Cross My Heart // Harry Styles

2

Gwen's POV:

I had to pee sooo badly. It had been yesterday the last time I peed. Every morning was the same. Wake up from the 5 hours of sleep we got, by a boot to the chest, or arm, or whatever it connected with, depending on which position we were laying, go to the bathroom and take a five minute shower each, brush our teeth, use the toilet, and one by one as we were done, make our way upstairs into the kitchen to start the day. The restaurant opened at noon, so we had to start preparing the food for the day at 11am. We had just gotten to sleep, most of us, at 6am, when our "clients" finally left. They had to be out by 6am. That was the rule. They had 6 hours with us, to do whatever it was they wanted. If they paid for all that time. Some didn't. Some just paid for an hour. Some had all night with us. This wasn't one of those fancy places, though. This was a cheaper priced who.re house. We didn't have fantasy rooms. We didn't have fancy beds and se.xy accessories. We had two mattresses piled on the floor, two pillows, sheets, and a blanket. And for clothes, we had bras and pan.ties. Except for kitchen duty, for which we wore plain white v-neck tees, and black or gray yoga shorts, and plain, cheap thin flip flops. We only got ONE pair of flip flops to last 3 months. That's when the boss did shopping for new stuff. Every three months. If they broke early, which they usually did, because they were really cheap and flimsy, we had methods using stuff from the kitchen to fix them. We had a bowl full of those square bread bag closers, among other tricks we'd learned. We HAD to wear shoes. And if we didn't, we'd get a beating. Sometimes, we had to strap the flip flop bottoms to our feet with duct tape or electrical tape or twist ties or string...whatever we found in the kitchen. As long as we had a shoe surface on the bottom of our feet, we were safe from a beating that day. (well, a beating for THAT reason, anyway...there were plenty of other reason for beatings throughout the day.)

I finally got done as many salads as I could make with the supplies the blonde girl had chopped already, so I rushed downstairs to the bathroom to pee. The toilet was occupied by the redhead girl. I knew this, because there were no doors. It was an open room with three showers, a toilet, and two sinks. She looked up and gave me the signal that she'd be there for a little bit.

Holding myself, I ran back up the steps and through the kitchen to the edge of the restaurant. I would get a beating if I peed myself. And it was going to happen if I didn't go NOW.

So I had to use sneaky, desperate and very dangerous ways to avoid the trouble.

I poked my face slowly out of the kitchen doorway and checked the short hallway leading to the dining area on the left. All clear. I nervously stepped out to the immediate right, to the door of the restaurant's public ladies room. I opened it slowly, and listened. It sounded all clear. I looked behind me one more time at the hallway. Still clear. I disappeared quickly through the bathroom door and ran to one of the two bathroom stalls to pee.

Ahhh. I needed that so bad. I had dribbled a few drops in my pan.ties already, as my body anticipated letting it go, while I pulled my shorts down. It was close. I closed my eyes, threw my head back in relief, and rested on the toilet seat for a few seconds. It was the only break time we ever got. Going to the bathroom. The only time we ever got to just sit and do nothing for a minute or two. And this bathroom was soooo much nicer than ours in the cellar. Private stalls, the smell of cleanliness, perfect white clean sinks.....it was luxury. But it didn't come without extreme danger. If we got caught using the customer's bathroom, we'd get a beating. A big one.

I cringed at the thought, and then decided I'd better get back.

I flushed, fixed myself, and poked my head out of the stall. If a customer walked in, I'd have to hide in the stall until they left. We couldn't be seen by the customers. We were all bruised and battered and malnourished. They'd surely be shocked and question us or call the police.