“Where are we?”
I glance around again, as if a shadow will turn into a person at any moment, before I look back to Tommy. He’s in the kitchen pulling something out of the fridge.
“My place.”
“Your place,” I repeat, but even still, it doesn’t make sense. “Why?”
He glances at me, then back to the fridge before shutting it and heading down the other hallway without a look at me. I take a step in his direction, as if to follow, but correct myself. He didn’t tell me to come with him, and if this is his place, I really don’t want to follow him to what I can only assume is his bedroom.
The area below my stomach pulses at the thought, and I squeeze my legs tightly together.
It makes no sense that I would think like that about a person, especially my boss, after the day I had. I honestly should have called in sick, but staying at home wasn’t an option. How sad is it that I found work to be the safest choice out of everything? Pretty pathetic if you think about it.
His footsteps alert me to his return, and I turn to him, then jump almost a mile high at the sound of a buzzer.
“That’s the doorbell.”
I nod because I can’t speak; my voice has somehow left me in my moment of fright.
“Put this on.” He hands me clothes as he moves past me to the hallway I just left.
“I… I brought one of my costumes.” I spin as I speak, keeping him in my line of sight.
He turns his head, pausing before continuing to the elevator. “Bathroom is down that hall.” He nods to the otherone and then continues to the elevator. He pushes the button and then steps in, leaving me alone.
With no other thoughts of what I should be doing, I take what he gave me, along with the bag I still have over my shoulder, and move down the other hall.
The first door I come to is open, and it’s the bathroom. I put my stuff on the sink, then hesitantly take a step out of the room. I glance back at the living space, confirming I’m still alone, before I look down the hall and see threemore doors, all closed.
Curiosity riding high, I go across from the bathroom to the first one and turn the handle slowly, pushing the door open. No lights, but the shine from the New York life outside the windows shows me outlines of an office setting with a desk and a tall wingback chair behind it.
Hearing the chime of the elevator, I shut the door and hurry back to the bathroom.Stupid curiosity.I shut the door too quickly and put my back to it, cringing that it was probably really loud, and he’ll know that I’m only just now doing as he asked.
Not wanting to waste any more time, I grab my makeup out of my bag and spend a good five minutes on my face to hide what I can. It’s not working. With a sigh, I give up and just grab the mask I sometimes use for performances that I forgot to take out of my bag last week. It’s only a half face mask, but I hope that if I keep my hair down and look down a lot, no one will suspect anything.
I look at the clothes in my bag, then shake my head. Tommy wanted me to wear something else. Since this is a private event, there might be a dress code.
I unfold what he gave me and then pause. It’s a shirt and what appear to be boxers. I suck my lower lip in, only to wince at the forgotten cut on it.
I pull the boxers on first, but they slide off. I roll them, but with the number of times I have to do so, I can feel the breeze on my ass. The panties I have on are great to wear under a costume to keep them high on the thigh, but they offer very little in the butt-covering department. The shirt is a soft dark blue that I carefully pull over my mask and face. Unable to resist, I breathe in the fabric. It’s clean, and I mostly smell the laundry detergent, but there’s a hint of him. A male scent I can’t describe with an undertone of a fragrance that lingers. As if he wore the same cologne daily, and no matter how many times he washes, it will never fully dissipate.
The shirt doesn’t hit my knees, but it goes below the boxers, leaving it as if I have nothing underneath. Maybe that’s his plan. I just hope that he’s not really hoping for much in tonight’s performance and that my mask is something he’ll ignore due to what happened to my face.
The bathroom is bigger than mine, but most things are. To include my old closet at home. This one is three times the size, big enough for me to stretch in. Something I seriously need to do, as things are aching with more time ticking by. It was bad when it happened, but I swear I either grew numb to it or was just too much in shock before this moment to really feel everything that’s going on with my body.
I’ve been sore before—you don’t train for years on end like I did for most of my life without knowing what sore muscles feel like. But that was something I did. I made that choice. This? This feeling and pain I’m going through? Therewas no choice in this, and now I’m just trying to forget it. At least for today.
My hands are shaking. They’ve been shaking since it happened. Tommy thought I was fidgeting, but I can’t get them to stop. I’m scared, but fear of other things keeps me moving forward. Keeps me going. And the realization that I have nowhere else to go but forward. Backward isn’t an option; it just means you’re dead. Minutes tick by. Time continues to flow. Things are still required. And I’m just trying to survive through it all.
I leave my bag in the bathroom, hanging from the hook on the back of the door that’s meant for towels. I have nothing in it to steal, so I’m not afraid that whoever just arrived will take it. But I don’t want to bring it out with me. I need to leave this room as if I’m onstage. Performing. Embracing the Crown Jewel title. Even if I feel like shit and want to cry and hide under a table or a blanket if I can find one.
I hear murmurs before I leave the hall, and when I enter the living area, I pause once more. Tommy has his back to me and is in the living room, while another man, an older one, is standing by the dining table, pulling things out of his bag.
Things that look a lot like torture devices.
I take a step back, but Tommy’s voice stills me.
“Stop.”
