Page 55 of Protect Your Queen

“That’s a good girl.” Those words made me shudder in disgust.

I looked at him and let my mask drop. I allowed my disdain to show on my face. I sneered, sniffing the air as if he smelled bad. He didn’t. He smelled like he bathed in expensive cologne. But that didn’t matter. Helookedlike he smelled of sweat and stagnant water found on the floor of a humid, unsanitary locker room.

“I guess there’s no reason for me to keep our little secret then, is there?” I let my hand, still twirling my little curls, drop to my hips. I jutted out my chin to let him know the game was over. I was done playing that cute innocent role. The one that had lured him in so easily.

If my ploy five years ago had failed, I knew he would have stolen my virginity. He would have threatened, coerced, then forced his way on me. He did it with the last Miss World Idol. He had forced my other two competitors that year - the other two front runners - to pay him a toll. On their back, or on their knees, I didn’t know. I didn’t care, really.

All of them except me.

I placed a hand on my chest and smiled. “It will be such a relief to be able to finally let this secret out, don’t you think?”

Dryden turned red again, his lips pursing, reminding me of a puckering, wrinkled asshole. His fists clenched. His breaths came in shallow and ragged.

I pulled out my phone and turned it to the lock screen.

“Should I go find her?” It was the sweetest possible way to lay down the threat. “Your wife? I mean… I think she and I have so much to talk about.”

He sputtered like a clogged faucet.

“Nah, maybe I’ll just wait for now. I think you and I could use some time to think things over.” I turned off the phone and put it back in my purse, slinging it up my shoulder. “The album will be fine. I’m sure you can help with that.”

Before he could respond, I walked out of the room to the empty hall.

For the second time, I left him in a room alone, with his pants down. Metaphorically this time, but that was okay.

I paced the way down the hall, swaying and moving like I was on a catwalk. Unconcerned.Controlled.

I walked into the female restroom, and pushed each door, to see if any of them were locked. Confirming that the room was empty, I went into the furthest stall. I closed it behind me and leaned on the door, and let the tears fall. I covered my mouth, holding the sound in my throat. I wept and wiped the tears as they fell.

I wanted to collapse, but I knew that I couldn’t because the floor was filthy. It was a western-style bathroom, where the stalls were open at the top and bottom. Gross. But it was the closest thing to privacy that I would find.

For minutes, I gasped, trying to place my mask back on, the way you might try to put a lid on a pot full of boiling water. I tried to breathe with my diaphragm instead of my chest, but I couldn’t. My body didn’t want to cooperate.

I did regain my control, after a while. I had to. There was no other choice.

When I stepped out of the stall, I looked at my surroundings. I focused on the minute details of what was around me.

I noticed the gold-painted walls and the crown molding overhead. It was very Versailles. I walked to the sink and placed my hands on either side of the raised glass bowl. I ducked my head, staring at the drain and the darkness beneath. I lifted my head, slowly, and saw the woman in the mirror. She had red, empty eyes, and puffy cheeks.

She was a sad little doll. A little porcelain thing, hollow on the inside. A useless, empty, pathetic thing.

Couldn’t sing. Couldn’t walk. Couldn’t breathe correctly. Awkward, lonely, pathetic. A woman who had to blackmail her way to the top, and when she was there, she couldn’t handle the pressure. She couldn’t fulfill the early promise of a startling career.

“There you are!” The door behind me slammed open and closed.

I flinched, turning on the water, as if I was just washing my hands. I pumped soap into my palms, then smiled over my shoulder to see Mrs. Dryden approach. Just as I thought, she wore Louboutin’s and a black pencil skirt.

“Mrs. Dryden,” I said, as I rinsed my hands.

“Call me Stasia.” She placed a bejeweled hand on her hip. Strangely, she didn’t wear a wedding ring. Not on the left, or right hand.

She had a strong, proper, London accent. It wasn’t that different from my brother’s. “I heard your little song earlier. It’s not the right one for you.”

I blushed at the light criticism.

“But it was a good performance, and I think you need to pursue that direction.”

I froze, my hands under the water.

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