Sister's Keeper

"Nayan, love, you're up in thirty!" My best friend, Lilian Parker, shouted from behind me. She prefers to go by Lil Parks though, so that's what we all call her.

I turned to her with a forced smile, my irritation barely hidden. "Yeah, I know." I said with a sigh, "Another night of letting old men and horny perverts stare at my ass."

She steps closer, her expression softening. "I know it sucks, babe, but we've just got to get on with it. Think of the money; it's not like you're relishing all this dreadful attention." I chuckle, "You're doing this for a reason, remember?"

I forced a smile, she was right though. The money I earned from stripping was for a much bigger purpose. Lilian was the only one who knew what the money was intended for and how important this job was to me. "Yeah, I know. But, sometimes it's...it's just hard to remember that when I'm up there, you know." I smile bitterly "Like I said, I don't particularly enjoy everyone staring at my body like a piece of meat."

She hugs me "You've got this, Nayan. You always do."

"Thanks, Lil," I muttered, taking a deep breath. "Guess I had better get ready."

"Good idea. You don't want Matt looking for an excuse to dock your pay." Matthew Steep, our boss, was a grumpy old narcissist who took pride in owning this miserable strip club. Matthew's narcissistic behavior wasn't just evident in his grumpy attitude; it was in the way he manipulated everyone in this club. He'll cozy up some of the women here, promising them pay raises, but only after they've spent a night with him.

I got a first-hand taste of his true colors. Rejecting his advances only led to him slashing my pay. When I tried to speak up, he threatened not to pay me at all. But that didn't stop him from flirting with me occasionally. I've contemplated quitting countless times. But then reality hits. Jobs that don't require qualifications are scarce for people like me. While my friends were off chasing their dreams in college, I was forced to let go of mine so my little sister, Naomi could attend school.

I turned to face the mirror in the cramped dressing room, staring at my reflection. My eyes are tired, my lips are painted a bright red that feels like a mask. This job, dancing at the club, isn't what I had planned for my life, but here I am. I have my reasons, but those reasons feel distant when I'm up on that stage.

I start by brushing through my long, dark hair, making sure it's free of tangles and falls in soft waves over my shoulders. Next, I reached for my makeup bag, touched my eyeliner, and added a bit more glitter to my eyelids. The lights on that stage are unforgiving, and every detail counts.

"Lil, hand me that lipstick, will you?" I asked, pointing to the bright red tube on the counter.

She tosses it to me with a practiced flick of her wrist. "Here you go, glam queen."

I laughed despite myself. "Glam queen, huh? More like an exhausted peasant."

"Hey, don't sell yourself short. You look amazing with your long legs and that ass...and you know it."

"Stop it." I blushed, making her roll her eyes. "Don't be so modest now, Nay, you have great tits and ass. Why do you think..." She lowers her voice "Matthew keeps crawling back to you."

I chuckled, "Because he's a dog?"

"Exactly!" She says and we laugh.

With a final swipe of lipstick, I turned my attention to my outfit. I slip into my T-strap heels, the shiny black leather hugging my feet perfectly. They add an extra few inches to my height, making my legs look even longer. Those dogs aren't going to know what hit them. I smirk inwardly.

Though I detest dancing at a strip club, I still cherish the act of dancing. It was a skill I inherited from my dad, back when dancing was everyone's passion. Even my mom. But now, after it claimed his life, she couldn't bear the thought of one of her children doing something that claimed her husband's life. So, when my career path veered towards dancing, she was furious. However, unable to change my mind, she relented, with the condition that, since I wouldn't pursue schooling like my peers, I had to sacrifice the money meant for my education for Naomi's chance to attend Princeton.

I shake the memory away from my head as I hike up my already short skirt, pulling it higher to reveal more of my thighs. The material barely covers me, but that's the point. I tug at the neckline of my top, pushing up my breasts to create more cleavage. The effect is exactly what I need-sexy, confident, irresistible and powerful.

"Ready to knock 'em dead?" Lil chirps, mischief glinting in her eyes.

"As ready as I'll ever be," I replied, shooting her a playful wink. Just then, my phone buzzes with an incoming call from my mother. Ignoring it, I focus on getting ready. But it persists, demanding attention once more.

"Who's that?" Lil cranes her neck to peek at my phone.

"Mother," I sigh.

"Why's she calling?" Lil inquires. "Don't tell me..."

"I don't think I want to find out this time," I admitted. It's been a recurring theme for the past two months. Mom's incessant calls, demanding a portion of my earnings from the strip club, claiming it's her entitlement as my mother to share in what her daughter earns.

Ever since Dad's death, Mother has thrown herself into drinking. Her daily routine involved lounging at home, guzzling expensive wine until she was drunk and wasted, and then demanding more money from me after the money Naomi and her billionaire husband gave to her. It's a cycle that has become all too familiar.

What bothers me most is why she can't demand more money from Naomi like she does from me. Life seemed to favor her from the start. After Princeton, she married Archibald Rico Denzel, one of the wealthiest and most influential billionaires in the city. It's not that I'm jealous of her; it's just disheartening to feel like my own misfortune will always stand in the way of my happiness.

The phone rang again, but I didn't even bother checking it. I just made my way to the side of the stage, the familiar thump of the bass vibrating on the floor. The club is dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of cheap cologne and desperation. I can hear the murmur of the crowd, the occasional whistle or shout of anticipation.

Taking one last deep breath, I stepped onto the stage, the bright lights blinding me momentarily. I made a mental note to visit my doctor for a check-up and new contacts. The music swells, and I let it wash over me, guiding my movements. I sway my hips, letting the rhythm take control, my body becoming an extension of the beat.

As I move, I scan the crowd, trying to ignore the leering faces and focus on the performance. I caught sight of Lil, serving drinks at the bar, giving me a thumbs-up. I smirked slightly in her direction. Her support and the goal alone are what keep me going and give me comfort in this sea of strangers and predators.

I twirl, my skirt flaring out, and bend down, giving the front row a tantalizing view. The cheers grow louder, and I feed off their energy, allowing it to fuel my dance. I lose myself in the routine, each step, each turn, each shimmy carefully choreographed to keep their eyes on me. The money keeps flying in my direction. Some in bundles, others in notes as they either hit me or fall at my feet.

My mind drifts as I dance, thinking about a cherished memory of my father teaching me how to dance. I can almost feel his warm hand guiding mine, leading me in graceful steps across the living room floor. At that moment, everything felt perfect, safe, and full of love.

I hold onto that memory tightly as I move to the rhythm, pushing the thoughts aside, and focusing on the present.

'What exactly does mother want this time around?'

The song shifts to a slower tempo, and I adjust my movements accordingly, making each one more deliberate, more sensual. I arch my back, run my hands down my sides and back, curling my hands around my breasts and slowly releasing them to my belly button. Feeling the eyes of the crowd on every inch of my body, I shiver in disgust, but I don't stop.

The men in the front row are practically drooling, their gazes glued to me. I bet they are thinking about the many ways they could get me to bed with them, which will never happen. I use their attention to my advantage, locking eyes with a few of them, and giving them a sultry smile. It's a game, one I've learned to play well. But tonight, it feels emptier than usual, the thrill of the performance overshadowed by the weight of my responsibilities.

Finally, the music fades, and I strike my final pose, holding it as the crowd erupts in applause and cheers. I plaster on a smile, giving a small bow before strutting off the stage. As soon as I'm out of sight, I let out a shaky breath, the adrenaline slowly ebbing away. Matthew and Lil are waiting for me, a bottle of water each in hand. I ignore Matthew, walking past him to Lilian, who engulfs me in a hug. "You killed it out there, Nayan. As always."

"Thanks," I said, taking the bottle and chugging half of it in one go. "Just another night in paradise, right?"

She laughs, but there's a knowing look in her eyes. "You're doing what you have to do. And you're doing it well."

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. She's right, of course, but that doesn't make it any easier. The weight of my responsibilities, the constant pressure, it's all becoming too much. And then there's mother...it's always mother this, mother that... I can't even sleep well at night anymore, knowing that my mother is out there getting herself into one trouble or the other.

But that's a thought for another time. For now, I have to focus on getting through tonight, and then tomorrow, and then the day after that. One step at a time, one dance at a time.

As I head back to the dressing room to change, I remind myself of why I'm here. Enduring the stress of this job now is far preferable to relying on Naomi for help. That would only bruise my self-esteem further. Also, no one ever believes me when I mention Naomi Denzel is my younger sister. But I don't blame them either, because I don't go around disclosing the fact that my younger sister got married to a billionaire and here I was, the older sister, wasting her life in a strip club.

Picking up my phone, I noticed twenty-six missed calls from Mom. Was something wrong? Before I could call her back, Maria and her group of girls swooped in, snatching my phone from my grasp. I glared at her. "What the hell, Maria?"

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Matthew's golden girl." She sneers, not attempting to hide the resentment she feels towards me. I met her gaze, refusing to let her get under my skin. I wasn't in the mood for one of her antics. She was up any moment from now, but she chose now to trouble me.

"Give me my freaking phone, Maria. I won't say it again." "Or what?" She sneers, sizing me up. "You're going to run to Daddy and report?"

"Maria..." I warn. I was getting impatient now. I wasn't a patient person. And everyone in this club knew it. Everyone, including Maria. But maybe she's forgotten. I will do well to remind her. "Do not test me." I reach for my phone, but she shifts it out of my reach, placing it above her.

Maria wasn't tall, but the heels she wore made it look like she was towering over my 5'9 inches by 2 inches. I sigh in frustration. "Uh, uh, uh, you'll only get your phone if you answer my question." I sigh "How do you do it?" She asks and I look at her in confusion.

"Do what?" I retorted.

"How does someone like you with such average looks manage to pull in so much cash? Huh?" She smirks, and her minions chuckle beside her. "What's it you're doing?" She continues "Sleep with them or what?"

I clench my jaw, resisting the urge to snap back. Instead, I dragged my phone from her. "Touch my phone again, Maria, and you won't even recognize your reflection." Maria scoffs,

"Please, like I'd ever stoop to your level. Unlike some people, I am not ashamed of who I am or who I am related to." I clench my phone in my hand, resisting the temptation to crack the screen. "Your sister's married to a billionaire, Nayan, and here you are. In a strip club. What bad karma is it following you?" She taunts, her words dripping with hate. "Or is it because you've lost your dad?"

My blood boils at the mention of Naomi and my dad. Her words wounded my insecurities. "At least I have the decency not to use my sister's wealth as a crutch" I shot back with fury. "And for your information, my dad may be gone, but he taught me better than to be a jealous, spiteful demon like you."

Before I can stop myself, my hand lashes out, slapping Maria across her cheek, the sound of my slap echoing through the dressing room. Maria's friends swarm around me, their nails digging into my skin as they attack.

Matthew, Lilian, and some other girls who were around burst onto the scene, pulling the girls off me and restoring order. Maria, expecting Matthew to take her side, smirks as she reports me, hoping for my dismissal. But to her dismay, Matthew scolds her and gives me a warning.

I scoffed, and he glared at me, turning back to Maria. "What the hell are you doing when you know you're up in ten?" He glared at her.

"But she started it." Maria pointed at me, giving me a death glare. "I don't give a damn who started it, Maria. Your face is a mess now. You're off tonight until Monday. Go home," Matthew commands, his tone firm.

"But, Matthew..." Maria begins to protest, but he cuts her off abruptly. "Get the hell out of here, Maria," he snaps, his voice rising in frustration. Maria shoots me one final glare before storming off, muttering curses under her breath.

Once she's out of sight, Matthew turns to me, "I could fire you on the spot and withhold your pay for the night. But," he pauses, his gaze lingering on my chest for a moment too long. "But you're lucky you bring in so much cash for the club." I shivered in disgust, turning away from him and grabbing my belongings. Lilian shoots me a sympathetic look, mouthing "later" as I storm out of the club, cursing Matthew under my breath. What a despicable dog.

As soon as I exited the cab and settled the fare with the driver, I dashed towards my apartment in the seedy part of town. The almost dilapidated building loomed ahead, mocking, and reminding me of how much of a loser I am. I couldn't afford anything better; the rent for a decent place would cost me my entire life savings. And that was the least of my problems - a place to rest my head. Because there were some things much more important than a roof over my head.

Escaping this grim neighborhood was one of the reasons I took up dancing, and even picked up extra shifts at the restaurant where I worked. Dancing and the meager pay from Matthew's club weren't enough to cover my bills. Living here often filled me with fear, but I had no other choice.

I would have preferred the cab to drop me directly at my doorstep. But the path to my apartment was a maze of dark, narrow alleys. Trash littered the ground, and the faint smell of decay lingered in the air. Broken streetlights cast eerie shadows, making the journey even more daunting. Just a few blocks away from my place was a rowdy bar, known for attracting a rough crowd. The sounds of drunken brawls and loud laughter were a constant scrim, adding to the sense of concern.

The building itself was no better. Paint peeled off the walls, and the once-bright exterior had dulled to a sickly gray. The stairwell smelled of mold, and the flickering lights did little to illuminate the graffiti-covered walls. The locks on the doors seemed flimsy, offering little protection. It was the kind of place where a young woman shouldn't live alone, yet here I was. The landlord had countlessly refused to work on the house. But, as an occupant, it was equally my responsibility to ensure the habitability of the space. It was my duty to myself to create a safe living environment. However, with recent events in my life, my concern for my well-being has begun to wane.

When I finally reached my apartment, I tossed my things down haphazardly and collapsed onto my bed. The tears I had been holding back all night began to fall freely. I wasn't crying because of Matthew or Maria. I was crying because Maria's cruel words had reminded me of my dad and the memory was almost too painful to bear.

Maria's harsh words echoed in my mind: "Or is it because you've lost your dad?" The brutal reminder brought back pain I didn't know I could feel. Pain that I've long buried. I could still hear my dad's voice, and see his comforting smile. The vivid memory of our last conversation played in my mind like an old film reel.

I was seventeen at the time, and my father had gone out to participate in a dance-off. He called me while still driving, but I scolded him for doing so, reminding him of the dangers of making calls while behind the wheel. He chuckled and assured me that he was aware, but he just wanted to convey one important message. So, earlier that day, I had confided in him about my insecurities, told him that I was feeling inadequate compared to others, and about my struggles trying to understand school work. I try to recall his kind eyes and comforting tone "Nayan, you're going to grow up to be someone amazing. Never let anyone tell you otherwise."

That was the last thing he ever said to me. And then out of nowhere, I hear the crash, a horrific blur of screeching tires and glass shattering. I screamed and screamed until Mom came downstairs to find me crying on the floor. I was a mess. She asked me what had happened, and I explained everything to her. I told her dad and I were just talking on the phone, and he had an accident. She blamed me for the cause of the death of her husband. I never told the police I was the last person he spoke to, that I was the one who distracted him from arriving safely. I also never told Naomi either, and neither did Mom. We both just decided never to speak about it ever again. But now and then, she reminds me of what I've done. One moment we were talking, and the next, he was gone. Maybe this was bad karma following me, stopping me from finding happiness.

The tears flowed harder as I relived the accident. I can still remember the sound of the ambulance, the cold sterility of the hospital, and the moment I was told he hadn't made it. It felt like a part of me had died that day, too. Eventually, the tears began to flow, and I forced myself to get up. My head throbbed with a dull ache, the kind that normally follows a long bout of crying. I stumbled into the kitchen and opened the freezer, grabbing a handful of ice cubes. Wrapping them in a dish towel, I pressed the makeshift ice pack to my forehead, hoping to numb the pain.

I walked back to the living room, the ice providing a slight relief from the headache. My apartment was dimly lit, casting long shadows that seemed to dance in time with my weary steps. The light at the far end flickered incessantly, but I chose to leave it be; I'd already attempted to fix it six times, only for it to malfunction again. Sinking onto the worn-out couch, I closed my eyes briefly, trying to find some semblance of peace.

But then, my phone rang, its shrill tone cutting through the silence like a knife. I groaned and glanced at the screen. It was my mother. I had completely forgotten to call her back earlier.

"Dang it," I muttered under my breath. I knew she would be worried. My mother was always worried.

I took a deep breath and answered the call, trying to steady my voice. "Hey, Mom."

"Nayan," my mother's voice crackled through the phone, heavy with disappointment.

"I was about to call," I added quickly, hoping to deflect her mounting frustration.

"Lies,"

"Mom," I began, but she cut me off before I could say more.

"What if your poor, dear mother was in trouble, Nayan? Thirty-eight missed calls."

"Twenty-six", I corrected her.

"It seems like you always have a habit of putting your family in trouble. What if I was stuck in a fire or an accident? Would you just tell my spirit how sorry you are