The Dancer
by Lady Lucia*

Part 23

As expected, sleep didn’t come easily.

I tossed and turned for what felt like hours. Without my phone to verify the time, I had absolutely no idea how long it actually took to drift off. It made me wish I still had the analog clock that had been on my nightstand while I was growing up. Though I was both physically and mentally exhausted, that was juxtaposed with a combination of flashbacks and projections.

At some point, I ended up crashing. Thankfully, once I was out, I was out. My subconscious wasn’t rude in terms of recreating any of those memories; in fact, I didn’t dream at all. Next thing I knew, I was squinting against the morning sun and groaning in annoyance. Did I not close the blinds last night? For a moment, I was considering rolling over and using the covers to block the light and maybe sleep in a little bit more. Then, everything came rushing back to me.

“Shit,” I muttered to myself. Yep, now I was awake.

Everything came rushing back to me and I couldn’t help but blush bright red in the privacy of my room. For whatever reason, it had been easier to disassociate last night when one step led to the next, and so on. The pounding music, the party setting that was so different from the smaller gatherings I usually attended, the justifications that I had to do this to avoid that. It was something else entirely when I was in my bedroom, in my parents’ house, and my real life was clashing with the events of Autumn’s party in an overwhelming way.

Did I really do all that?! I had literally been dancing topless, and then stripped naked after putting on such an inappropriate show with Zoey. And . . .

Quickly sitting up and reaching for my phone, the sight of the empty charger reminded me that the device wasn’t here. It was back at Autumn’s house, along with a couple other important things.

I had my laptop, however. For the moment, social media was my main concern, and I could at least check a couple accounts from my desk. I tossed my covers aside and hopped out of bed, as if hurrying would do anything to affect the damage that would have been done for hours at this point. Though I was quick to cross the room and log in, I froze as soon as I opened the browser.

As long as I didn’t check, I could exist in denial for a little bit longer. Maybe it had been a nightmare. Maybe every single person at that party had kept their photos and videos to themselves. But I had to know. Taking a deep breath and steeling myself, I navigated to my profile page . . .

My heart immediately sunk as I saw just how many times I had been tagged. As if in a trance, I clicked through photo after photo, not fully processing the fact that it was me I was looking at. After all, everything had been from my own perspective the previous evening. This was the first time I was seeing myself performing like a stripper from the outside. Straddling some guy, while dancing provocatively in just my skirt and bra. Bending over as I eventually took that skirt off, with my ass almost completely on display, as my thong did very little in terms of modesty back there. Smirking on the table-stage while countless dollar bills were sticking out of my bra cups and underwear waistband.

After looking through dozens of mortifying photos, all of which I immediately reported and untagged myself from along the way, I noticed that I had yet to stumble across any nudes I had been dreading. The closest I came across so far was my make-out session with Zoey, where it was clear from the angle that I was fully topless, but my breasts were pressed against the other girl’s chest enough that only so much of me could be seen in the photo. Of course, the sapphic image of me and an eighteen year old was its own issue, but still. I doubted everyone at the party individually decided that they should draw the line at nudity, so I had to assume it was the advanced features of the site flagging the pics before they were uploaded for the world to see.

Okay, so it wasn’t quite as bad as I had feared. But it was still pretty bad.

My phone and laptop weren’t synced, so I couldn’t see if any of my friends had messaged me about the hundreds of slutty photos that had been posted. It had taken nearly thirty minutes to take my name off every picture and video, and there was no guarantee that was the end of it. Any number of Autumn’s guests could be sleeping in after partying hard and then . . .

Wait, what if I deleted my accounts? Simple in theory, yet more and more complicated as I thought it through. Many of my current classmates and dancer friends were early risers, so it’s not like I would be keeping this from a number of them. Plus I’d lose a lot of important contacts and groups, and would no longer have the ability to report anything. On the flip side, at least no one could tag me, and it would definitely mitigate future views. Not that anything could permanently fix the problem, as the internet is forever, not to mention texts and gossip and whatever else.

After a few minutes of deliberation, most of which was spent staring at a collection of images of me grinding Autumn, I decided that it was worth trying. I could always start a new profile from scratch and get most of what I had back. For now, I needed to focus on the bigger picture. Get off the grid in terms of my online presence, and deal with the rest later. It was ultimately better to keep as many people as possible from seeing the evidence of my promiscuous behavior last night, even if there was a somewhat reasonable explanation for how things snowballed.

I was tempted to take some time to pull some old photos and make notes of things I’d have to rejoin later, but every minute counted. It was already almost 9:30 AM and I was worried about all the people that might just be waking up after a late night. Deciding to just rip off the bandaid, I clicked over to the appropriate page and reluctantly confirmed that I wanted to delete everything.

Wincing as the site reverted to its neutral state, I tried to convince myself that I made the right call. One problem solved, kind of. Now I just had to find a way to Autumn’s house, as I was in a similar predicament as last night–no phone and no car. No, this would be easier. My note already informed my parents I had been given a ride, and it wouldn’t take much to convince one of them to drive me.

Before I could fully formulate that plan, and whether or not I wanted one of my parents to take me to the house where I did so many indecent acts, my mother was calling me from downstairs.

“Bella? Hey, Bella!” she said, “Someone’s here to see you.”


Part 24

“Happy New Year, Bella!”

It was Heather. Of course it was Heather. She had a friendly smile on her face as I met eyes with her on my way down the stairs. Putting on a show for my mother, who was also right there. Whatever this was, it wasn’t going to happen until it was just the two of us. But also, I recognized the threat without Heather having to give me a look; she could very easily pull out her phone and show my parents pictures or videos from last night if she felt so inclined.

So, playing along despite how my heartrate had definitely increased, I forced a smile and said, “Hey, Heather. Happy New Year.”

What had they talked about in the minute or two it took me to come downstairs? All I had told my mother about the previous evening was that I was going to be celebrating with a few of my friends from high school. In my defense, I hadn’t known it was going to be that much of a party. In retrospect, I should have thought about how Autumn was the type to go big. And also, I should have fucking stayed home.

“Can we talk in your room, Bella?” she asked. Turning to address my mother, she added, “Thanks again for the tip, Mrs. Ryan. I’ll tell my mom how it works out, and tell her to tell you!”

Charming as ever. My parents knew most of the girls on my former dance team, as well as the parents of those girls. They just were oblivious to most of the drama that went on, and certainly wouldn’t expect Heather to be here for any malicious reason. Even if showing up mid-morning on New Year’s Day was a bit out of character for a girl who I really wasn’t that close with.

After another minute or two of pleasantries, as I hadn’t yet greeted my mother or wished her the same sentiment I had begrudgingly expressed to Heather, I was finally able to politely turn down the parting offer for coffee and head back up to the second floor with Heather in tow.

I stepped aside upon entering my room so she could walk past me, and was quick to close the door behind me. “What do you want?” I flatly asked. My bedroom was a little cluttered, as I hadn’t been expecting company, though Heather wasn’t exactly someone I needed to impress. I knew being cold to her wouldn’t actually achieve much, as I was aware just how many cards she held, but I couldn’t help myself. At this point, I would cling to whatever pride and dignity I could muster, even if I was pretty much stripped of both last night.

“Rude.” Heather rolled her eyes and slid the drawstring bag off her shoulder. “For starters, I thought you might want everything you left at Autumn’s place.” She handed me the bag with a rather neutral expression.

I briefly considered the idea that opening it would give her some degree of satisfaction. However, I did want my stuff back. My phone in particular, plus my wallet had so many cards that would be a chore to replace. Heather wasn’t lying, either. The cheap bag had my possessions and only my possessions inside; phone, wallet, and keys. Right, my car keys. Those were important, too. I could feel a sigh of relief forming, and did my best to turn it into just a normal breath.

Heather went on, “Your car is down two blocks, by the way. You’re welcome.”

Wait, what? Why? “You drove my car?” I ask. It wasn’t that big of a deal. I occasionally lent out the sedan to friends at college. The difference was, Heather hadn’t been given permission.

“Like I said, you’re welcome. I didn’t know what your parents did or didn’t know, so I didn’t want to risk pulling into the driveway.”

“Yeah, but-” But she was right. That would have sparked any number of questions if they happened to see my car arriving in front of the house when I was up in my bedroom. Questions I wasn’t ready to answer, as I was determined to keep the details of last night as vague as possible while praying that the deletion of my social media accounts would keep my parents from seeing any of the damning posts that were out there.

“I also came to pay you for your services last night,” she continued. Reaching into her purse and pulling out a handful of bills she must have clipped together ahead of time, she said, “That’s $50 for the stripping job itself, and just under $100 for what you made on stage. Not bad, right?”

Excuse me? Autumn had offered $500, and not even ten times that amount would be worth the experience I had last night, as well as all the potential fallout. This was less than half of the original sum, which was all kinds of insulting. Putting aside my absolute humiliation, I did a good job before things started devolving just before midnight. Moved well to the music, figured out how to strip while dancing despite having never done that before. Though I wasn’t particularly proud of my decision to stay and put on a show, I knew I was worth more than what I could make doing menial work for minimum wage.

Heather easily read the look on my face. Since I hadn’t figured out a dignified way to tell her that I should have made more money for taking my clothes off, she said, “Agents get 90%, remember? That means I take $450 from your flat rate, and you can do the math for the rest. You can thank Zoey for collecting all that cash before stripping you, or it would have been a free-for-all. I tipped her well, don’t worry!”

As in, I made almost a thousand dollars from all those hands that stuffed bills into my bra and thong over the course of the evening. That surprising revelation was undercut by the fact that Heather was reaping all the rewards for my ordeal. It still wouldn’t have been worth it even if I was given every penny, but that didn’t change the fact that the girl before me just got a major payday for doing next to no work. “Thanks.” Taking the money from her, I bit my tongue about pretty much everything. I still didn’t want my professors or administrators to learn about any of this, which meant Heather’s leverage was just as effective as it had been before. Getting on her bad side didn’t feel like a good idea, regardless of whether she deserved to be yelled at. Also, my bedroom door wasn’t particularly soundproof.

“Oh, and one more thing,” she smiled, “I lined up another job for you.”