning out at all the way she hoped. She had fantasized some grandiose love story, and she felt like the toad. Her nose wrinkled in disgust at the image and twinged in a sharp pain that made her eyes water. Not broken but swollen; cover up just barely hid the purple bruising. The dark circle around her eye socket was distorted by a copper shimmer. They may not be warts and slimy, green skin but they were flaws nonetheless. Something weak and wounded. She wasn't sure who to be mad, at the clown or herself.

Dark, baggy slacks were drawn up and fastened close around her waist with a belt; bra then black and gray plaid flannel shirt. Her fingers shook and fussed over the buttons. When she was tying her hair back into a messy tail, she realized what she was doing or about to do. She was this stupid, wasn't she? Her hands fell away from the half done up line of buttons. Now was her chance to get away. There was a fire escape right outside her window. It would be so easy, just to run away.

She could barely walk. It hurt too much, but she had to. Daddy had told her to get lost and she did, all too gladly. But there wasn't pleasure burning in her chest at having to be away, not even fear. Even though her entire body couldn't stop jerking. It just felt... empty. And maybe a little confused. Her head throbbed, just like between her legs.

The afternoon sun shone brightly upon her back, scolding her ice cold skin instead of pleasantly warming it. The growling of lawn mowers, barking dogs, and the other sounds of the neighborhood were drowned out by the static in her ears and replaced by Daddy's howls and grunted words she wasn't allowed to use and it all echoed against the slap-slap-slap of clammy skin and the squeaks of the porcelain tub.

Her squishing sneakers trudged along the curb. She twitched again at the late summer breeze. Licking her cracked lips, a glass of chocolate milk sounded like Christmas, not one of her family's Christmases but the warm, sparkly kind you see on TV.

"What are you doing out here?!" was hissed from her left. She slowly tore her glassy eyes away from her long, black shadow to take in the sight of her mama glaring at her from the cave of her car. Something like hope and joyful relief fluttered in the little Girl's chest.

"Get in right now," her mother ordered, sounding furious, but that didn't matter because she was here now and she'd make everything better. 

That's what mommies do after all.

Moving carefully -because it felt like something deep inside was torn and moving fast would only tear it more- she slid into the front seat just as the car was already rolling forward. The sigh of relief expanded in her lungs but froze at the thunderous expression on her mother's face.

"Do you know where I just was?"

The little Girl shook her head. She never knew where Mommy was unless she was home.

"I was at the salon having a much needed Girl's Day with Aunt Judy. I was just about to have my roots done when I get a phone call from Mrs. Waldrop saying she saw my daughter walking by her front lawn looking like a drowned rat. Do yo have any idea how humiliating that is, for one of our neighbors to call me and ask if I'm aware of my kid's freakish stunts? What the hell have you been doing? Is that my make up--- and why the fuck are you wet? I just bought you those jeans and they're ruined! The hell if I'm going to buy you a new pair--" 

She stopped mid-rant, slowing at a stop sign. The clouds parted on her face, and she flashed a sunny smile over the Girl's head. "Hi, Kim!" she called out through the still open passenger window -disregarding the tiny, shivering body- to a pretty woman jogging past. The woman returned the smile and waved but continued on her way. Once she was out of sight, Mommy's bright blue eyes drew lower to wide, maple syrup ones -she took after her Daddy- the smile flattened to a tight line. "I had to cancel my appointment because of you. Now I'm going to take you home, and you're going straight to your room... Your father can deal with you."

The little Girl's mouth fell open in a silent protest, but Mama's stern look had her snapping it shut with an audible click. She wanted to scream about Daddy and how he made her bleed and hurt and-- didn't Mommy see the bruises Daddy left on her arms? And Mommy was going to take her back there, back to Daddy and he said not to come back yet.

Tears bubbled in her eyes and rolled in burning tracks down her cold skin as Mommy scolded her for staining the leather upholstery.

She looked up at the slow knocking on the door. "Gotta go," rumbled through and she nodded weakly as if the goon on the side could see.

The early afternoon light flooding in drew her to the window. The fire escape was just outside, zig-zagging all the way down to the street. It would be the smart thing to do. She had money stashed away under the floorboards in her closet. She could hide out in a hotel for a few days and then come back here, because the clown couldn't care past that. Afterwards, then she'd find work at some other gentlemen's club. She wasn't qualified for anything else. It'd start all over again; the same days with just different faces in the flicker of the strobes. 

The goon knocked again, this time cracking the door open as he did so. Moving swiftly from the window to the bed, she snatched up her bag and went to head him off.

"Got everything?" he murmured, eying the window as if he knew of the thoughts of escape she was entertaining.

She pushed past him and waited for him at the door. Over and over, stupid-stupid revolving in her head.