Chapter 6

Millie

I close the shop early, making a little paper sign that says “CLOSED DUE TO BURST PIPE”. I know it isn’t the most believable excuse ever, especially not to the customers I’d had before Viktor made them

leave.

Damn it. Those people might never come back now.

My drive home is clouded by a never-ending replay of the day’s events, particularly what happened when Viktor decided to take my body as parlay for cheaper rent. If he’s a man of his word, I’ll consider this an unfortunate lesson in the dynamics of patriarchal business practices.

If I manage to get the rent reduced by putting myself and my body on the line like that, then I’ve achieved exactly what I needed to. It isn’t the noblest way of getting what you want, surely, but there’s a reason that women often resort to it: men will always pay. The easiest way to get what you want from a man is to offer easy pussy.

Still, I feel stupid for doing it, and I certainly didn’t have to. All he asked for was a spanking, and I gave that to him. I’m the one who egged him on for more, and I’m the one who allowed it to happen.

My head spins at home as I get ready for bed. He called me a cheap slut after he had his way. Maybe that’s all I am. I can’t seem to get away from my past, and I feel terrible about it, collapsing onto my bed and groaning into the sheets at my carelessness.

The next morning, my shop has been open hardly five minutes before Barb enters, her expression confused but glowing at the same time.

“How did you manage that?” she exclaims, slamming down a piece of printer paper onto my counter in front of me.

Puzzled at first, I read the paper and realize that it’s a printout of an email from Viktor that was forwarded to everybody who rents from this building.

Perhaps I would have caught it sooner if I had the presence of mind to check my own email. Unfortunately, my head has been filled with the deep grumble of Viktor’s voice uttering cruel words all morning. I haven’t been able to think about anything else.

I take the paper from Barb to read it. Within the text, Viktor explains that he’s lowering the rent back down to the price it was originally when most of us moved in a few years ago. This is even better than I’d expected. I thought he would just bump it down a hundred dollars or so.

“I must have really scared him off!” I reply, blushing hot enough to fry an egg on my cheeks. I knew the real reason, and it had nothing to do with fear. I glance back at the counter that he fucked me on, guilt clinging to my skin like hot tar.

“Whatever you did, keep doing it,” Barb says with a laugh, turning away and waving the paper over her head gleefully.

I’d rather not.

Throughout the rest of the morning, several more shop owners come down to thank me for “whatever it was” that I did to convince Viktor to lower the rent. It gets harder and harder for me to conceal my embarrassment over what happened, but thankfully I don’t feel the need to explain myself to any of them. Eventually, they will all have said their piece, and I’ll go back to being another nobody that they run a business next to.

After a long day of assisting customers, I’m interrupted by a familiar male voice that shakes me to my core. It isn’t Viktor, though I’d be happy to see him under these circumstances. Honestly, I’d rather see anyone than Erik.

“Hey Millie, this is a cute place you’ve got here,” he says, his words laced with ill intent. I can see the look in his eyes that he always shot in my direction when I worked for him at the club, leering at me from across the room and counting the minutes before I came down from the stage.

Erik was the quintessential creep, always preying on the smaller women in the most transparent ways possible. He was never smart enough to try and elicit empathy from us in order to access our bodies. He was very oldfashioned that way: intimidation tactics, negging, and harassing were his favorite games.

Unfortunately, his tactics worked on more women than I would have expected it to, which depleted my faith in humanity significantly. Given the environment we were in, I wouldn’t be surprised if none of those girls had ever had a positive male influence in their lives. The fact that they would swoon at Erik’s drunken antagonistic rants was evidence of that.

It still makes me mad.

“Erik, I’m not doing this with you. Please leave,” I reply, using my most unwavering, authoritative voice.

Erik has never heard me speak to him in such a way, and he’s immediately repulsed that I would dare to stand up to him. “I just wanted to come by and say hi. Why are you being such a bitch?” he replies, his insultingly false disposition of casual friendship falling to the wayside.

“I don’t want to say hi to you. I want you to leave,” I respond, pointing out the door and raising my voice slightly. If he won’t listen to me, the least I can do is make him uncomfortable by drawing attention to how much of an ass he’s being.

“That’s no way to talk to someone who pulled you out of the streets. Did you already forget where you came from?” he sneers.

“Do you want something? How can I get you to go away?” I ask impatiently as a line forms behind him.

“I want you to come back to the club. You don’t have to close your shop, just come back for a few nights a week. You’re not even open that late. I checked,” he replies, congratulating himself for having the presence of mind to check my hours before he asks me to work until three in the morning.

“Absolutely not. Now get the fuck out of my store before I call the cops, Erik,” I growl, allowing myself to express my discontent in a way that will continue to draw negative attention to him.

“Jesus, fine. Fuck you, Millie,” he sulks as he walks out, attempting to slam the gravity doors on his way out and failing spectacularly.

After I’ve regained my composure, I continue to serve customers until the line has dissipated. When I finally have a moment to myself, I think back on my time at the club where I worked with Erik, long before I was capable of standing up to him.

He was an absolute monster to work for. He was pushy, he skimmed off the dancer’s tips even though he made us pay him for our stage space, and there were nights when he would do too much coke and throw a glass at one of us for taking a smoke break without his express permission.

One time, I had been coming off the stage topless after one of my dances, and he drunkenly decided he was going to try and come onto me. When I denied his advances, he shoved me into the wall behind me, and one of the other dancers saw him and called the police. Even though I know it could have been so much worse, I can’t help but feel like the way he treated me has pervaded my self-esteem for years since I worked there.

To be honest, seeing Erik again makes me think about the huge contrast between him and Viktor. With Viktor, I naturally submitted to him, and even though he was very aggressive, I never felt unsafe, and I reveled in the way he insulted and humiliated me, as fucked up as that is.

With Erik, so little as a glance in my direction felt like an attack. I’d rather have Viktor calling me a worthless slut a million times over than deal with Erik ever again.