8

                                    

                                          
JOSI
She has to come up with another lie to tell Bradley. This will be one of the many she's fed him since Idris became a variable. It has brought upon a substantial load of guilt. She can't look him much in the eye any longer. Can't spend much time with him and doesn't miss the sadness in his eyes when she lays out all her excuses.
This time, Josi tells him she's handling an emergency with Mia and Clarissa. She tells him she won't be long and that she'll be back in time for movie night. Bradley makes her promise she won't miss the date, because it's not the first time she has. She smiles and tells him she won't, then kisses him goodbye and heads for the devil that is Idris Verdonni. 
That's how the story has developed. It has festered into a life full of lies, a life that has grown out of Josi's own two hands. But she will swallow down the misery, because filing a complaint with Idris will only add more fuel to the flames. He will treat her relationship issues like an episode off a reality TV show and will add more to the script, as it will better the rating on his part.
Josi's destination this time is a strip club. She's been given another such outfit for the outing; a mini dress paired with heels the color of blood. Perfect for the sensual setting. She has practically already become one of his women, though nothing intimate has happened between them. He doesn't look to her for pleasure, which Josi is at least thankful for. But one right does not make up for the list of wrongdoings. 
Like the rest of the times Idris has requested her presence, Josi has no clue what's in store for her. She could wind up on stage for all she knows. Or worse, he could order her to strip. He could have her follow some stranger home as a sexual favor. He could drug her up, have her sold to some sick psychopath who divulges in sex trafficking. He could kidnap and lock her up in a cage until she's been lost and left behind in history—
Josi takes a deep breath in. She fights to regain control, but what amount of control does she truly have left over herself? 
As soon as the door opens, she's blasted by heat and the rhythmical base of music. Purple lights, fog, strip poles. Lust. It's all about lust. Even the alcohol compiled with cigarettes have been fine tuned to amplify said lust. 
True to his character, Idris is by the center stage where most, if not all, of the attention seems to be. That's where the best of the performers are, right there in front of Idris, surrounded by men with desires ready to be fulfilled. Greed must be a prominent partner of his, because he has with him another stripper who dances away on his lap, providing him more entertainment in addition to the one on stage. You can't be ordinary in a world as flashy as his. He's not made for modesty.
And even then, he participates in a conversation with some colleague of his. "If I have to look at Maranzo's face one more time, I swear I'm going to vomit."
The colleague responds with a boisterous laugh, which Josi suspects is a form of sucking up than it is an act of genuinity.
Then Idris catches sight of Josi. He doesn't just look, but inspects her, as though she were an addition to his toy collection—and his collection should all be made to look good. This very toy meets his expectations. He smiles at Josi.
"You look good."
Josi dismisses the remark. It is no compliment, but a patronizing insult. More demeaning than his wounding flattery, however, is the stare his colleague gives her. He even smiles—a thin line on his wrinkles lips that sends chills down her spine. Josi grimaces. She wants no more time spent in his presence. But Idris has differing ideas. 
"Sit." He tells her. Except the seat he points to isn't a cushioned chair, but his colleague's lap.
Josi shoots him a crude gaze mixed with pleading, which she's sure he noticed, because all he does is smile. The same mocking smile. The one he gives her to assert his power. To let her know who truly is in charge.