Sister's Keeper

"Nayan, love, you're up in thirty!" My best friend, Lilian Parker, shouted from behind me. She prefers to go by Lil Parks though, so that's what we all call her.

I turned to her with a forced smile, my irritation barely hidden. "Yeah, I know." I said with a sigh, "Another night of letting old men and horny perverts stare at my ass."

She steps closer, her expression softening. "I know it sucks, babe, but we've just got to get on with it. Think of the money; it's not like you're relishing all this dreadful attention." I chuckle, "You're doing this for a reason, remember?"

I forced a smile, she was right though. The money I earned from stripping was for a much bigger purpose. Lilian was the only one who knew what the money was intended for and how important this job was to me. "Yeah, I know. But, sometimes it's...it's just hard to remember that when I'm up there, you know." I smile bitterly "Like I said, I don't particularly enjoy everyone staring at my body like a piece of meat."

She hugs me "You've got this, Nayan. You always do."

"Thanks, Lil," I muttered, taking a deep breath. "Guess I had better get ready."

"Good idea. You don't want Matt looking for an excuse to dock your pay." Matthew Steep, our boss, was a grumpy old narcissist who took pride in owning this miserable strip club. Matthew's narcissistic behavior wasn't just evident in his grumpy attitude; it was in the way he manipulated everyone in this club. He'll cozy up some of the women here, promising them pay raises, but only after they've spent a night with him.

I got a first-hand taste of his true colors. Rejecting his advances only led to him slashing my pay. When I tried to speak up, he threatened not to pay me at all. But that didn't stop him from flirting with me occasionally. I've contemplated quitting countless times. But then reality hits. Jobs that don't require qualifications are scarce for people like me. While my friends were off chasing their dreams in college, I was forced to let go of mine so my little sister, Naomi could attend school.

I turned to face the mirror in the cramped dressing room, staring at my reflection. My eyes are tired, my lips are painted a bright red that feels like a mask. This job, dancing at the club, isn't what I had planned for my life, but here I am. I have my reasons, but those reasons feel distant when I'm up on that stage.

I start by brushing through my long, dark hair, making sure it's free of tangles and falls in soft waves over my shoulders. Next, I reached for my makeup bag, touched my eyeliner, and added a bit more glitter to my eyelids. The lights on that stage are unforgiving, and every detail counts.

"Lil, hand me that lipstick, will you?" I asked, pointing to the bright red tube on the counter.

She tosses it to me with a practiced flick of her wrist. "Here you go, glam queen."

I laughed despite myself. "Glam queen, huh? More like an exhausted peasant."

"Hey, don't sell yourself short. You look amazing with your long legs and that ass...and you know it."

"Stop it." I blushed, making her roll her eyes. "Don't be so modest now, Nay, you have great tits and ass. Why do you think..." She lowers her voice "Matthew keeps crawling back to you."

I chuckled, "Because he's a dog?"

"Exactly!" She says and we laugh.

With a final swipe of lipstick, I turned my attention to my outfit. I slip into my T-strap heels, the shiny black leather hugging my feet perfectly. They add an extra few inches to my height, making my legs look even longer. Those dogs aren't going to know what hit them. I smirk inwardly.

Though I detest dancing at a strip club, I still cherish the act of dancing. It was a skill I inherited from my dad, back when dancing was everyone's passion. Even my mom. But now, after it claimed his life, she couldn't bear the thought of one of her children doing something that claimed her husband's life. So, when my career path veered towards dancing, she was furious. However, unable to change my mind, she relented, with the condition that, since I wouldn't pursue schooling like my peers, I had to sacrifice the money meant for my education for Naomi's chance to attend Princeton.

I shake the memory away from my head as I hike up my already short skirt, pulling it higher to reveal more of my thighs. The material barely covers me, but that's the point. I tug at the neckline of my top, pushing up my breasts to create more cleavage. The effect is exactly what I need-sexy, confident, irresistible and powerful.

"Ready to knock 'em dead?" Lil chirps, mischief glinting in her eyes.

"As ready as I'll ever be," I replied, shooting her a playful wink. Just then, my phone buzzes with an incoming call from my mother. Ignoring it, I focus on getting ready. But it persists, demanding attention once more.

"Who's that?" Lil cranes her neck to peek at my phone.

"Mother," I sigh.

"Why's she calling?" Lil inquires. "Don't tell me..."

"I don't think I want to find out this time," I admitted. It's been a recurring theme for the past two months. Mom's incessant calls, demanding a portion of my earnings from the strip club, claiming it's her entitlement as my mother to share in what her daughter earns.

Ever since Dad's death, Mother has thrown herself into drinking. Her daily routine involved lounging at home, guzzling expensive wine until she was drunk and wasted, and then demanding more money from me after the money Naomi and her billionaire husband gave to her. It's a cycle that has become all too familiar.

What bothers me most is why she can't demand more money from Naomi like she does from me. Life seemed to favor her from the start. After Princeton, she married Archibald Rico Denzel, one of the wealthiest and most influential billionaires in the city. It's not that I'm jealous of her; it's just disheartening to feel like my own misfortune will always stand in the way of my happiness.

The phone rang again, but I didn't even bother checking it. I just made my way to the side of the stage, the familiar thump of the bass vibrating on the floor. The club is dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of cheap cologne and desperation. I can hear the murmur of the crowd, the occasional whistle or shout of anticipation.

Taking one last deep breath, I stepped onto the stage, the bright lights blinding me momentarily. I made a mental note to visit my doctor for a check-up and new contacts. The music swells, and I let it wash over me, guiding my movements. I sway my hips, letting the rhythm take control, my body becoming an extension of the beat.

As I move, I scan the crowd, trying to ignore the leering faces and focus on the performance. I caught sight of Lil, serving drinks at the bar, giving me a thumbs-up. I smirked slightly in her direction. Her support and the goal alone are what keep me going and give me comfort in this sea of strangers and predators.

I twirl, my skirt flaring out, and bend down, giving the front row a tantalizing view. The cheers grow louder, and I feed off their energy, allowing it to fuel my dance. I lose myself in the routine, each step, each turn, each shimmy carefully choreographed to keep their eyes on me. The money keeps flying in my direction. Some in bundles, others in notes as they either hit me or fall at my feet.

My mind drifts as I dance, thinking about a cherished memory of my father teaching me how to dance. I can almost feel his warm hand guiding mine, leading me in graceful steps across the living room floor. At that moment, everything felt perfect, safe, and full of love.

I hold onto that memory tightly as I move to the rhythm, pushing the thoughts aside, and focusing on the present.

'What exactly does mother want this time around?'