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intheheartTitle: Lifesaver
Rating: R
Summary: Maya gets saved.
Date: 2004
Notes: Fun fact; they're dancing to "Just Dance." Guessing's still open on who Maya's related to!
Warnings: Sexual harassment, assault, threats, underage stripping, touch of mental ableism.
She couldn't do this. She was stupid to think that she could.
Maya's hand spasmed on the filmy transparant skirt she wore, over the mandatory g-string and garter that all the other girls in the place wore. It had sounded like easy money when she'd first heard about the job opening up; just get up on stage, take your clothes off, and dance, and you'd get paid hundreds of dollars by horny retards who couldn't get a girl if they paid her. She couldn't really dance, and she'd said so, but the manager had just smirked and said that wasn't a problem, they wouldn't be watching her for that. And it wasn't like she had trouble taking off her clothes-- that was why she was here to begin with. Her lips twisted. It had just sounded so easy.
Except she'd come in and had trouble getting changed in front of the other women in the dressing room. They'd all sneered and laughed and catcalled, told her to get used to it. She'd watched the other girls going up on stage, watched them dancing, really dancing, doing elaborate athletic tricks and twists, and known with a sinking feeling that she could never do that. And she'd watched the girl before her, a blonde girl with an incredible ability to dance, casually kick a guy off the stage when he tried to grab her ankles. How could she do that? She couldn't even stand up for herself at home. How could she possibly do it here?
She couldn't do it. She'd just have to get changed, apolgize, and go... not home. She didn't have a home anymore. But somewhere else. Maya turned around to leave.
Somebody grabbed her bicep, hard, and spun her back around. "Just where the hell do you think you're going?" the manager demanded, looming over her.
"I can't do this," she said, lowering her eyes. "I'm sorry. I can't. I'm just going to leave."
His grip tightened on her arm, making her wince. "No, you aren't," he said, his voice the same dangerous calm as her father's, when he'd found out the truth. "I paid for your stage time tonight, girlie. You're going to go up there and get me my money's worth."
Maya stared up at him, eyes wide. "Paid? But... no, that's not... we get paid. Isn't this hourly?"
One of the other strippers, passing by on her way into the dressing room, snorted. "Where the hell did you find this one, Bud?"
"Walked in off the street," he said, and she rolled her eyes in answer, continuing on her way. "You little idiot, you pay us for the stage time. Whatever you get you get in tips. Now get up there and shake your ass and pay me back." He shook her arm for emphasis.
"I can't," Maya said, idiotically, but what else could she say? "I can't."
Bud inhaled, then leaned down and put his face on a level with hers. "How old are you?" he asked, softly. "You said you were eighteen, but I don't think you're more than sixteen. If you don't get your ass up there right now, I'm going to call the cops and tell them you're underage and you stole money from me to rent the stage. That's a sex crime, girlie. You're going to jail for a long time, you get convicted of that shit, and I'm gonna make sure you do. You get that?"
Maya, who was fifteen, swallowed. "Yes," she whispered.
"Good." Bud squeezed her arm once, hard, then shoved her towards the stage, and grabbed a microphone.
"Let's have a big round of applause for Miss Kitty of the purrfect tits," he bellowed, waving at the blonde girl now descending from the stage. "And here's our latest recruit, a desert flower from the Far East, fit for all your fantasies, Lotus!"
Maya went up on stage, turned into the lights, looked at all the hooting, hollering men, and froze.
The music started up in the background, something by Lady Gaga that she didn't know very well, thumping in her ears. Nausea roiled in her stomach, fear made her stiff. She couldn't do this, she could not do this, she was going to be sick all over the stage. Bud was storming towards her, rage on his face, and she was going to get beat up and thrown out on the street and and thrown in jail and things were never going to get better, only worse and worse...
Someone touched her shoulder and she flinched away.
"Hey, hey, it's okay." The blonde girl, Miss Kitty, smiled at her. "Relax. It's okay. What's your name?"
"Lotus," she choked out, because Bud had made it very clear to her that no one used their real names here.
The girl shook her head. "No, honey, your real name."
She glanced fearfully at Bud, who'd stopped by the stage and loomed, anger all over his face. "Maya," she whispered.
"Maya." The blonde girl smiled wider. "That's such a pretty name. I'm Joy, Maya. We're going to dance together, okay? You and me. Just you and me." She reached out, caught Maya's hands and began to twist in time to the music, pulling Maya with her. "Keep your eyes on me," she continued, pulling her close. "There's nobody else here who matters. Just dance with me."
Maya's hands shook, and so did her knees, but she moved into the rhythm with Joy, and soon it was just them, just the two of them. Joy was a fantastic dancer, and somehow she made Maya good too, pushing the fear away, bringing in the music. Every time they got close enough she whispered encouragement, friendly words-- "you're doing great, that spin was fantastic, here, try this, I'll catch you." Taking off her clothes was still terrifying, and she still shook at the end of the song, when they stood hand in hand and took a bow, but Joy kept mostly in front of her, intercepting unfriendly hands, and led her off the stage when they were done.
"Hey!" Bud was suddenly in front of them. "She's got three more songs!"
"Fuck off," Joy said, in a tone so perfectly pleasant it startled a giggle from Maya. "You want a good dance, you let your dancers unwind. Now get out of my way."
Bud glared at Maya, but stepped aside, and let Joy take her into the dressing room.
The other strippers in there snickered, but Joy shot a glare at them, and they shut up and returned to their makeup. "Sit down, honey," she told Maya, pulling up a chair for herself. "And here, put this on." She offered Maya a ratty old t-shirt three sizes too big that read No, You Can't Buy Me Dinner. Maya slipped it in over her head and felt immediately better.
"Better?" Joy asked, sympathy in every move she made. "Good. Now what's the matter, honey?"
She wouldn't have told. She shouldn't have told, but Joy's smile was so warm and her eyes so kind Maya just couldn't help herself. "I'm pregnant," she whispered. "I got pregnant. I tried to hide it but my parents found out and they threw me out and I don't have any money or anywhere to go and they told me stripping could work but I got on stage and I couldn't do it and..." She hiccuped in a breath, wiped at the sudden tears springing to her eyes. "Bud told me he'd call the cops on me for lying about my age and stealing money and I can't go to jail, I can't, and nothing's ever going to get better!" She ended on a wail that drew the attention of everyone else in the dressing room, but the only thing that mattered was Joy and the sorrow that filled her eyes.
"Oh, honey," she said, and pulled Maya against her shoulder, hugging her tight like nobody had done since Sonali found out about the baby.
Maya burst into tears.
She didn't know how long she cried-- it was long enough to get a stuffy nose and a headache, long enough that the complement of strippers in the dressing room had completely changed by the time she looked up. But Joy just kept on hugging her, stroking her hair, murmuring comforting things, like "it'll be okay," and somehow Maya believed her, even though she knew damn well that nothing was going to be okay.
Finally, she lifted her head and rubbed at her eyes, shame rising to her face in a blush. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean..."
Joy shook her head, cutting her off. "Don't be sorry, sweetie," she said, taking Maya's hands and squeezing them gently. "Don't be sorry, it's totally okay. Now, I have to ask you something, and I want you to answer me honestly, okay? I promise you won't get in trouble."
Maya nodded. "Okay."
"How old are you?"
Maya bit her lip and looked down, away from Joy's searching eyes. She'd promised, she reminded herself. "Fifteen," she whispered.
"Fif--" Joy started, and sat up. "Okay, no. Get dressed, we're leaving."
Maya jerked her head up and stared at her, horrified. "I can't!" she said. "I can't, I have to pay Bud back, and I need money, I don't have anywhere, I can't!"
Joy shook her head again. "You can't stay here," she said, more gently than Maya was expecting. "You're way too young. Don't worry, though, you can come home with me."
"I couldn't..." she began, but Joy was still shaking her head.
"Sweetie," she said, leaning forward again and squeezing her hands, "you need a safe place to sleep and some food. I've got both. Tomorrow we can figure out somewhere you can work that's safe and legal, okay? Right now, you're coming home with me. Get dressed." She suited action to the word, getting up and pulling a loose sundress on without bothering with underwear.
Maya got dressed more slowly, collected her things, thinking fast. Could she trust Joy? Part of her didn't feel like she could, because no one she'd trusted had been worthy of it-- not her ex-boyfriend, not her parents, not even her siblings, who hadn't made a move to find her. But Joy had been so kind to her, the first and only person who had been since she'd gotten kicked out. Joy was clearly capable and strong; she'd stood up to Bud without batting an eye. And...
Well, honestly, what choice did she have?
"Ready to go?" Joy asked, voice warm. "We have to take the subway, I'm afraid, but I've got an extra ticket, it'll be cool." She wrapped her arm around Maya's waist and guided her towards the back door, still talking. "My apartment's kind of a rattrap, but it's got a roof and it doesn't leak, so that's all good. Plus, I've got this new kind of peanut butter that my boyfriend recommended to me. You'll love it. I'll make you PB&J with it. It's like a dream."
"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" Bud appeared in front of them like a fury, fists doubled, face purpled with rage.
Maya squeaked and ducked behind Joy, who flipped her hair and glared right back. "Home," she said. "What the fuck does it look like?"
"She's not going home," Bud growled, raising his fists. "She's staying right here and finishing her goddamn set. I don't give a fuck what you do, but she stays."
"She's coming home with me," Joy said, still perfectly calm. "You can't stop her. And if you lay one finger on her or me I'm going to kick you in the nuts and press charges for assault." She smiled, prettily. "You want to meet me in court, Bud? Should be fun."
"You fucking bitch," he snarled. "She fucking owes me six hundred dollars!'
"Six hundred..." Maya gasped, but Joy reached back and squeezed her hand.
"Try sixty," she said. "And since she barely even danced and you've got ten other women here, I don't really think that matters. But since you insist on being such an asshole about it..." She reached into her purse, counted out four twenties, and held them out to Bud, by the tips of her fingers. "Here. That's an extra twenty for being such a fuckhead. Now move."
Bud snatched them away from her and grudgingly stepped aside. Joy guided Maya out the door with a gentle hand on her back. "There you go, sweetie," she said, and turned around. "By the way, Bud?"
He turned, still glaring. "What the fuck do you want?"
She gave him that pretty smile again, and stuck up her middle finger. "I quit, asshole!"
He roared incoherently, and slammed the door shut.
Maya dared a glance up at Joy; she looked like a cat in cream. "That," she said, smugly, "was just as satisfying as I imagined. Come on, sweetie, let's head for the subway."
Rating: R
Summary: Maya gets saved.
Date: 2004
Notes: Fun fact; they're dancing to "Just Dance." Guessing's still open on who Maya's related to!
Warnings: Sexual harassment, assault, threats, underage stripping, touch of mental ableism.
She couldn't do this. She was stupid to think that she could.
Maya's hand spasmed on the filmy transparant skirt she wore, over the mandatory g-string and garter that all the other girls in the place wore. It had sounded like easy money when she'd first heard about the job opening up; just get up on stage, take your clothes off, and dance, and you'd get paid hundreds of dollars by horny retards who couldn't get a girl if they paid her. She couldn't really dance, and she'd said so, but the manager had just smirked and said that wasn't a problem, they wouldn't be watching her for that. And it wasn't like she had trouble taking off her clothes-- that was why she was here to begin with. Her lips twisted. It had just sounded so easy.
Except she'd come in and had trouble getting changed in front of the other women in the dressing room. They'd all sneered and laughed and catcalled, told her to get used to it. She'd watched the other girls going up on stage, watched them dancing, really dancing, doing elaborate athletic tricks and twists, and known with a sinking feeling that she could never do that. And she'd watched the girl before her, a blonde girl with an incredible ability to dance, casually kick a guy off the stage when he tried to grab her ankles. How could she do that? She couldn't even stand up for herself at home. How could she possibly do it here?
She couldn't do it. She'd just have to get changed, apolgize, and go... not home. She didn't have a home anymore. But somewhere else. Maya turned around to leave.
Somebody grabbed her bicep, hard, and spun her back around. "Just where the hell do you think you're going?" the manager demanded, looming over her.
"I can't do this," she said, lowering her eyes. "I'm sorry. I can't. I'm just going to leave."
His grip tightened on her arm, making her wince. "No, you aren't," he said, his voice the same dangerous calm as her father's, when he'd found out the truth. "I paid for your stage time tonight, girlie. You're going to go up there and get me my money's worth."
Maya stared up at him, eyes wide. "Paid? But... no, that's not... we get paid. Isn't this hourly?"
One of the other strippers, passing by on her way into the dressing room, snorted. "Where the hell did you find this one, Bud?"
"Walked in off the street," he said, and she rolled her eyes in answer, continuing on her way. "You little idiot, you pay us for the stage time. Whatever you get you get in tips. Now get up there and shake your ass and pay me back." He shook her arm for emphasis.
"I can't," Maya said, idiotically, but what else could she say? "I can't."
Bud inhaled, then leaned down and put his face on a level with hers. "How old are you?" he asked, softly. "You said you were eighteen, but I don't think you're more than sixteen. If you don't get your ass up there right now, I'm going to call the cops and tell them you're underage and you stole money from me to rent the stage. That's a sex crime, girlie. You're going to jail for a long time, you get convicted of that shit, and I'm gonna make sure you do. You get that?"
Maya, who was fifteen, swallowed. "Yes," she whispered.
"Good." Bud squeezed her arm once, hard, then shoved her towards the stage, and grabbed a microphone.
"Let's have a big round of applause for Miss Kitty of the purrfect tits," he bellowed, waving at the blonde girl now descending from the stage. "And here's our latest recruit, a desert flower from the Far East, fit for all your fantasies, Lotus!"
Maya went up on stage, turned into the lights, looked at all the hooting, hollering men, and froze.
The music started up in the background, something by Lady Gaga that she didn't know very well, thumping in her ears. Nausea roiled in her stomach, fear made her stiff. She couldn't do this, she could not do this, she was going to be sick all over the stage. Bud was storming towards her, rage on his face, and she was going to get beat up and thrown out on the street and and thrown in jail and things were never going to get better, only worse and worse...
Someone touched her shoulder and she flinched away.
"Hey, hey, it's okay." The blonde girl, Miss Kitty, smiled at her. "Relax. It's okay. What's your name?"
"Lotus," she choked out, because Bud had made it very clear to her that no one used their real names here.
The girl shook her head. "No, honey, your real name."
She glanced fearfully at Bud, who'd stopped by the stage and loomed, anger all over his face. "Maya," she whispered.
"Maya." The blonde girl smiled wider. "That's such a pretty name. I'm Joy, Maya. We're going to dance together, okay? You and me. Just you and me." She reached out, caught Maya's hands and began to twist in time to the music, pulling Maya with her. "Keep your eyes on me," she continued, pulling her close. "There's nobody else here who matters. Just dance with me."
Maya's hands shook, and so did her knees, but she moved into the rhythm with Joy, and soon it was just them, just the two of them. Joy was a fantastic dancer, and somehow she made Maya good too, pushing the fear away, bringing in the music. Every time they got close enough she whispered encouragement, friendly words-- "you're doing great, that spin was fantastic, here, try this, I'll catch you." Taking off her clothes was still terrifying, and she still shook at the end of the song, when they stood hand in hand and took a bow, but Joy kept mostly in front of her, intercepting unfriendly hands, and led her off the stage when they were done.
"Hey!" Bud was suddenly in front of them. "She's got three more songs!"
"Fuck off," Joy said, in a tone so perfectly pleasant it startled a giggle from Maya. "You want a good dance, you let your dancers unwind. Now get out of my way."
Bud glared at Maya, but stepped aside, and let Joy take her into the dressing room.
The other strippers in there snickered, but Joy shot a glare at them, and they shut up and returned to their makeup. "Sit down, honey," she told Maya, pulling up a chair for herself. "And here, put this on." She offered Maya a ratty old t-shirt three sizes too big that read No, You Can't Buy Me Dinner. Maya slipped it in over her head and felt immediately better.
"Better?" Joy asked, sympathy in every move she made. "Good. Now what's the matter, honey?"
She wouldn't have told. She shouldn't have told, but Joy's smile was so warm and her eyes so kind Maya just couldn't help herself. "I'm pregnant," she whispered. "I got pregnant. I tried to hide it but my parents found out and they threw me out and I don't have any money or anywhere to go and they told me stripping could work but I got on stage and I couldn't do it and..." She hiccuped in a breath, wiped at the sudden tears springing to her eyes. "Bud told me he'd call the cops on me for lying about my age and stealing money and I can't go to jail, I can't, and nothing's ever going to get better!" She ended on a wail that drew the attention of everyone else in the dressing room, but the only thing that mattered was Joy and the sorrow that filled her eyes.
"Oh, honey," she said, and pulled Maya against her shoulder, hugging her tight like nobody had done since Sonali found out about the baby.
Maya burst into tears.
She didn't know how long she cried-- it was long enough to get a stuffy nose and a headache, long enough that the complement of strippers in the dressing room had completely changed by the time she looked up. But Joy just kept on hugging her, stroking her hair, murmuring comforting things, like "it'll be okay," and somehow Maya believed her, even though she knew damn well that nothing was going to be okay.
Finally, she lifted her head and rubbed at her eyes, shame rising to her face in a blush. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean..."
Joy shook her head, cutting her off. "Don't be sorry, sweetie," she said, taking Maya's hands and squeezing them gently. "Don't be sorry, it's totally okay. Now, I have to ask you something, and I want you to answer me honestly, okay? I promise you won't get in trouble."
Maya nodded. "Okay."
"How old are you?"
Maya bit her lip and looked down, away from Joy's searching eyes. She'd promised, she reminded herself. "Fifteen," she whispered.
"Fif--" Joy started, and sat up. "Okay, no. Get dressed, we're leaving."
Maya jerked her head up and stared at her, horrified. "I can't!" she said. "I can't, I have to pay Bud back, and I need money, I don't have anywhere, I can't!"
Joy shook her head again. "You can't stay here," she said, more gently than Maya was expecting. "You're way too young. Don't worry, though, you can come home with me."
"I couldn't..." she began, but Joy was still shaking her head.
"Sweetie," she said, leaning forward again and squeezing her hands, "you need a safe place to sleep and some food. I've got both. Tomorrow we can figure out somewhere you can work that's safe and legal, okay? Right now, you're coming home with me. Get dressed." She suited action to the word, getting up and pulling a loose sundress on without bothering with underwear.
Maya got dressed more slowly, collected her things, thinking fast. Could she trust Joy? Part of her didn't feel like she could, because no one she'd trusted had been worthy of it-- not her ex-boyfriend, not her parents, not even her siblings, who hadn't made a move to find her. But Joy had been so kind to her, the first and only person who had been since she'd gotten kicked out. Joy was clearly capable and strong; she'd stood up to Bud without batting an eye. And...
Well, honestly, what choice did she have?
"Ready to go?" Joy asked, voice warm. "We have to take the subway, I'm afraid, but I've got an extra ticket, it'll be cool." She wrapped her arm around Maya's waist and guided her towards the back door, still talking. "My apartment's kind of a rattrap, but it's got a roof and it doesn't leak, so that's all good. Plus, I've got this new kind of peanut butter that my boyfriend recommended to me. You'll love it. I'll make you PB&J with it. It's like a dream."
"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" Bud appeared in front of them like a fury, fists doubled, face purpled with rage.
Maya squeaked and ducked behind Joy, who flipped her hair and glared right back. "Home," she said. "What the fuck does it look like?"
"She's not going home," Bud growled, raising his fists. "She's staying right here and finishing her goddamn set. I don't give a fuck what you do, but she stays."
"She's coming home with me," Joy said, still perfectly calm. "You can't stop her. And if you lay one finger on her or me I'm going to kick you in the nuts and press charges for assault." She smiled, prettily. "You want to meet me in court, Bud? Should be fun."
"You fucking bitch," he snarled. "She fucking owes me six hundred dollars!'
"Six hundred..." Maya gasped, but Joy reached back and squeezed her hand.
"Try sixty," she said. "And since she barely even danced and you've got ten other women here, I don't really think that matters. But since you insist on being such an asshole about it..." She reached into her purse, counted out four twenties, and held them out to Bud, by the tips of her fingers. "Here. That's an extra twenty for being such a fuckhead. Now move."
Bud snatched them away from her and grudgingly stepped aside. Joy guided Maya out the door with a gentle hand on her back. "There you go, sweetie," she said, and turned around. "By the way, Bud?"
He turned, still glaring. "What the fuck do you want?"
She gave him that pretty smile again, and stuck up her middle finger. "I quit, asshole!"
He roared incoherently, and slammed the door shut.
Maya dared a glance up at Joy; she looked like a cat in cream. "That," she said, smugly, "was just as satisfying as I imagined. Come on, sweetie, let's head for the subway."
