I'm waiting for you

5.

Two weeks have passed since Sarah received the mysterious birthday card signed "M". The first few days were particularly harrowing. Every dark corner, every alley, seemed to hide a predator and although she had no further contact with anyone, strange things were still happening. Flowers continued to arrive daily on her doorstep, each time with a few words from her elusive admirer. She even ended up investing in a small taser which she keeps hidden in her coat pocket, haunted by the feeling of being constantly followed. And to make things worse, her mysterious faintness that tints her vision red does not cease.

The night promises to be gloomy, just like the heavy, grey clouds she has seen rolling in through her window all day. She slowly gets ready, it's almost time for work, and even though an obsessive madman seems to be stalking her, she can't afford to miss a single day of work. Too much depends on it. As she opens her door, a new bouquet lies there. Jasmine this time. All the flowers that had landed on her doorstep had similar meanings. Love, passion, desire, expectation, voluptuousness, temptation... A floral language she had learned from her mother when she was a child and helped her in her shop. At first she didn't pay much attention, but the recurrence of the varieties she chose eventually made her understand the message. Whoever this "M" is, his intention is clear. He wants her. How can you want someone you don't know? The very idea is incomprehensible to her. She grabs the bouquet with a sigh, doesn't even bother to read the card, then slips it into her bag absentmindedly. Once downstairs, she throws the flowers in the first bin she comes across, then lets the night engulf her as she heads for the cabaret.

Tonight's performance goes off without a hitch, and as she makes her way into the room to share a few drinks with the patrons, Bonne mère stops her and points to one of the private rooms.

"You're lucky tonight. You've got a client and a good one at that. He's hot and he pays well."

The young woman mumbles, then grabs the wad of cash she hands her. Indeed, there's enough to book a whole night with any of the girls in the bar who grant more than a dance. She raises a wary eyebrow.

"He knows the rules, right? No touching, no extra, just a dance.

- What kind of establishment do you think I run?"

The owner shrugs, then snaps her fingers. An ebony-skinned behemoth, nearly six feet tall, with a shiny gold ring in his ear, steps forward quickly.

"Tommy will be nearby just in case. If you have a problem, call and he'll come and get him out."

Sarah nods, then slips the wad into her hat. The dim lights and drapes of the room cast her client's face in shadow. She is unable to tell what he looks like, although his broad shoulders and long legs seem to confirm the praise he has received. She places her top hat on a chair, then walks over to the sound system. Soon a languid rhythm fills the room. She climbs onto the small podium, then grabs the pole dance bar on it. Her body sways to the notes, her high heels clicking on the floor. She feels as if she can hear the client's breathing quickening, but perhaps it's her imagination. Then she turns her back to him, slides her little dress to the floor, revealing her carefully chosen lingerie. No sooner had the fabric touched the floor than she was slammed against the bar, her cheekbone hitting the cold metal hard.

Stunned, she feels the man's powerful breath on her neck, his hands beginning to explore her. Her heart speeds up as she comes to her senses. She fills her lungs, lets out a piercing scream as she struggles. She finally crushes the man's foot with her heel and he releases her. She turns around. She then sees the face of a man in his forties whom she has seen a few times before at the shows. Without saying a word, he slaps her so hard that she ends up on the floor. A second later, Tommy bursts into the room and rushes at him. Sarah reaches out with a trembling hand for her dress, which lies within reach, then covers herself awkwardly, the taste of blood on her tongue. Grunts and blows echo. Soon the stranger is subdued and removed. Without really knowing how, she soon finds herself in Bonne mère's office with a cloth full of ice cream plastered to her face and her split lip disinfected.

"I'm sorry, Sarah, you know how it is. No matter how many times you warn them, there's always one who tries to cross the line. I've called you a taxi. It's waiting downstairs. Go home, take a few days off, until your face heals, and then come back to work. Don't worry about the money, you'll lose the extras, but you'll still get paid for the days you were away. After all, it's an occupational injury.

The knot in the young woman's chest loosens a little. Sure, the extras are not to be ignored, but at least she doesn't lose everything. You can say what you want about this cabaret and what the girls do there, but at least the owner treats them well. She relaxes, stands up carefully.

"Thank you, Good Mother, I'll be going now."

Exhausted, she heads for the exit, determined not to set foot outside for the next few days. Never before has such an incident happened to her. Now, only at home does she feel relatively safe. If only the bouquets and messages would stop arriving on her doorstep...