Can't Save Me

Madeline

I was still stomping my way through life when I got to the club later that night. Stupid men and their stupid self-sacrificing bullshit.

I'd heard the spiel a million times. "You're too young," "You're too pure," "You're too good for me." Blah, blah, fucking blah. I'd heard every variation that there could possibly be, but the reality is, every version boiled down to the same thing: that I, Madeline Baker, wasn't good enough.

In high school, it was because I was from the wrong side of the tracks. Because I wasn't rich, or athletically talented, or genius level smart. In college, or at least the couple of years I went, it was because I didn't rush any sororities or pick the right major. Now it was because of my job, because Grant could tell me until he was blue in the face that it was because of my age, but I knew what I felt that night and he knew how old I was then. And I knew he felt it too, no matter how intent he was on denying it.

I'd never planned on becoming a stripper. It wasn't like it had been my career goal since childhood or some shit. It's just what I needed to do, especially after my father died.

We were never rich. I'd grown up in a modest home with parents who worked one to two jobs all of my life. And things only worsened when my father started gambling the little money we did have. And then my mother got diagnosed with MS. And then my father gambled even the rent money. He swore one day it would pay off and he could hire the best doctors for Mom, but it never happened. And when he died he owed more than one person buttloads of money. With interest. And they were still intent on collecting, so I did what I had to do. I was still doing what I had to do, every fucking day. Whether I wanted to or not and fucking trust me, most days, it was not.

"You okay, girl?" one of the other dancers, Diamond, asked as I stomped my way into the locker room. Her real name was Denise or something like that, but I didn't make a real habit of getting to know the people around me. I didn't need them getting sucked into my bullshit. Yet another reason I was kicking myself for even taking a chance on Grant.

"I'm fine," I said, my voice sharp. "I'll be fine." I threw my duffle on the ground and practically flung my body into the stiff plastic chair in front of my dressing station. "Why are men so fucking stupid?"

Diamond laughed. "Girl, if I could answer that, I wouldn't need to be dancing here every night. Own my own damn club."

I scoffed in return. "Ain't that the truth."

"Care to share?" Diamond asked, sinking into the chair next to me. It's usual inhabitant, Mercy, was off tonight. A fact that I enjoyed. She was kind of the asshole of the roster honestly. Thought she was better than the rest of us even though we were working in the same dingy ass club, dancing for the same creeps.

I shook my head and picked at the manicure I should've had redone weeks ago. "It's stupid. I met this guy. We spent like... all night talking and I gave him my number and I thought... I thought he was genuinely into me, but then he never called and I bumped into him today and I kinda snapped at him..."

"You wouldn't be talking about that hulking Silver Fox from a couple months ago, would you?"

I snickered and looked up at her a bit sheepishly. "How'd you guess?"

"Girl, you were GUSHING at me that night. You barely speak at all so it was pretty easy to tell you were into him."

I nodded and went back to my nails. "Yeah, shame it was a one way street."

"I doubt that's true. Why would he spend all night at Marge's with you if he didn't feel even a bit of a tingle? Food ain't that good and Folgers makes a better cup of coffee."

I sighed and waved my head and shrugged at the same time. "I don't know. He said he does, but he thinks I'm too young."

"Well, some girls like a Daddy."