forward, swaying to the beat. My high shorts are tight, leaving nothing to the imagination, and my corset is snug so my breasts almost spill from it. I wear a pink wig secured on my head.
As the beat drops, I smirk at the ground and lift my chin. The bass pounds as I pull different poses and grab my mic to start singing and dancing. The crowd goes wild, clapping and dancing along as the drinks flow. I lose myself in the pulsing music as I let myself soar.
The stage is always where I get everything out, where I let the notes carry me away. In those minutes when I’m performing, nothing else matters. I am the music.
When the song finishes, and I’m standing with the mic in the air and a smile on my face, I feel like nothing can go wrong. My life is finally where I want it to be, and I’m so happy. Nothing can ruin this…
Right?
Heading back downstairs, I flop into my chair and sip my water. That was my last song tonight, and all the other girls are going on stage now for a group performance, so I get to have some peace while I prepare to leave. I start with removing all the makeup before I pull off my wig and place it on the mannequin, pulling the pins from my hair and running my fingers through it.
A noise has me spinning around with a startled gasp, and when I see Justin leaning against the door, I jump to my feet. “Justin?” I blink. “What are you doing back here? You can’t—” I look behind him, wondering how he slipped past security.
But he steps forward and kicks the door shut, sealing me in with him. The girls’ song takes four minutes. That’s four minutes with him unless I can get him to leave or slip past him.
Dragging my hand behind me on the dressing table, I grab a sharp-edged comb just in case. He has the most crazed look in his eye that’s setting me on edge. I don’t think he would ever hurt me, but why is he here? And the intensity in his expression, mixed with the fact that he heads straight for me, has me standing ramrod straight.
He stops when he’s pressed against me, like he feels he has every right to touch me just because we used to fuck. His hand goes to my cheek, but I flinch away. He lets it drop and narrows his eyes. “You won’t answer my calls or texts, I just want to talk.”
“Fine, but not here, meet me outside in the club—”
“No,” he snarls right in my face, and I jerk back again. “Just us two. Where no one can distract you or your decision.”
Does he really think others have any bearing on me not wanting to get back with him? “Justin, I don’t want to talk to you, never mind get back together. You stuck your dick in another woman, and we were horrible together. Just get over it and leave me alone,” I snap, getting annoyed with his constant harassment and unwillingness to let me go.
He was never this dedicated when we were together. Maybe if he had been, I wouldn’t be sleeping with his dad.
“No, no, you don’t understand.” He sighs and steps back, running his hand through his hair. “That was a mistake, okay? I’ve apologised.” He turns, his eyes wild, his hair sticking up. I swallow in trepidation. Something isn’t right… Has he been drinking?
“You need to fucking listen to me!” he screams, and his fist flies past me. I fall to the side as he punches my mirror. Turning in horror, I look at the cracked glass and then back to him. I step back with the comb clutched in my hand and point it at him.
“You need to get out! Now!” I almost scream, but my finger trembles as he steps closer, lowering his chin.
“Or what, Lexi?” He grabs me and throws me into a dressing table, his hand going to my throat. “You want to fight? Is that it? Is this some kind of sick game you’re getting off on?”
“No,” I snap, kicking out at him and pushing him back. “I can’t be any clearer, but I’ll try one more fucking time, so listen up.” I step closer, pressing the sharp edge of the comb to his throat, making him still this time, not me. I’m sick of men thinking they own me just because