Page 2 of Blue Velvet

Nothing.

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Ruby

Jealousy.I’m used to it.

The way that girl is glaring at me, the way she grinds her teeth as she pins me down through narrowed eyes. I’ve seen it all before.

She doesn’t even turn away like most people would when I catch her staring. She hates me, and she doesn’t care if I know it.

We have never met before or exchanged a single word, but this woman across the bar already thinks she knows everything about me. She thinks she knows enough to hate me, despite the apparent similarities existing between us.

We’re both overdressed for this dumpy and shady neighborhood bar, and we’re both sitting by ourselves at opposite ends of the counter, surrounded by greasy characters who make no effort to hide that they are undressing us with their eyes. Her make-up isn’t quite as extreme as mine, but she still stands out in her professional business suit with her shiny heels and well-coifed hairstyle.

At first glance, we could pass as twins, but we both know we’re nothing alike.

Unlike me, she doesn’t radiate sex. She’s missing the fake lashes, the fake tits, the fake presence that makes me irresistible to most men. And that’s exactly why she hates me.

I get it, I really do.

To be honest, I didn’t like myself all that much when I looked in the mirror this morning. These days, I’m nothing but a reflection of myself, a reflection of only a single side of me.

A side that I can’t come to terms with.

The side of me that is Ruby Red, a high-class escort. A call girl.

I’m paid to please men, filthy rich men, filthy kinky man. Men who not only possess the darkest and most unbridled desires, but also the wealth to pay generous amounts of money to fulfill each and every one of them. Very fucking generous amounts.

I started this job out of desperation, but continued it to fulfill a deep-seated need. Not mere financial need. Actual need. Real need, like the need for air to breathe, water to drink, food to eat, all that is necessary to survive.

I don’t know whenithappened, but there was a point when something changed.Ichanged.

Something broke inside of me.

And something else came to life.

And I don’t know which one of the two is the most real, because they feel equally dominant.

All I know is that I need this. Ineedto feel like I’m a possession, a fuck toy. I need to be used, punished; I need to feel the pain, the be rewarded, and see the voracious look on their faces when they take me, knowing they can do almost anything to me without taking my feelings into account.

That’s what I signed up for, and my heart races with excitement every time I’m about to meet a new client. I could never openly admit it to anyone, but I love what I’m doing.

But I hate it just as much, because I know that it’s wrong to love this. No healthy person would love this lifestyle, no normal person, no sane person.

Well, I guess I’m none of those.

I take another sip of my cheap bourbon and notice the girl across the bar doing the same. It’s starting to really fucking bother me that she’s still glaring at me. I wish I had the guts to just go over there and tell her off, tell hermystory, tell her that she should take a careful look in the mirror before judging others.

But would she even understand what I’m trying to tell her? She’s already formed her opinion of me. All she sees is a dumb blonde, with fake lashes, fake nails, fake tits, fakeeverything, lips painted a bright hooker red that matches my fur coat. I slip off the red fur coat. It’s neither stylish or classy, but I feel naked without it. It’s part of my identity, my signature, and it keeps me protected against the chill of those who judge me, like that cold girl sitting across from me.

Now the mask, it’s something different. The black fabric lying on the counter in front of me should be covering my face. It’s what the client requested because he doesn’t want to see my face before he grabs me.

I’m waiting for that to happen.

I’m waiting to be kidnapped.

It has to seem as real as possible.

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