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“I’m not sure how long he’s going to let me wear them,” I admit. I have no intention of going back to the long shirt and skimpy panties unless I have to.
We go back to eating in silence. I can’t help but think these eggs are sad in comparison to Giulio’s waffles and exotic jams, but I’d rather be eating with Stef than with Giulio and Damien. At least I don’t have to worry that Stef wants to knock me up.
We’re about halfway through with the food when the door opens again. I startle, but it’s only Paul.
OnlyPaul, as if Paul isn’t horrible in and of himself. But I know he won’t touch me, not like Damien, Slayer, or Giulio would.
“Stef! How long does it take to deliver breakfast?” Paul growls at her. “Come on, everybody else is actually working. The vomit won’t clean itself.”
“You aren’t supposed to be in here,” I tell Paul, even though I have no clue whether that’s true or not. “We’re still eating. You can wait.”
He sets his glare on me. “I run this place. I can be wherever the fuck I want. Don’t get uppity just because you’re not on the dance floor.”
I glare back at him. “Just give us some time, Paul,” I tell him. Stef tenses beside me, but I’m not willing to let Paul ruin a few minutes of freedom for her.
“Didn’t you have enough time moping around already?” Paul sneers at me. “We’re losing money, letting you stay in this room.”
“Go tell Giulio that,” I dare him, standing up. It’s easier to be brave when I’m wearing actual clothing.
The mention of Giulio has Paul flinching, but he doesn’t back down. “Yeah? Where’s Giulio right now,whore? In the meantime, there’s still vomit on the floor and Stef drew the short straw. On account of beingfucking useless.”
“You’re one to talk,” I retort, finding it so much easier to speak up when it’s for Stef’s sake instead of my own. “You keep messing up, and Giulio has to keep cleaning up after you.”
“Shut the fuck up.” Paul lets go of the door and steps inside, stomping over to us. He’s trying to be intimidating, but in comparison to Slayer, Damien, and Giulio, he’s pathetic. “Y’know what? Giulio said not to put you on the dance floor, but he didn’t say anything about clean-up duty. I think there are a few toilets that need cleaning.”
I’m taller than he is, if not by much, and I stare down at him. “You don’t get to give me orders.” I’ve never cleaned a toilet in my life, and I’m not about to start here in a sleazy club like this where I’m sure the men couldn’t make the target of the urinal if they tried.
His face turns red at my refusal, and I feel a small thrill of victory. My heart is pounding fast, and I’m tense, but this is the first time I’ve truly stood up to somebody in… a while. It’s nice to not be cowering. It’s nice to have this small little bit of power.
I even prepare myself for a blow. Paul does reach out—but he grabs Stef’s wrist and pulls her off the bed. “Fine. If you aren’t cleaning the toilets, then Stef will. With her tongue. We’ll make sure she gets her face right in there to lick up all the ‘dirt’ on the toilet rim.”
I blanch at that, staring at him in disbelief. “You wouldn’t do that. She’d get sick.” I look at Stef, seeing her pale face, and I finally wonder just how much worse I’m making this for her.
“So what?” Paul smirks down at Stef. “If she gets sick, we’ll replace her with one that makes more fucking money.”
“P-please,” Stef begs, shaking her head. “I’m coming, I’ll behave, there’s no need for any of this.”
I glare helplessly at him, but I already know I’m going to give in. “Just… stop. I’ll do it, all right? Just leave Stef alone.” The thought is disgusting, and I feel like I’m going to throw up just thinking about goingintothe bathrooms here, let alone trying to clean them.
Paul starts pulling Stef out the room. “Then hurry up, bitch. You have to pull your weight somehow.” He’s grinning widely, so satisfied with himself that he’s “won.”
I quickly put on the sandals Giulio had given me, grateful that I at least don’t have to go into the bathrooms barefoot. I’ll get Paul back for this, one way or another.
I’m not just one of the girls here. I’m…
I almost get sick all over again. I’m not special. I’m not. No matter what Damien says, I’m not. I’m just another one of them, even if I don’t have to go on the dance floor and try to earn a living for myself.
I lag behind them a little, trying to make my stomach settle, but it seems impossible. I don’t like the realization I’ve come to any more than I like the idea of having to scrub toilets.
Just outside the toilets, Paul stops and shoves Stef onto the floor. She cries out, and immediately scrambles away.
He’d tossed her into the cooling vomit.
“Whoops,” Paul says, not at all remorseful. I hear snickering from the other side of the room.
“I need,” Stef says, heaving, “the… the cleaning supplies. Mop. Bucket.”
Paul stares at her, and for a long second, I’m worried he’s going to tell her to lick up the mess. But finally, he shrugs and points at a closet down the hall. “You know where everything is.” Then he faces me. “You, into the bathrooms. I think some of the customers were very, very drunk last night.”
