Pete was a functioning member of society.

He paid his taxes. He paid his bills. He took care of his kids. He went to therapy. He took his medication. He washed the dishes. He did his job for weeks on end on the road. He gave money to the homeless guy on the street. Pete was a good, kind, functioning member of society.

Pete was stressed.

He had to figure out his taxes. He had to make sure he paid his bills. He had to take care of his kids. He had to make time for therapy. He had to go refill his medication. He was famous and was often out for weeks working himself to the bone at shows. He had to withdraw money from his checking account to help the homeless guy on the street. Pete was stressed out beyond belief.

He needed stress management. He needed stress management often. And you, you were his main antidote. His dirty little secret.

You worked at this underground club. It was called Hellfire. This club was one where men rented out time with you, usually famous men who didn't know how to manage themselves, and you made them feel worthless. You dominated them. They ate it up. And they paid you.

Pete was one of your common clients. He came in often. Whenever he could. And tonight, he walked into the room, adorned with all kinds of things you would fuck him up with. And he loved it. He stared at you, as you didn't even look at him, fixing your hair in the mirror. He sat on a small stool, mumbling softly.

"Hey."