Mafiaa Obsessive Desire

With her head cradled in one hand, she teetered down the hallway, her legs dancing a tipsy tango beneath her weight, aiming for the bathroom.

Her heart raced with a rapid rhythm, echoing in her ears like a blaring fire alarm. The ground seemed to sway beneath her feet, rising and falling with each step she took.

This was what she got for agreeing to gulp down mixes of alcohol for a penny tip.

Leaning from wall to wall, she prayed that she didn’t throw up before reaching the bathroom.

The presence of the soft classical music playing in the hallway intensified the nauseating sensation rising within her.

It was amusing. Even after seven shots, she hadn’t passed out. And she could still make sense of her surroundings.

In a state of disarray, she stumbled into the bathroom and sought support by leaning against the closest door, trying to catch her breath.

A distaste filled her mouth at her reflection.

She loathed the cloth she wore. But she didn’t have much of a choice in it. She was a stripper and she needed to dress like one. She had too little clothes on every day even though she hated it. And her hatred for it had intensified because of the freezing weather.

As the noxious taste of vomit hit her tongue, her hand went over her mouth as she swiveled.

Using her leg to nudge open the nearest door, she hurried made her way to the closet, and disposed of the unsettling things in her stomach.

Numerous combination of alcohol was too much for her stomach. But she couldn’t let a thousand dollars pass her by.

The man promised to pay her a thousand dollars if she could down combos of alcohol without passing out.

June was willing. Now she suffered the consequences.

Her stomach was on fire. So was her throat.

She’d thought it was nothing. She and Lola got drunk on beer almost every day.

Oh boy, how wrong she was.

She soon realized that cheap beers weren’t tequila nor was it whiskey.

Whenever it came to money, she turned invincible.

There were things she believed she wouldn’t do until money was involved. Her boundaries vanished to never be seen again whenever money came into play.

Money never failed to bring out different versions of her.

The drunken June. The shameless June. The ass-kissing June. And forth.

After vomiting, she cleaned her mouth and face before settling unto the cold, tiled floor. Feeling utterly drained and fatigued, she could only gaze at the light fixture suspended above, causing her vision to blur and her neck to ache.