RED ROOM [H.S]

3.

Have you ever felt like you were being watched? That tingle down your spine, the hairs on your back of your neck standing up, the fear that coated your body when a small part of you tells you to turn around, to confirm whether or not your gut is telling you the truth.

I had that feeling. For a week after my small encounter with the strange boy with pretty green eyes. I walked home most mornings after my shift, though a strange sensation sat in my stomach recently, something telling me I wasn't alone as I walked through the empty streets of Vegas. The mornings between six and seven AM, were usually always the same. The streets were littered with the occasional stripper or sex worker making their way home, or drunken people stumbling in search of a cab. Although as of late, the streets seemed to be a lot quieter since a body had been found only a few streets away from the club I worked at. Maybe that's why a sick sensation stayed with me each time I left the club. Why I felt as if eyes followed me up until I reached my crappy apartment. Maybe it was my paranoia or maybe, just maybe, there was someone watching me.

Though my logic is, if this murderer was going to kill me, I'm sure he would of done it the first time I felt as if I was being watched, not a week later. Then again, maybe he likes to stalk his prey before he kills it.

I blinked for a moment, catching my train of thought before I frowned. Maybe it was time to touch base with that therapist again.

"Sophia," a voice sang, snapping me out of my questionable thoughts. I glanced over to see Shelly making her way to me, gripping a bag of McDonald's in her hand as if it was her lifeline. I grinned at the sight.

Shelly was a baby stripper, which means, she was fairly new to the industry. She had bright blue eyes and soft curves. Despite her sweet looking face, I once watched her lung over a couch to start a fight with another girl who called her fat. It was entertaining to say the least, and why she was one of the only people who I allowed to get to know me on somewhat of a personal level. A lot of girls just went by their stage names, but Shelly and I just used our actual names. I liked to keep my business to myself and keep work seperate to my personal life, but I couldn't help but take Shelly under my wing when certain people took it upon themselves to target Shelly. Some girls in this industry would do anything for a pretty penny, including bully the fuck out of someone until they left crying.

"You're going to bloat," I reminded her softly as she sat down besides me.

I was seated in one of the lounge chairs out the back, waiting until the clock struck midnight. My shift was starting soon, and I was trying to get the ache of of my feet before I got to the centre stage for my performance. If that's what you wanted to call it. I was about to strip naked in front of a full house of horny men. My parents would be so damn proud.

She rolled her eyes at me, taking a dramatic bite of her burger as she plopped down beside me. I grinned at her, she was wearing a sequenced one piece, one that highlighted her curves in the best possible way. Her purple lipstick stained her burger as she ate, and I couldn't help but laugh.

"I was coming here to offer you some of my fries, but now you can go fuck your self," she said, shaking her head. "I'd rather not let myself starve, thank you very much."

"Point taken," I agreed, dipping my hand into her bag and stealing a handful of fries which she scowled at.

I licked the tips of my fingers, and finished brushing through my hair as the girls around us fluttered in and out of the room.

"Can you believe there's a serial killer on the loose?" Shelly muttered, sipping her drink. "It's fucking crazy. I feel like I'm some sort of horror movie."

I rolled my eyes. "There's no serial killer. It was one body, and I'm sure they caught the person who did it. It was probably just some crackhead."