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“Anything,” she says.

“I’d like to dance tonight.”

She raises her eyebrows. “You want to dance?”

“I know there’s a vetting process for the dancers, but I think I’d be good at it,” I say. “I don’t have the talent to be a stripper, but I’m flexible from years of ice-skating. I know how to move.”

“Are you sure?” Mrs. Hendricks asks, looking concerned. “If you don’t want to go home, I can arrange a room for you and your friends. I’ll send up a few bottles of champagne, and you can order room service. You can have a fun girls’ night.”

It’s sweet of her to offer, but I’ve made up my mind.

I’m not going to let another man make me live in fear and sorrow. I’m done hiding and making myself small so I won’t bother anyone.

“I want to dance,” I say. “I think it will make me feel a lot better.”

She watches me for a moment and then sighs.

“I guess dance is a form of self-expression for some,” she says.

Only it’s not about self-expression.

It’s about changing my narrative.

I’ve been the victim for too long. I let my life be controlled by the whims of the men in my life. I don’t want that for myself because it’s killing me slowly.

I can’t keep living that way.

We walk back inside the club. My friends are busy with their own stuff tonight, so I’m on my own as I get ready. I change out of the uniform and slip into a shimmery dark blue dress. It’s a tiny little backless thing that barely covers my ass. I pair it with black stilettos.

Before heading out, I look at myself in the mirror.

I barely recognize what I see. There’s a lifelessness in my eyes that should be alarming. But things have to die to be born again. It’s just how the world works.

Mrs. Hendricks walks into the dressing room.

“You look stunning, Emma,” she says, looking at my reflection in the mirror. “But if you change your mind?—”

“I won’t,” I say.

She must see the resolution in my eyes because she turns toward one of the makeup artists.

“Add more shimmer on her chest,” she says. “I want her shining like a star.”

They add the finishing touches before I’m taken to the dance floor.

The club has different types of dancers. There are the performers like the aerial dancers and the strippers, and then there are the entertainers. These girls are on the dance floor for the men’s enjoyment.

As I walk toward the crowd, I get that familiar feeling again. I’m going to be a part of this, but I don’t belong here.

I don’t know how I ended up here, but I chose this for myself.

So I’m going to embrace it.

I enter the roped-off section in front of the DJ booth. There are girls in various stages of undress dancing to the music. It’s some techno song with a trance-like rhythm.

The song itself is fast paced, but I dance slow.

I close my eyes and sway my hips slowly. The fabric of the dress brushes against my upper thighs, giving the men a glimpse of my panties with every little shake of my hips. A thrill runs down my spine.