Look, But Don't Touch

The roar of applause.

Dim lights.

Lace and thigh-high boots.

Leather and whips.

Alcohol and cigarettes.

It was on these weeknights that she wasn't a little girl playing dress up, but a grown woman parading about the stage in nothing more than lingerie or a thong. The brass pole she circled and grinded on and climbed became her most reliable companion in the years since she lost her mother, stripping as means of survival. She put up with men pawing at her, bowing just long enough for a horny, drunk patron to stick cash into the string clinging to her hips. She allowed men to call her Blue Butterfly, because of the same color gems that grew more and more dull as she lost herself in the burlesque soundtrack, paying her dues with her soul and body.

It was a lonely life. One where she lived in a tent to avoid submitting to a pimp that would lord his status and provision over her until the day she drank herself to death. It was all unfair, really. She had hopes and dreams of teaching elementary students...once. But those aspirations all died the moment her mother did and she took this sinful job she hated so much. It was one that offered her power and money she would never earn as an educator. And there was no chance of it now that she dirtied her hands and marred her record with tassels and high heels.

But this evening, in the midst of a desolate winter, she was solicited for a private dance for a group of three. And for these exclusive showings, almost everything goes, except for one rule.

Look, but don't touch.

It was to be respected and never broken, at the consequence of being thrown out of the club. A bodyguard stood at the ready throughout the entire performance, remaining silent unless you tried to grope the dancer. That was when he made his warning loud and clear.

When the Blue Butterfly swept the heavy velvet curtains aside, she immediately began untying her robe, slowly as she forced herself to gain eye contact with her audience. But she was a little surprised - jaded and world weary as she was - to see purple and orange hair, next to a man practically drooling at the mere sight of her, though his hair was a natural ebony. But she goes on, stepping into her routine, swiveling her hips and forming a wave with her torso as tympani drums set the pace. Her hand latches onto the pole, followed by her gathering momentum to swing on it with her ankles, swiveling down to the base with it between her legs. Her movements were slow and oh so sensual as she snaked around the brass bar that paid her bills. And the only man with a traditional hair color seemed to eat it up, falling forward to try and get up close and personal as the brunette shed her clothes in time to the music. She catches the eye of the blushing one with the purple hair, his eyes sparkling like a gemstone, just as hers used to. And something feels different about the one right beside him; an angry, fiery red-head who looked almost ashamed of her display that made her desperate to shrink into herself.

But, it was ridiculous...no man ever got to her. And it wasn't about to start tonight.

So she relies on the saucy beat; she the sinner, and the music her salvation as she avoided piercing eyes and judgmental gazes. The compelling spin of strobe lights caress and coil around her half-naked body, covering swan white skin in hazy patterns that lure men in like the tide. She kicks a leg up, resting the heel of her stilettos on the knee of the amethyst boy, encouraging him to remove her garter with his teeth in a seductive lilt. His cheeks flush as he catches the insinuation, looking to the eager man beside him for assistance. The brunette sighs, removing her foot as she realizes that he must have been the shy one of the group. She was like that once...and she never wanted to go back to that again. But, it reminded her of the parts of her blackened soul she lost along with her clothes. The irreparable damage that had been done way back when.

"He means no offense, flower," the man says, waving his hands in apology. "He's a bit...mousy."

This earns him a sharp elbow to the ribs, to which he shoots a dirty look back at the owner. A brief exchange of conversation passes between them, stealing their attention away from the Aphrodite that stood not even a foot away from them. The Blue Butterfly begins to grow anxious the more this goes on. Time was money, after all. And this wouldn't stand with the club's owner, Akito-sama. Money was made through tips given to the dancer, cut 75/25 between the owner and dancer, as means of payment. It was far from fair, but it was how he operated; how this world operated.

"Hey!" The scowling, formerly silent boy calls.

She swivels in his direction, unaccustomed to patrons saying more than "Take it off baby," and "Don't be shy, Butterfly" mixed in with a few demeaning insults and expletives. She takes in the untouched liquor bottles, refusing to face him full on for fear of the disgust that was sure to be filling those striking red eyes of his.

"You don't have a place to stay...do you?"

Her blood runs cold as his question rendezvous with her ears, telling of a perceptiveness that doesn't quite match his tone of voice. And its then that she notices the hush that falls over the other two beside him, as if they were all waiting with baited breath for her answer. She runs a hand through her chocolate locks, a nervous habit that started the day she left her mother's grave site for the final time.

"We saw you climb out of the tent on our way home, Miss," sounds a polite, candied voice, coming from the boy with the purple hair. "I don't mean to pry, but..."

"Are you homeless, dear flower?" The man cuts in, dark eyes twinkling under the flashing lights.

The Blue Butterfly feels smaller the more she remains silence, resisting the part of her that wanted to trust these men. To hope that they were offering her a bed, as opposed to the cold, unforgivable ground. Warm meals instead of the leftovers she steals off of patron's plates on the off chance they turn a blind eye. To flee from a world where the smoke and mirrors made it hard to see anyone's true faces; to see herself.

"What do you want?" She asks, her soft voice swept under the roughness of a maelstrom. "You obviously want something from me if you're making me an offer."

An out to escape a prison of eroticism, debauchery, and ridicule.

"If it makes you feel better, you can work off the rent should you accept," the man explains, his features hard under the solemnity of his proposition. "You can pay your way by making dinner and cleaning up around the house. But, there's one final condition."

Her eyebrow quirks, followed by the cock of her hips. "Which is?"

"You leave this job and complete high school. The rest of your life after is in your hands."

She plays with her tresses, considering his words and turning them over in her head to try and find the catch. Sure, she would have to work for any and all of her living expenses, but...why would a man that stepped foot into this den of inhumanity and lust, want her to leave it all behind? That was what she failed to make sense of.

Her tongue feels heavy, like damp cotton as she surveys the three watching her with what seems like genuine concern and honesty. Why would they be so kind to a stranger? What has she done to deserve a hand out of the pit she put herself in?

It takes awhile, but she starts to shake her head in decline to their proposal. It exceeded her current standard of living, but this was all she had...it was the only way she knew to live anymore. And rejoining society above the surface instead of within the underground confines of this cage was daunting. And scary.

"Please, take some time to think it over," the amethyst boy pleads, his eyes earnest as they lock with hers. "We can help you...but only if you let us."

They all rise, making their exit after the oldest of the group drops a slip off paper onto the seat he recently abandoned. As they all brush past her, pushing through the velvet curtains that separated her room from the cannibals that awaited her on the other side, she looks to that tiny slip of white. Before she has time to think, she moves in as if finding a buoy to cling to in treacherous waters that threatened to drown her with each breath. And she knows she's in over her head when she manages to decipher the kanji that provides a phone number and an address.

She tucks it into her bustier top, blindly finding her way back to her dressing room like she always did to store her tips and change into the next costume; to paint on a new mask of makeup. But this time...

The girl turns the lights out, rushing out the exit with nothing more than the clothes on her back that remain, noticing three heads of purple, orange, and black off in the distance. Her stomach knots as she runs to them, the moonlight dipping and draping itself over her skin. Her breaths leave her in puffs while the adrenaline courses through her veins, keeping her just warm enough for her pursuit.

As soon as they hear the sound of approaching footfalls, they all turn on their heels in silent greeting. And as she leans forward, pressing her palms to her knees to take in lungfuls of air, they all know she changed her mind.

The dog grins.

The cat smirks.

The mouse bows.

And the butterfly...?

She smiles.

The End