Jean could barely feel anything when she pulled into Anthony's apartment complex. She pulled into her usual spot and saw Anthony's truck parked in his usual spot. Her heart started beating wildly in her chest at the sight of it. He was here. She would see him.

She wondered if any of these cars were Ametta's.

She wasn't thinking, only reacting. The world had thrown her to the ground, but she was going to have something to say about it.

Walking up to the outside door,  she jammed her finger into the buzzer. Not losing momentum, she paced back and forth, waiting for an answer. It seemed like an eternity. Then she heard his voice for the first time in weeks.

"Hello?"

She felt like she could kick down the door herself. She clenched her jaw and gritted her teeth before slamming her hand back down on the button to speak.

"Open the door."

She waited for the click that the door would make when Andy let her in, but it didn't come. She held down the buzzer again and didn't let go until she heard the door click.

She ripped open the door and marched down the hallway, her hands gripped into fists. Anthony was already in the hallway, clearly panicked, and walking in her direction to meet her.

"Jean, what are you-"

She marched past him, stopping him dead in his tracks, and walked in his apartment. He stood stunned and dazed for a moment before turning and following her in. As soon as he crossed the threshold, she slammed his door closed and locked it.

"Is she here?" Jean asked, turning towards Anthony and staring up into his eyes. He looked absolutely terrified of her and it only fueled her more.

"What?"

"Is Ametta here?" Jean said louder, enunciating each word.

Anthony looked at her like he was afraid to answer, like anything he said might set off a bomb. "No."

"Good," Jean breathed, stepping forward to grab his face and pull his lips down to hers. He pulled away in surprise, but she used the moment to rip off her shirt. While his desperate eyes looked at her, she pushed him backwards onto the couch so she could have more control. She started unbuttoning his shirt, moving in to kiss him again when he reached towards her hands to stop them. She felt him weaken and kiss her back, moving his hands from hers to take off his own shirt.

When she felt him stop resisting her and kiss her back, she felt alive for the first time in weeks. He wanted her again. Things made sense. Everything was going to be okay.

He breathed her name and she pushed him back down, climbing on top of him and kissing him roughly. He kissed her back, his hands moving all over her body. She started to unbutton his jeans, but he put his hands on her waist and quickly pushed her off of him.

"Jean, no," he gasped, holding her at arm's length and looking her in the eyes. Her eyes narrowed in confusion as he let go of her and picked up his shirt. She sat there, too stunned to move.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw him slip his own shirt back on before picking up hers and handing it to her. She couldn't move.

"Jean, you shouldn't be here," Anthony finally said weakly.

The heaviness of the rejection transformed into anger. She was the one who was always stopping him. Now when she was trying to give him what he always wanted, he was pushing her away. Nothing made sense.

"Why are you doing this?" she breathed, her eyes desperately looking up to meet his. When she saw him facing the other way, she stood so she could walk over and catch his gaze.

Anthony looked down and walked around her, grabbing her shirt and handing it to her again. She didn't make any motion to take it. She couldn't process what was going on.

"Please put on your shirt," he said, rolling it up and slipping it over her head. She mindlessly finished putting it back on as her brain searched for answers.

"You," she said, barely audible. "You don't want me anymore?"

Anthony looked at Jean with the same pained expression that Jasmine had. Was she such a miserable, sad person that everyone looked at her like a hopeless case? Was she really so insane?

Jean looked around Anthony's apartment, back to his eyes and then down at herself. She realized what she had done. She was mortified by texting him, and now...

"I should go," Jean whispered, her eyes slowly lowering from his and towards his door.
She started stepping towards it but he sighed and stepped in front of her, blocking the way.

"Jean, wait," he said. "Sit down. Let's talk."

She didn't want to talk and she didn't want to listen. Everything was clear. Two weeks ago, he wanted her, but now he didn't. She was too late. However, she found herself slowly obliging to his request and sitting down on the couch.

She couldn't feel anymore. It was too much. This was all too much.

"I should explain," Anthony said, nervously pressing his fingertips together as he lowered himself down on the coffee table across from Jean. She stared back at him. He was unrecognizable. Never in her years of knowing him had he acted nervous around her, but here they were, complete strangers after she had just completely humiliated herself.

"I feel," Anthony said slowly, obviously searching for the right words to say. It didn't matter. Nothing was going to change what was done. She knew it was over and the words wouldn't help anything. "I feel like we both kind of checked out of our relationship months ago."

He was speaking for her. It was false, she had never checked out, but she didn't care to correct him or argue. There was no point.

"Ametta and I, we just started texting. That's all it was. She was at Jon's bonfire that night you had to work. She texted me a question, and then I guess it just never stopped."

Jon's bonfire. That was in September. This had been going on that long.

"We were always in a group of people when we were together, but then we started just seeing each other alone. It was truly innocent though, we never did anything more than just talk."

Why was he defending himself as if he could justify what he did? She knew that they had done more than talk by this point. She kept waiting for Ametta to appear from around the corner and try to shake Jean's hand or something.

Anthony looked down at his hands. "It's just...it's Ametta. And you know how...you know."

Jean lowered her eyes and couldn't take them off of his hands. You know. She did know. She guess she had always known. She transformed Ametta into a joke in her mind so she could cope with the situation, but it was her. It had always been her.

He didn't speak for about thirty seconds and they sat in silence. She looked at him, but he wouldn't look up to meet her eyes.

"Are you done?" she said, her voice barely audible.

He bit his lip nervously. "Yeah."

Jean slowly gathered herself up and walked across his family room with much less confidence than when she came in. Anthony didn't move from where he was sitting. She closed the door on him, his apartment, and all of the dreams and plans she had made for herself.

***

Every morning upon waking up, Jean would forget. Then everything came flooding back to her, and the rest of the day was trying to distract herself enough to not be consumed by the fact that she was devastated.

She was stuck in the inner turmoil of feeling sorry for herself and then feeling guilty for feeling so depressed.
Lots of people had a lot bigger problems than their boyfriend dumping them. So why was it feeling like her life was ending? Was she really that weak?

Jean focused on her work and picked up as many shifts as possible. Even when Terry wasn't there, Jean found herself walking around the dining room and starting conversations with random guests. She honed in on their experiences and the stories they told. Some days, these were the only people Jean spoke to. She tried not to think about that too much, because she was afraid if she let that thought start to run wild, it might take her over the edge.

When Christmas day came, Jean couldn't get herself out of bed. There was nowhere to hide today; no one to distract herself with. No work, no stores. Everyone would be with their families. Now that the day was here, she wondered if she should have tried calling her parents. Spending the day with them might be even more miserable than spending it alone.

Her phone was off most of the day. She didn't want to risk seeing a photo of Ametta with Anthony's family over the internet. Even the thought of its possibly absolutely ruined her.

His mom has called her a couple weeks prior. She started crying on the phone and told Jean how sorry she was and how she thought her son was making a huge mistake. Since that day, she hadn't heard from any of his family again. Had they fallen in love with Ametta too?

Jean found herself hungry enough to make it to the kitchen when she heard the rattling of keys in the hallway. She froze, and heard the sound stop right outside her door. Brooke.

She ran to the door and opened it, finding Brooke carrying a Tupperware container and a large bag into her home. She had on jeans and a red sweater; dressed much more modest than usual.

"Not working today?" Jean asked.

Brooke looked back over her shoulder and smiled at Jean. "No, even though Christmas is a big night for us." She turned turned and set the bag down in the hallway. "Seniority."

"You're open on Christmas?" Jean asked, genuinely surprised. "I wouldn't have thought."

"Yeah, we get a bunch of lonely guys," Brooke said. "They pay more too."

Jean thought of that as sad, but somehow she understood the feeling.

Brooke looked at Jean's apartment door and then back at her. "What are you doing? You going somewhere, got people coming over?"

Jean turned back to look at her door. "No," she said, trying to think of an excuse to elaborate, but couldn't. "Yeah, no."

Brooke studied her face for a second. "We need to talk," she said, waving a finger between the two of them. "Go get some slippers and come drink some wine with me."

Jean was happy to accept the invitation. Brooke's apartment was nicely decorated, better than Jean had imagined. She definitely added lots of charm to the otherwise rundown unit. She had pallet wood signs hung on the walls that had your basic inspirational words and quotes. She had a dining room table with four chairs, something Jean was yet to invest in. She wondered if Brooke actually ate there, considering she lived alone.

Brooke changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt, tying her bleach blonde hair into a ponytail on top of her head. Jean had always known she was a little bit older, but right now, she looked young. Without her fake eyelashes and caked on makeup, she looked like new person.

Brooke poured some red wine into two wine glasses on her coffee table and handed it to Jean. "Merry Christmas," she said with a smile. "Sorry it isn't much."

"It's perfect," Jean said honestly, taking a sip of her wine. "Just what I needed."

Brooke held her wine glass against her chest. "What's been going on?"

Jean hasn't told anyone about the last time she visited Anthony, and to be honest, she was trying to erase the encounter from her memory herself. However, if anyone were to understand and not judge her, it was Brooke.

The wine helped her tell Brooke everything. She started with Amy's attitude at Thanksgiving and told her all the way up until Anthony physically pushing her away from him.

"So wait," Brooke said, pouring Jean another glass. "You're telling me this whole time this guy has been trying to take your clothes off against your will, but when you finally do, he puts puts them back on you?"

Jean laughed at the realization. "Yeah, actually."

Brooke widened her eyes as she took a sip, leaning back into the couch. "I thought I had men figured out, but I guess not." She looked over at Jean and looked her over. "So you're telling me that you're in your mid twenties and you've never had sex?"

"Technically once."

"What?"

Jean realized the words had come out of her mouth. Her face grew red and he scrambled to recover. She should have ate more before drinking, she was saying things she should not be saying . She couldn't talk about this, she never did.

"I just want it to be with one person, I want to be married," Jean said, hoping Brooke wasn't hung up on what she said before, but Brooke wasn't like that. She was very socially intelligent. She knew how to talk to people and from the look on her face, she gathered that Jean slipped up, so she left it alone.

"Okay," Brooke said, nodding in understanding. "You like religious or something?"

Jean took a deep breath and forced an uncomfortable laugh. "Everyone always asks me that. Surprisingly no."

"You just don't hear of it a lot anymore."

"Yeah," Jean said. "I was born in the wrong century."

"Nothing wrong with that," Brooke said. "If I could go back, I'd probably do things a bit different."

She didn't go on, and Jean didn't ask. Jean looked down at the table and felt slightly dizzy. It had been a long time since she drank.

"So, I've always wanted to ask," Jean said, looking up to Brooke with amusement in her eyes, trying to get as far away from any serious talk about her as possible. "The strip club."

Brooke tried to hide her smile and pointed back at Jean. "The politically correct term is gentlemen's club."

Jean raised up her hands is defense. "Sorry, the gentlemen's club." She had known that Brooke was a waitress at a place she had never heard of called "Carmello's." When she looked it up online, she was shocked to find out what it really was about.

"What do you want to know?" Brooke was grinning at this point.

Jean wasn't sure. "Do the men act like gentlemen?"

Brooke laughed. "Some, but most no." She leaned her head back and thought about it. "It's weird. We get the same regular guys back. Most are middle-aged. Lots of them have wives and families. Weekends you get a bit of a younger crowd; bachelor parties and all that."

Jean couldn't imagine. "Which do you prefer?"

Brooke shrugged. "It depends. Younger guys can go either way. You got your shy nervous ones who blush when you talk to them, and then you got your overly confident ones who are annoying as hell." She laughed. "We actually take bets every month on how many young guys 'make it rain' with their money. Last month was 14."

Jean could picture it too easily.

"But the regulars you get to know and you know each other by name. Most of them are nice guys. You get your nightly guy who pisses you off, but when they do that, you just act nicer to them to get more of their money. It's all just a game."

Jean wanted to ask how long she planned on doing it. Did they ever kick you out because you simply got too old? There had to be laws against that thing, but then again, the entire business seemed like it should be illegal.

"It's good money, isn't it?" Jean said.

Brooke stared at Jean for a long time. "I've been doing this for eight years and I almost have enough saved to buy a decent house in cash."

"No."

"You work at the coffee place?" Brooke said. "You'll make more in one night than you do in a week. Two if you dance."

Jean tried to let that thought settle in. She could have her entire month's rent covered in one night. She would never let herself though. She couldn't even imagine stepping in a place like that. Even if she could, she'd never have enough confidence.

"I could never," Jean said.

She shrugged her shoulders. "Regardless, you should come check it out sometime when I'm working. You might be surprised."

"Yeah, surprised at the naked women all around me."

Brooke looked at her and rolled her eyes sarcastically. "We're not full nude, you baby."

"I just couldn't do it. People would know I was terrified and laugh at me," Jean shuddered at the thought.

Brooke folded her hands looked at Jean with a smile that made her nervous. She had a feeling she had opened a door that should have never been opened.

"Next Thursday," Brooke said. "I work a short two hour shift. I'm covering for someone. You're coming with me."

"No."

Brooke pretended not to hear her. "You're going to have the greatest time."

Jean shook her head and set the wine glass down on the table. She had had enough for one night.
____________________________________

If people commented on this book, I'd imagine they'd say Weren't you talking about Jesus in chapter 3 and now you're talking about strippers? Boooooooooo u suck

I will admit it does feel slightly illegal to type "strip club" after putting this book in the spiritual category.

However, this is real life. Jesus didn't come for the people who had it all together. He came for everyone, strippers and all. He wants to have a relationship with you so desperately he was willing to die for it. Whether you already consider yourself a Christian, or you stumbled across this book because it's ranked #20 on "Cheatingboyfriends", I hope you keep reading this super dramatic rough draft of this story God placed on my heart.

HAVE A GREAT WEEKEND FRIENDS