Doubt

The air in the basement doorway almost crackles, as if it refuses to absorb the heat and silence of the floor above. I look around one last time before taking the first step out, but my gaze gets stuck on the wall where the black, oversized penises are lined up like trophies. I shake my head, as if I need to send some warmth into my brain. What the hell am I even doing here? I'm a normal German girl who would rather be playing soccer on a lawn, not in a shop full of weird things where men start to groan when they put their hand on my hip.

Brad gives me the money. A wordless transaction. He counts the bills into my palm, 40 dollars an hour plus that bonus. The sum is so large I can't even comprehend it. Normally in Germany, I don't even make half of that for a whole day. But as I press the wads into my hand, they feel flat and empty. It's the money for this... this adventure. For this evening, in which I felt like a character from a comic, only there to be loved and looked at.

"You have to give me your number," he says, taking his phone from his pocket. He seems excited, almost as if he's the one who made a new discovery. I type in my number, my fingers trembling a bit because I feel uncomfortable giving my personal number to such a stranger. He saves it and winks. "I'll be happy to see you again next week. I have a few more ideas for costumes. Maybe something that shows... even more of your athletic side?"

I look at him. More of my athletic side. I think of the Tinkerbell costume, which was so tight I could barely breathe. I think of the men who passed by me like wolves around a lamb. "Brad, I... I don't know," I say quietly. "That was an experience. But I need a break. I need to get back to myself a bit first."

I let the heavy shop door fall shut behind me. The loud click echoes in the silence of the empty shop and is like an endpoint for the evening. My body is screaming for rest. Every muscle is tense, from my toes in the inhuman sandals to my jaws, which I **** to smile for hours. The stairs up to the apartment feel like Mount Everest. Every step tugs at the energy I no longer have.

The side entrance is just a few steps from the shop. I push the door open and climb the few steps up into the hallway. The apartment door is unlocked. I enter and lock it, the lock falling from my shoulders like a heavy burden. Quiet. Finally, just silence.

The darkness of the small apartment greets me. The thick curtains Jack mentioned do their part. Only a narrow strip of light from the lantern outside falls through the gap. I turn on the light in the hallway. The pink walls greet me in the cold light of the lightbulb. Not my taste at all, but at this moment, I don't care. It's a room. My room.

I let my handbag fall. The 240 dollars an hour and the bonus from Brad feel foreign in my wallet, almost dirty. I take off the sandals and a groan escapes me as my feet touch the cold floor. I lean against the doorframe and look into the apartment. The gaming setup gleams in the dark, the ring light next to the bed looks like an eye watching me.

Without taking off my clothes, I just fall onto the huge bed. The mattress catches me, soft and deep. I stare at the ceiling. My head is a playground. The images of the evening chase each other. The greedy looks. The hands on my hip. Brad, counting the money. The basement. The wall with the toys. And then... the dark-skinned man. His triumphant grin. The way his eyes were on me as I had to bend over. The heat that rose in my stomach.

A wave of frustration washes over me. Is this what I want? This isn't me. I'm Jette. Soccer player. The shy girl from the north. I want to score goals, not... this. Whatever this was. I hate the feeling of having been exhibited. An object. A lure. The anger at Brad is physical, a bitter taste in my mouth. He used me. He exploited my innocence, my shyness.

But then... there's this other feeling. This small, secret tingling that bores through the shame and the anger. It's shameful. It's wrong. But it's there. When I bent over and my dress rode up... there was that moment. I was powerless. I knew what was happening, and I didn't stop it. And a tiny, treacherous part of me enjoyed it. Losing control. Being the center of such an intense, such forbidden attention. It's so different from the attention on the soccer field. There I am strong. There I am the hunter. There I was the prey. And my body reacted to it.

I roll onto my side, pulling my knees to my chest. The sequins of my costume rustle softly. I am so confused. Am I perverse? Am I broken? Why does the memory of that moment of humiliation feel so... electrifying at the same time?

My gaze wanders to the door of the walk-in closet. I know what's hanging in there. The last tenant's costumes. Vinyl and leather. Almost nothing. I wonder what it would feel like to wear something like that. Not as a sweet Tinkerbell, but as... something else. Something stronger. Something that gives orders, instead of receiving them.

The thoughts swirl through my head until they dissolve into a restless, shallow sleep. Dreams of bright light, of hands grabbing me, of a heavy door opening, and of a deep, rumbling laugh echoing through the darkness.