IN THE DARK🔞

CHAPT.02.
🌹A pinch of cinnamon with a vengeance.🌹

{Barbra Pov}

I walk away from the restaurant and toward the building. I park my scooter in the garage and head upstairs to my apartment. I pull out the card before going into my cozy house.
Since moving to university and my parents being in Alaska, I have lived alone. Only when I have free time do I talk to them. Therefore, I rarely call them. It is the reason we occasionally miss them.
I get a slice of bread from the kitchen, open a drawer, get the peanut butter container, and use a spoon to spread some of it on the bread. I just start eating after that without wasting any time.
I head to my room after eating, where I look in my closet for a suit for today. I look everywhere till I locate the best. I chose it, put it in my bag along with my heels, set the bag down on the bed, and begin taking off my clothes so I can get in the shower and wash my body.

After a few minutes, I just get dressed in a flowy pink dress and sneakers, grab my bag, and leave the building for the parking lot. I then get on my scooter and quickly ride over to the club.
I park my motorcycle when I get there, and I only enter the building from the back. There was music playing loudly. Customers are just starting to arrive at this point, and some of the females are already dancing. I walk inside the changing area and sit down on mine. There are numerous people on the website, including Pilar, Axia, Britney, Lola, and others whose names I can't recall.
I look at her and say, "Hey, Ax." I set my suitcase down on my lap. Pink lipstick is in her hand. What do you think?
After she has finished painting her lips, she softly pushes and opens them, nearly exhaling a k.iss. What's up? Her gaze is directed at me.
I examine my image in the mirror and think, "Very good, thanks for asking."

Axia is dressed in two pieces. Fuchsia and sequined bikini and strapless bra. She has double braids in her blonde hair that, thanks to the extensions, extend somewhat past her b*tt.
She stands up and turns to face me, saying, "See ya," before withdrawing.
I murmur, "Bye," and begin applying my makeup.
I started my work as an exotic dancer around three months ago. Since the boss loved my profile and the way she danced, it was simple for me to get in. Of course, I was chosen to work before I auditioned, just like Britney and Lola. My experience at an Arab dance academy since I was a little child makes dancing for me easy, which is a benefit in this position. My physique is vital to this career; I need to be in good physical form.
I am only responsible for using a metallic tube to dance on the dance floor, or pole dancing as some people refer to it. You must dance sensually while sporting very exposed clothing. Here, the goal is to come across as really creative and seductive.

We all have stage names and are, shall we say, different people. Clients of the club only recognize us by those names. Since they only came to pay to see us and we are only here to dance, it is completely banned for clients to ask the dancers for any personal information. Prostitution and leaving the club with a customer are both forbidden. We only dance there because it's a club, not to offer sexual services.
Some places allow it, but they keep it under wraps.
The only time clients should touch a female who is dancing is in private, and even then, only if the dancer wants it (yes, this includes playing; you must pay separately). Lap dances typically involve the dancer dancing on the customer. There are others, including the one at the table, others that strip off their clothes till they are completely n@ked, etc. I only handle dancing; I don't do anything else. I have performed several pole dance performances in private. The positive aspect? They pay quite well and even more if it is private. I continue to receive a lot of inquiries, but I refuse them. They usually desire s*x and groping.

I only go by my stage name, Black ngel, or "Black Angel," at night or while I'm working. Ricardo is the only one you are aware of regarding this. I keep it a secret. Many people view this work as being indecent, yet they are unaware that it is much like any other career, such as being a waitress or a nurse. We are cheerleaders, which makes a difference.
The reason for my moniker is that I constantly wear black clothing because that is my function. Depending on the attire, I might wear a mask or merely makeup. You must exercise creativity.
I change into a strapless model bra so that my bre@sts can be seen. It is made of a metallic fabric and is quite tightly fitted to me. The outfit was made out of a bikini and a short, pleated skirt made of the same material and color. I'll leave you with a pair of 10cm platform black stiletto heels that match my attire.
Wearing comfortable, high-quality clothing is essential since accidents can occur while dancing, including the breaking of clothing, among other things. My softly curled, dark brown hair is left loose. Only cherry red lips and smoky eyes were used for makeup this time; therefore, Good Girl by Carolina Herrera, which is particularly striking for this event, must not be missed.

The manager Katy says, "It's your turn," and I hear her.
I instantly turn to face her and nod. I'm moving forward.
I went straight to the track without wasting any time, and when I got there, all I could see were the people in front of me and the noise. While there are some women there, men predominantly attend. of various ages, shapes, sizes, ethnicities, and hues. Whether you're single, married, have kids or don't have kids. all kinds.
As is customary for such a location, the club is situated between light and darkness. So I immediately start dancing as soon as the song starts. By the time it was all through, the floor was covered in cash. Clients aren't supposed to come up to me and give me money; if they do, they're supposed to leave it on the ground. In order to pick them up, the man instantly walks past me.

When I arrives after work, I take off everything I'm wearing and replace it with the clothing I brought. Let's say there wasn't much money today since I had to beg for permission to accomplish what I had to do. The next day will be better.
I bid the girls farewell and leave the establishment, heading for the exit where my motorcycle stands. I then just hop on my scooter and ride to the restaurant.
I begin driving through Boston's deserted streets while the chill makes my skin crawl all over. I ought to have packed a coat.
The back door that leads directly to the kitchen area is where I parked the motorcycle when I first arrived instead of using the parking lot.
Aware, I turn to the sides and pull out the keys, inserting them into the padlock to release it. I open the lock three times, then use another key to open it later. Everything is entirely dark when I first arrive at the place after opening. I close the door behind me after turning on my phone's flashlight and proceed down the hall until I reach the kitchen, where the lights immediately switch on.

The watchman enters the kitchen at that precise moment. He is a taller man than me, maybe 55 years old, with gray eyes, and he is dressed in a pantsuit and a navy blue shirt.
I say, "Hello, Mr. Milo," and take out my phone to check the time. 01h03
Miss, good night.
Why didn't the truck arrive?
He looks at me and smiles, saying, "Not yet, Miss."
I cross my arms and gently nod. Does it not seem like we should wait in the parking lot?
"Follow me, sounds good."
He started moving while holding a torch, and this time I follow him by turning on my phone. We made our way across the enormous, absolutely dark table area. He had to walk for a number of hours, and Mr. Milo strolls slowly. But after that, we walked over to the parking lot. I can see that this place is completely lit as I depart. I simply waited for the dinner while standing still with my arms folded.
I have been cursing Travis Masson a lot in my head lately. I only hope they don't take my scooter, which is on the other side of the restaurant. They both force me to arrive at this hour in the morning, including the one I was abusing to get paid.
I can't do anything but wait with Mr. Milo. He hums Popeye the Sailor's theme song. We act in ways when we are bored. Considering it carefully, I wouldn't enjoy becoming a vigilante because it would involve too much alone.
I eventually gave up on standing and hurled myself on the ground, where I took a seat. To pass the time, I unlock my phone and begin playing Candy Crush. After that, it unloaded, and I just sat there staring at nothing as my eyes naturally closed.
A voice in the distance calls out "Miss" and taps me on the shoulder.
I hadn't noticed that I was nodding off. I suddenly stand up and ask the man, "Excuse me, what time is it?" I squint and stand up.

"Miss, it's 5:30 a.m.
I clutch my head when I open my eyes and say, "By God, I have to go."
- I go with him.
I go quickly toward the door as my blood begins to boil with wrath.
Have a good day, Mr. Milo. Thank you.
Thank you, Miss, and the same to you.
My scooter is still here, which makes me feel relieved, so I quickly get up and head home.
You're going to pay me, Travias Masson.
°°°
I practically didn't sleep all night; if I slept for two hours it was a lot. I only hear the alarm go off. I go for my phone and then switch it off. I feel exhausted, like though I've just finished a marathon.
Always eat breakfast before leaving for work, so I make some scrambled eggs and then I take a seat in my living room to eat while watching the news. My eyes weigh me down; the dark circles are noticeable like this being ten thousand kilometers from anyone. I quickly take a shower and put on my uniform, this time the black pants—which my boss was right to call my attention for not taking with me—, it's a rule and I broke it.

F*ck Jon, f*ck the truck, and f*ck Masson.
After hours of traffic, I park, down the steps, remove the helmet, and enter the establishment while holding my hair back and carrying my bag over my shoulder. Along the way, I run into Scarlett, who is just coming.
She looks at me with her green eyes and says, "Good morning, Barbra," with a little grin on her lips.
How did you wake up, Scarlett? Good morning.
Very good, and I can even spread my sloth to you.
—I don't believe so; I already possess it.
And it's true that I stayed up late last night talking to the food truck that never arrived and napping briefly with the Watchman and restaurant ghosts.
I wash my hands and go to the back looking for Ricardo since Naomi hasn't arrived yet and the others aren't reliable. It's kind of awkward for me to start a conversation with someone because they are gathered talking about what I know and I do not want to enter their conversation. I'm so sleepy that even talking makes me lazy.

I unlock the big iron door while still standing in front of it and proceed outside, where I find Ric enjoying one of his morning cigars.
I approach him and say, "Hello."
In an alley with nothing but garbage on the sides, he is leaning against the wall with one foot on the wall and the other on the ground.
I comment, "This place is disgusting," as I look about.
He looks at me while blowing smoke out of his nose.
"Hello, Barbri," he says, "Good morning," and brings the cigar back up to his lips.
Rude people and their possessions cause morbidities rather than creating works in the style of Leonardo da Vinci, as I can see when I look ahead and see the large pen*s drawn on the brick wall.
Wow, it's the biggest pen*s I've ever seen," I loosen my gaze, still looking, and say, "I'm alright."
Ricardo coughs after laughing and exhaling smoke.
I worryly stare at him and say, "Yes, you continue like this, you'll die soon, friend."
How was it yesterday at the Club? he says, taking another drag, "I can't leave it any more."
I exhale, "Goodness, there were a lot of people."
He throws out the last of her small cigarettes, "Yes, I suppose. How's my aunt?"
I turn to him and say, "Katy's good."
"I hadn't realized how thick it is," he exclaims, gazing at the pen*s sketched on the wall, as he confirms and then turns to face forward.
I chuckled loudly once again and said, "Come on, it's time to go in." I clung to his arm.
He smiles and says, "I mean it.
We entered, and then we simply began our regular work. However, I walk like a zombie from The Walking Dead; everything irritates me, and others can tell I'm not in the best of moods. Of course, this is not the reason I'll be rude to people nearby.
The boys just chat during lunch as I try to unwind.
Did you get any rest last night?Scarlett enquires.
Yes, I slept here last night along with the spirits of the site, I reply while still in a lying down position.
Ricardo exclaims, "Oh really, were you here last night?" with amazement in his voice.

-And…
-Because?
I snap, "Orders from the son of a b*tch Masson," and leave.
"Oh... Sorry, why are you?"Naomi enquires.
I grudgingly admit, "Because he hates me."
Ricardo, who is glancing at his phone, announces that the break is finished.
"Work hard, comrades.
I struggle to stand and follow them back into the kitchen. When I arrive, I see that Jon leaves the office and turns his attention to me right away.
I heard him repeat my last name, "Evans."
I move toward him slowly. I said, "Hello," trying to seem welcoming.
He apologizes, "I'm sorry for having made you come, the boss forgot to tell you that the truck canceled the delivery," and displays concern.
That!?
I mockingly smile: "Are you serious?" My voice comes off as serious.
Jon gives me a sly glare. "Yes, I'm sorry, you do apologise," I said.
He's really adorable, but right now I'm at battle with him.
I sound careless, "Don't worry, it's fine."
I gave him the middle finger in my head.
I get the keys out and give them to him.
I'm grateful, Barbra.
When I look back, my smile has been replaced with a complete frown: stup*d, idi0t, idi0t.
He forgot. Damn, he forgot! I can't handle it! I decide to go again to finish what I'm doing, but the problem is that the wrath I feel will give me a heart attack.
To tell you that I produced a cappuccino for the boss, I notice Rupert approach Esmé at that very moment. I instantly approached him and stopped next to him to observe them both.

I reply, politely, "I do."
"Okay, you take it to Mr. Masson," says Rupert, giving me a cool look.
I say with a smile, "Yes, sir. I'll take it."
I quickly begin brewing the cappuccino and add just a touch of cinnamon before heading towards the office where the boss is by himself. He gives me a brief smile before leaving for another area of the kitchen.
"Good morning, Miss Evans," he says courteously as I walk in, raising his blue gaze to meet mine.
I greet him with a grin and say, "Good morning, boss." I hand him the cappuccino that Mr. Rupert had asked me to bring after leaving it on his desk.
Thank you. He takes the cup while still glancing at me. "I'm sorry about last night.
Me too
"Oh! It's alright, so don't worry. Things that occur," I blink and smile a little.
He nods and takes a large gulp of his beverage.
I turn around and slowly start to walk out the door while mentally counting 1..2..3..4..5..>> "See you later, if you need anything I'll be in the kitchen."
He starts coughing nonstop, which I hear. She grinned evilly as she slowly exhaled. I put my shoes on and give him a somber gaze.
I scowl, "Are you all right, sir?"
His once-white complexion has become a shocking shade of crimson.
He coughs again, faintly saying, "Call an ambulance."
I almost turn around again and chuckle. I unlock the door and walk out of the office.
-Fast! Mr. Travis is in difficulty. To the surprise of everyone in the kitchen, I yelled in fear.
They all turned to face me. Jon is experiencing an allergic response, so I watch as he almost exits the building and enters the office. Make an ambulance call!
I promised to pay them, so I did. I merely exacted some small form of retaliation; I didn't k*ll him or anything. I also only applied a small amount of cinnamon to him, which would merely make his neck expand. However, nothing grave.
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Check my signature for chapter 2