Mickey - The View From Here - Gallavich

Curtis

The next club was livelier than the first, and with the strobing lights of varying color, I couldn’t rely on finding Ian by his distinctive hair color. The thumping music was already giving me a headache, but I tried to pay it no mind.

It was like an amalgamation of a romance movie and my worst nightmares when the crowd parted and Ian came into view. In a pair of black, glittery briefs and a matching black tank top and fake black feather boa, Ian was busy giving some creep a lap dance. I was married to a prostitute, yet seeing Ian as a stripper was like a knife the chest. While the client explored Ian's back with his dirty hand, my heart broke all over again.

I did this to him. Ian never would have run away if it wasn’t for me. He'd be in college, maybe West Point, better off if only we hadn’t started together in the first place. I knew he wouldn’t be giving strange men lap dances, that was for sure.

The client held up a pill which Ian practically licked up. How high was he?

Having seen enough, I reminded myself that this wasn’t only about me.

I strode over and put my hand between them, smacking the client in the arm. “Time’s up, love birds.”

Sitting in this man's lap, Ian glared up at me. I wasn’t welcome but I didn’t give a shit. Ian didn’t belong here.

“Get up,” I demanded. Ian stood, so I turned my attention onto his client. “That means get the fuck up. It’s my turn.” I grabbed the older man by the scruff of his shirt and shoved him away.

Straightening out his clothes, he addressed Ian, “I’ll look for you later, Curtis.”

Ian stared at the floor, afraid to meet my gaze.

“Curtis?” I sneered. “Is that your fuckin’ stage name?”

“25 bucks gets you a dance,” he said before he finally looked at me.

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t want a dance, gotta move on,” he informed me.

“Okay, all right,” I grumbled as I got my wallet out. “25 bucks for your ass, huh? Never had to pay for that shit before.” I tried to hand him his money.

Ian lifted his shirt, waiting for me to tuck the bills into the waistband of his glittery black briefs.

With reluctance, I did it, and he pushed me onto the couch behind me, the same one where his last client had been sitting. That’s what I was to him now. A client.

Ian straddled my lap and grinded on me. I didn’t like it. It wasn’t something he would’ve done if he wasn’t being paid. He could see that I was uncomfortable, but he continued on with his job.

Leaning in close, I could feel his breath on my ear when he asked, “so how’s your day going so far?”

“How’s my fucking day going?”

He kept grinding. “Having fun?”

It was Ian, but it was like he wasn’t really there. “No, I’m not having fun. I spent the whole day looking for your coked-out ass.”

For a moment, his face was only an inch away from mine.

“Your family's worried about you.”

He put his black, glittery boa around my neck and turned around to grind his ass into my lap.

“Hello?” I pressed, frustrated with the loud music and Ian's state of mind. “What the fuck? I can’t talk to you like this. Can we go outside? These assholes got so much snow up your beak, you’re tweaking like a bitch.”