Welcome to my sick sick world of fanfic. :) Hope you enjoy!

everybody everybody just wanna fall in love

everybody everybody just wanna play with me

everybody everybody just wanna fall in love

everybody everybody just wanna play with me

watch out cupid, money is a sick muse

pull your little ladders out and let me live my life

Sick muse-Metric

Friday nights.

They were the worst and they were the best.

Worst? Because I had dirty old men drooling over the stage as I danced. They managed to climb up on there with me at times, their leers and stares made me feel dirty and uncomfortable...but I chose this job, so I had to take it with the good and bad shit.

Friday nights were the best because thats when we made most of our trade.

It was the end of the working week for the tight-ass, small-minded and tiny-cocked office workers. Same went for the middle to lower class half of Chicago. My mind completely reeled over their polar opposites. When it came to strip clubs—we didn't even classify our club as one—we were considered the best of the fucking best.

I had worked here long enough to fully gauge what men were like—I could practically tell you their measurements, their star sign and what fucking brand of tooth paste they used just from a minor glimpse. I could tell if they were a gentleman or a fucking loser of sorts. It could have been branded on their foreheads it became so obvious.

The middle to lower class clientele, they often spent the least, needing to save up all their precious dimes if they ever wanted to come back again.

But they also happened to be the nicest of all. You did always get the rough ones—the ones who got blind staggering drunk and tried to fuck a bar stool or grab you while you worked the arena. That's what we had our guys for—Felix, Demetri, Emmett and James, the body guards.

I was the baby of the place—although I had worked here the longest, I was still the youngest of all the girls.

Esme, my boss, hired me about three years ago—fresh out of high school and not to mention, money. I was working toward a better future, one that involved an education. But shit like that didn't get dropped in your fucking lap, not for a girl like me, anyway. I had grown up in some bum fucked town where I had a higher chance of contracting an African virus than of getting anywhere. That's why I moved away—that and because the place reminded me of my horrible past.

Forks was my personal hell hole, waiting to swallow me up and keep me there forever. No fucking way was I going to work at the Newton's outfitters store for the rest of my fucking life. I would end up with a gun to my head, preferably Charlie's. Although he was dead now. Long gone from my life and everyone else's.

I missed him so much that I often had to compartmentalise him from me—like he was just a temporary fixture.

I knew he meant infinitely more than that but...comparing pain with numbness and nonchalance, well, you'd have to be a fuck wit not to take the latter. So after shifting all my shit to the windy city, I was left with no money and nothing of real value but a plane ticket—smart move, dumbass.

So I had naively thought that I could acquire a job at a nice quaint little cafe. Unfortunately, having no experience dampened my chances of getting something with better than shitty pay. I needed to eat, and pay rent, after all—somehow I doubted that five-ninety nine an hour would cut it.

One day I had been walking through the streets, contemplating my move to Jacksonville where my Mother resides.

Her and my step-fuck-face-father. I loathed Phil with an intense passion—but where else could I go?

What options did I have other than to sell myself? I was not that desperate. But the idea did seem more appealing then crawling back to mommy and fucking Phil. I was always a strong-minded person, never one to lose control or even cry that much.

I couldn't remember the last time I shed a tear—I felt like an empty box.

Everything had been taken from me, everything that had really mattered. I still had all my things, but compared to having my Dad back...well, I couldn't give a shit about them. I was damaged beyond repair—emotionally. I still looked the same as always, yet my eyes lacked joy, if you believed in that shit.

I could tell...I wasn't the same, not exactly. I had found a photograph of me and my Dad one day—I didn't cry, I refused to. But I was heaving my stomach up in the sink after seeing the stark contrast between the past Bella and the present one. Past Bella was happy and cheerful. Present Bella was an antagonistic bitch.

I knew what I was, so I wasn't going to deny it. My young little heart disappeared the day I found out there was no God. There couldn't be a god when someone like Charlie Swan was taken from the world. It was such a waste. And now, years later, here I am. I'm living, I'm breathing, I even smile occasionally.

But where was my purpose? I had some purpose, I supposed.

People needed me.

Esme, for instance—my boss.

She had become more than just a kick ass boss over the four years I had lived under her roof and worked in her club. So, I did have some reason to keep on trucking or whatever the fuck it was that I did. Survive? It wasn't all bad, though.

I loved dancing. Before moving to Forks when I was seventeen—I couldn't take Phil's abuse anymore, and Renee's obliviousness to the abuse—I used to dance. In Phoenix, I had done Ballet and Jazz. It was fucking epic.

I loved it and I was so passionate about becoming famous off of it. I hadn't been as passionate about anything like it until I started hating Phil.

I often choreographed some of the dances for the other girls who needed help creating something different and eccentric. I was glad to help, but most of them were often too intimidated by me to even ask. I wasn't exactly...pleasant with people. I probably looked like a delicate flower and handled like one—but I wasn't a very nice person.

I had turned into a bitter cynic all by the age of twenty three. By all rights, I should be an old lady with the attitude that I kept up. And I knew that one day, it would all come to spit in my face or bite me in the fucking ass. Because not everyone was going to put up with my attitude for the rest of my life.

I was sure of that. But then if someone didn't like the way I acted or the way I treated them, they could go and get fucked.

They didn't matter to me. I did what I did. I danced like I was supposed to. I got paid a hefty pay cheque—often over two grand per week. I lived with Esme and she took my rent out of my total pay for the week. She was rich bitch and I liked that she was a woman of power too.

She liked to pretend that the men ruled, but everyone knew that they definitely didn't hold the authority they thought they did. After all, the world would fall apart without women like Esme. The people who got things done, and they didn't do half-ass jobs either.

If she had been any other way, I probably wouldn't have grown to like Esme as much. But she was the way she was, and I was the way that I was—which was a bitch, and she hardly minded that. We were both ball-busters, but only I had to keep the facade up of the sweet little innocent erotic dancer.

Talk about contradicting ideals. Esme had found me working at a stingy bar down near where her club was.

She had been scoping the neighbourhood for new meat—knowing that anyone would take what she offered, considering the money and bonuses she had to give. I was working ten hour shifts at that shit-hole. The ladies room wasn't even properly furnished. There were holes in the fucking cubicle door which I had ranted about to my fucking boss, Laurent, some French fuck.

He had just dismissed me.

From that point, I had vowed never to go to the bathroom while at work. I had to hold it in until my break every day. Which was an enormous feat for me. Those sick, pathetic little creeps I worked for always eyeballed me and groped me behind the bar.

I had gotten used to it after a couple of weeks.

If I complained I was just asking for them to fire me—under what grounds?

What did it matter? I was as good as gone and out on my ass again. So work place sexual harassment aside, the money was a little better than most places I had worked at.

I served a strange brown-haired woman who was eyeing me speculatively from her stool. I was about to politely tell her to fuck off because I was not gay when she offered me a goddamned job. "Are you a lesbian?" I had asked her. She snorted, almost choking on her tequila shot. I bit my lip and felt embarrassed for asking when she obviously wasn't, after that reaction. So thats how I got my job at Blood Moon. The club for gentlemen seeking a fun time, as the slogan says.

I had almost slapped her across the face when I saw those words scrawled under the sign.

But she assured me that it was a dancing club and the girls who stripped did it of their own volition, of no request from her. They did it because they liked to. If you didn't want to, you had no requirement to.

I could dance? I could dance and I didn't have to get naked to make money out of it?

It was too good to be true. I had smiled properly for the first time since I had arrived in that city. Most of my time was spent in that place. My first day was incredibly intimidating, the ominously lit sign at the front pulsed and I considered running away but I squared my shoulders and promised myself that I couldn't keep running like a little bitch anymore. So I entered the devil's front door and found myself in an intoxicating atmosphere. It was a strip club...but it wasn't.

If that made any fucking sense. It was as sophisticated as a fucking a broad way show.

A blonde beauty was gyrating her hips against a shiny pole—I was about to ask where the fire men came out when Esme greeted me by putting her arm around my shoulders and started talking. "I know how it must look, but in time, I think you'll grow to love us...like a family." My heart deflated and I felt an angry heat build inside my chest.

"No thanks," I spat at the woman who had been nothing but kind to me. "I don't do shit like this." I hissed before turning on my heel and shouldering past her.

She caught my leather jacket clad elbow before I could escape. I turned on her with my fist balled. I would have hit her had she not been so quick as to twist my arm behind my back. "Listen, I was only doing that so Felix wouldn't drag you out by your hair for laying a hand on me." She growled in my ear.

I rolled my eyes but when I caught an eyeful of the fucking behemoth in black that guarded the door, I gulped loudly.

She slowly let go of my arm and looked me straight in the eye.

"I know what kind of girl you are. And I know that you don't want to be stuck in that seedy bar for the rest of your life." She had told me.

"You need to be able to express yourself. You can do that here with no judgment. You can have admirers and people who bow down to you. People will worship you here. What's the most you're going to get from that bar you work out now—La Push, what is that French?—where is that job going to take you? Other than the emergency room?" she enquired. I knew she had me after that. "Yeah, my boss is a French dick." I mumbled and sighed.

"Fine." And that sealed my future for the next couple of years.

At the time I had no idea that it would lead to a series of chain reactions that would indeed alter my life drastically. I had been too wrapped up in surviving for that not to occur to me. The foreign odours and the strangers who worked here, the setting and the colours and lights—they soon became familiar and somewhat like a home.

Just like Esme had promised. Tonight I was starting on my new routine, one I had practiced repeatedly for the past fucking month and a half.

Tonight was gentlemen's night—when was it not? And since when were these pigs gentlemen?

I scoffed at Esme when she had called it that in the flier she sent out—she just glared at me and told me to get ready for the night. I stood in the middle of the stage, painted black. The fluorescent lights flickered with different colours as the music started up. Booming speakers where situated on either end of my little arena.

The smoke machine pumped mist into the air among the sweaty patrons and their drinks. There was a line of particularly sharp looking guys at the front, surrounding the very edge of my stage. The little lights lit up their faces and I could almost see the drool escaping the corners of their mouths.

They were wearing suits—the business fuckers, I hated those dirty bastards. Their faces were drawn and dishevelled from the end of work for the week. I sighed and shook myself out a bit, before Eric, our DJ, placed the spotlight over my head. The heat coursed through my body and I started moving. Their eyes moved along with my body—now I wasn't a traditional stripper, so there was no nudity when I danced.

The staccato melody of the song flowed through the thick air, beating in rhythm with my heart. My body swayed and bobbed sensually, the sheaths of white and blue fabric waving around my figure—hypnotising the boys in the audience.

I didn't know what it was, I had no idea why they all seemed to flock to me so loyally.

I never revealed my breasts or anything like that, yet somehow, everyone enjoyed watching my dances more than the other girls. Like Rosalie—the blonde goddess, or Jessica—both beautifully voluptuous. Esme had told me that it was something about my innocence, the purity that emanated from me while I moved in such and impure way. And the fact that I left everything to the imagination unlike the rest of the girls who worked the stage or the bar.

The bar maids were always topless and the strippers—or what we better liked to be called, exotic dancers—were...well, stripping naked. So I guess I was something they had yet to see and the fact of new meat excited the fuck out of them.

I hated being referred to as an object or a piece of ass—not a human being, quite an intelligent one at that or someone worth-while. But it came with the job or adult entertainment. I made my bed, so I had to lie in it. I was nearing the finale—the sort of climax of my seductive routine, swinging my hips then gliding to my knees and heaving my chest upwards. I moved my hands over my body and I swear I could almost hear their cocks snapping to attention.

At ease, comrades.

I smirked at them wickedly and it looked like the bald guy in the corner just came. I crinkled my nose a bit in disgust before finishing up and throwing my head back—flash dance style. They ate that fucking shit up. I was greeted with a standing ovation, well...at least part of them were standing upright.

I shuddered, trying to remain inconspicuous. I bowed at the waist, turning in all directions toward my horny audience.

As I prepared to turn a rowdy customer grasped my ankle. I grit my teeth together as he tried dragging me from the stage.

His fingers dug in and I yelped. The music was still thumping loudly and the lights were flaring so I wasn't sure when someone was going to notice. I was angry, but I wasn't that strong. Not strong enough to take on some drunk fuck who probably weighed more than my fucking SUV.

"James!" I yelled out across the tables to the dark figure that loomed in the corner.

James was a mad fucker, he would take care of the situation. I didn't like him all that much but when it came to doing his job—he did it well.

His blonde head snapped up, meeting my fiery gaze before he came stalking across the floor toward my stage, grabbing the guy who had me in his hold and hauling him out of his seat. "No touching the ladies!" He bellowed above the music. I shook my leg out and turned to storm backstage.

My heels clicking angrily against the hard surface. I was grumbling under my breath, tearing at the stupid fucking necklace I had to wear for this dance. It was suffocating me and I needed to calm down. I came down the steps to a door.

Everything in this room was painted black and there were hardly any lights back here which made it a shit fight to find your way through here after your dance. It also smelled like hooker sweat and ass back here. Maybe because Lauren was working tonight—I thought acidly.

Stupid bitch—always been jealous of me. I was growing more frustrated with tonight, turning the knob and throwing the door open. I tore the necklace from my neck, the string breaking and the blue glass beads scattered across the carpeted dressing room.

"Fucking hell!" I yelled then sighed. I was so wound up tonight. I needed a drink, desperately. I stalked over to my vanity table while I heard someone walk in behind me. I expected Rosalie or Jess but instead of one of the girls, it was James.

"What?" I said a little too sharply. His face stayed calm and distant as he approached me. I grabbed a shot glass from the draw and my bottle of vodka. I smacked it down on the table and poured it to the rim. James must have noticed my tense little episode. He took a seat from Rosalie's table and pulled it behind me. I frowned at his actions until he started rubbing my shoulders. I groaned. Oh that was good. "Mmm..." I hummed in pleasure. I desperately needed a massage too.

"That feels so good." I whispered, leaning my head forward. I took a moment to down the alcohol, the warm buzz helped calm my frayed nerves. If I wasn't careful, I was going to develop a fucking stomach ulcer. James's skilled hands never ceased.

I sighed and closed my eyes as he worked his magic. I was feeling quite calmed until his hands started wandering. My eyes snapped open and I frowned, turning my head to the side whilst his hands slid up my neck then down my shoulders and arms.

"James..." I started disapprovingly. "I know you feel it too, Bella." He whispered into my ear. "I know you like me. I've seen you look at me...the way I look at you." I opened my mouth to say something but...what in the hell could I say? I did in no way like James like that. I almost hated him.

I had never liked him. He could be polite and civil, but that's as far as I would go with him. It was hard to even be friends with him. I had tried to persuade Esme to look for some new guard material a long time ago. Now it was coming to this. "James, no." I said softly, trying to spare his feelings in the process of rejecting him. "Stop it. You don't like me. I don't like you. Okay? I have to get back to fucking work." His hands tightened on my arms and he refused to let me stand up.

"No." He growled and my anger exploded. How dare he fucking order me like some misogynist prick.

I was nobody's property! "What?" I spat, looking back at him in the mirror. He met my eyes with his as he leaned down to kiss my neck. I pulled away, cringing and scrunching my nose up. I pushed his face away and wiped my neck of his spit. "Ew, James. Fucking stop it. I will never like you that way.

Get it through your fucking head!" I growled and stood woodenly.

"And don't touch me." I ordered. As I tried moving around his chair, he grabbed my hand and pulled me to him. He was fucking strong, too. There was a reason he was hired in the first place. The glow of the lights in here hardly helped. He would have construed it as romantic. I felt sick to my fucking stomach.

"Let go of me." I said in my sharpest tone. His eyes flashed with a haze of anger and rejection. "I will not." He whispered and as fast as a lightning bolt, his rough hands tore at the gauzy material that covered my body. The wisps of blue and white silk were shredded with one fast jerk of his fist.

I whipped my hand back and slapped him square over the face. His hands gripped me tighter before he shoved me a bit, causing me to be off balance. I tumbled down onto the floor, wasting no time, he continued to tear up the rest of my costume. I didn't feel scared.

At that moment, I was fucking ropable, livid. I was mega fucking pissed.

But the pissy-ness was beginning to fade, leaving space for a foreign, forbidden emotion.

Fear. He was supposed to be protecting me! This slimy bastard had the intention of every man out in that bar that he was supposed to keep from me. That mother fucker. His long blonde hair spilled across my face and I fought the urge to gag under his weight and his scent—cigarettes and rum.

Everyone drank on the job at this place. "Get off me! You dirty fucker!" I screamed. I felt his fingers move down the inside of my thigh and thats when I knew his next move. I kneed him in the groin. Triumphantly, I kneed him again, earning an ear-splitting yowl. That would teach that motherfucker. He grasped my hair, and started licking up my neck. I guess I hadn't won just yet. He had me mostly pinned and it was hard to breathe. I felt his teeth bite into my flesh and I screamed out.

"Felix! Demetri!" I cried, desperate for the two other guards who helped out here. At least I liked them and they liked me—in the right way. I scratched furiously at his face, his eyes narrowed and he tried undoing his pants while simultaneously restraining my wrists with his other hand.

A loud bang sounded from behind me and I knew it was the door opening and slamming against the wall. He was distracted from his vicious tirade and I took the advantage to kick him in the shin with a heeled foot and pushed his gross body off of mine. Felix appeared then with Demetri and Esme flanking him.

He grabbed James by the throat and I proceeded to kick at him. "You!" Kick. "Fucking!" Kick "Asshole!" I screeched before Demetri got a hold of me. I assumed now that they were here and I was upright, James was in more danger than I. I was so close to ripping his fucking balls off right there for touching me.

Nobody touched me without clear consent. And I hadn't been touched that way since Jacob—my high school boyfriend.

Such a long time ago that I had pretty much forgotten how it felt. Intimacy. In my opinion, it was overrated. I spat in his face before he scrambled out with Felix's hand fisted in the collar of his shirt. The room fell into a shocked silence. I was still fuming, my hands fisted into tight balls at my sides.

I was so pent up on adrenaline that I wasn't even covering myself. Demetri reached over to my vanity table and retrieved my robe. He carefully, hesitantly placed it on my shoulders before he fled too, probably too afraid of the fall-out from the situation. If I was him, I would be running from me, too.

Esme put a tentative hand on my shoulder. I sighed and unclenched my hands, grabbing the bottle of vodka and taking a swig. It took my breath away slightly and it warmed my stomach—my cheeks flushed a little and I knew it was working. "Easy there," Esme warned after I took a few more gulps.

"Who cares?" I muttered. She sighed then. "Everyone here cares about you, Bella." I snorted then shook my head.

"Well," I announced in a mocking edge. "Looks like we need a new fucking body guard. Guess you had some pretty shitty taste when you hired that fucker." I said, pointing to the door with my thumb. "I had no idea he was going to fuck shit up like this. Obviously I wouldn't have hired him if I thought he would go rogue." She muttered defensively. I sighed and went to sit down again, I was exhausted."Whatever, just find someone new before tomorrow night." She nodded her head in assent.

"I'll round up the applicants we've gotten in the past month." I nodded once. She bit her lip before she turned to the door.

"Are you okay?" she said seriously, inclining her head. I raised an eyebrow at her and smirked—my signature smart ass expression. "Yeah, I'm fine. Jesus, nothing happened." I shook my head and heard the door close shut. I stared at myself in the mirror, my eyes wide and penetrating. I heaved in deep breaths before glaring at my reflection, disgusted at my weakness.

"Grow up," I told myself.

"Be a big girl."

So what did everyone think? I know, she's a little crass, isn't she? I like Bella this way, instead of selfless and kind and innocent at heart--she's fiery and smug. Everyone seems to portray Edward as the smug bastard with the attitude. Well, not this time, my friends. ;)

Anywho--I hope you liked it.

R&R PEOPLES. I would love some feedback! :)

PRAISE FOR MY GUARDWARD GROUPIES! I know he hasn't appeared in this story yet, but that's his name, curtesy of FearGirl (who is totally bangin') I mean that in a non-sexual way, ofcourse, coz like...I mean...ahem

Uhh....Edward! Right!

So he's hot and awesome and he's going to turn up in the next chapter in all his hotness and glory.

*drools over keyborad* Stay tuned if you like lemons. There will be some soon. Just not yet. I will make them as hot as possible, too. ;)

This chapter was pretty long, too. But it was so easy to write, I guess I'm channelling my inner crude whore. Not like I keep it bottled up, though I suppose. But seriously, it was so quick. I was like BAM *typing* DONE!