Serenity

6. Reflections

Bao stared at the ceiling. Her eyes flicked from left to right. The blur of daylight swept easily along with the motion. Her black kohl lines slurred their way into forming black snail trails across her hazy vision.

She bowed her head.

Batting her long eyelashes awake, she fought off the fatigue of so many sleepless nights. The saloon wouldn't allow her to relax. Not even for a moment. Clinks of cowboy spurs upon the staircase shattered her rest. Passing flutters of cold wind pierced under her doorway and up into her room.

Her room.

Her only escape from the overwhelming claustrophobia this world of the wild west had to offer her.

Bao doubted that her father had known exactly what he'd left her to do when he moved on with the railway's progression.

Of course, Mr Zimmerman had extended his honest handshake and reassuring words that her father's only child would be cared for "like one of his own."

Bao shivered at the memory of his words. If this was how Zimmerman treated his own, then she would be praying extra hard for them from now on.

The dull crack of gunfire split through her thoughts. She raced quickly to the lace-curtained window and grasped ahold of the top of her cream bodice.

The firm whalebone sewn into the corset gave her a sensation of steadiness. That everything really was alright in the world and as it should be.

Her slim, razor smooth legs wobbled for a second, until she peeked through the curtains and spotted him. There, further up the street on the other side. He ducked along the undertaker's decking and slid between that building and the bank.

Losing sight of him, she craned forward on her tiptoes to catch a glimpse of his handsome face. She prayed he hadn't been hurt. Sheriff Clayton deserved so much more than the dirty, underhanded dealings of Serenity.

She'd lain with corrupt officials and business men of the region. They were willing to talk about their motivation and reasoning behind their sneaky actions. They loosened up after sex. They believed her to be too stupid or stoned to think much about their revelations. After all, why should she care? Their view of her often kept her awake as well.

Bao's shaking fingers fiddled with her black braid then set it back down upon her right shoulder. She tied a thick red ribbon to the end of the plait and smoothed the hair flat against her skin. Her focus switched from outside the window as she caught her own reflection on the inside.

Her light brown eyes returned to the shape of her neck. Long and elegant. Two indents of marbled bruises marred her skin close to the line of her left collarbone.

Zimmerman.

He'd caught her sleeping on the job. Quite literally. Her customer, a forty-year-old prospector, had fallen asleep in her arms before he'd even mustered up the strength to do anything. Now, Bao knew that this kind of client was the type of gift horse never to be looked in the mouth. He snored and slobbered the hours away, leaving her to rest and breathe easy for the night. The morning would see him shyly pay his dues and head off. Neither of them worse for the experience.

Zimmerman had other ideas, he believed that no red-blooded fella worth his salt could turn down a 'perfect skinned little piece of action' such as she, as he often told her.

Bao shuddered at the memory. His burning steely-blue gaze clawed into her mind. The impact of the chest of drawers just above her right hip as he slammed her against it, with her neck caught between his tightening grasp. He never gave her a chance to explain. He understood the game, he said. He knew she could make more money by screwing the guy, he said. He would never let her leave. He said.