[ WP ] You were born with a large birthmark in the shape of a dragon . However , this is just a coincidence ; there is absolutely nothing magical about it , and you 're getting really tired of explaining this .

He ’ s been staring my way for the past couple of songs, and every time I ’ ve made eye contact with him, he ’ s smiled back. He has a small figure and has kept his hands on his lap since he got here; rubbing them together. The nervous type, the type whose self-esteem has been shot down since childhood. His face is glistening with a thin mist of sweat that causes him to look like a human glow stick as the light changes to the beat of the music. 
 
 I sway my hips to the last song in my set, experimenting with different rhythms—pursuing an air of delicate sensuality and precise perfection. 
 
 The next girl stands by the stairs, as I make it off the stage. Her hand is on the rail as she sips the drink in the other one. She looks through me as I pass her. I slip into my top and dress and glance around at our clientele. There are a couple of groups here tonight, but they are all busied up with girls at a 2:1 ratio making a loss of time and thus money a very real risk that I am not willing to take today. It ’ s the end of the month and rent will be due soon. 
 
 I glide over to the man with the fidgety hands. He looks awkward sitting alone with no drink in his hand—he obviously hasn ’ t been sitting at the club for very long or else someone would have approached him already and politely suggested he should buy himself or a lady a drink. This is no place to loiter. 
 
 I lean over, placing my hands on the arm rests of his chair. “ Hello, can I sit here? ” in a feminine voice, I gesture at his lap. 
 
 “ Um, sure, ” he unclasps his hands and places them on the arm rests. I sit down on his body thighs and place an arm around his neck. 
 
 “ Hi, I ’ m Sasha. What is your name? ” 
 
 “ Uh… Steve. ” He looks away, the layer of sweat on his face thickening. 
 
 “ Nice to meet you, Steve. I feel kind of thirsty. Would you like to buy me a drink? ” The first song is halfway done, but it seems I ’ m making good progress with this one. I try not to waste more than two or three songs per client because every one of those songs is a potential twenty dollars in my pocket. 
 
 After a couple of drinks, he asks me if I would like to go into a private room with him. I only expected a dance, really, but with this he ’ s making my night and he doesn ’ t even know it. If I can get him in there for two hours, rent will be paid and I ’ ll have money left over. 
 
 Once in the room, I resume my spot on his lap, ad try to find a resemblance of my ex-boyfriend in him—the shape of his eyes? His mouth? His mouth might work. 
 
 Another girl walks in with an overpriced bottle a champagne and I reach out to pour myself a glass as she walks out. His hand trails down my shoulder and onto my back. It stops abruptly at the middle of my back and he moves my hair aside. 
 
 “ What is this? It looks like… ” he gasps. 
 
 “ It ’ s nothing, ” I breath, pulling my shoulder back. I turn to him and force a smile. “ Sasha what is that on your back? ” he asks raising his voice. “ Would you like some champagne? You can have my glass. I ’ ll just pour myself another glass. ” I try to pull away but his fingers are digging into my shoulder now. “ I ’ ve seen that mark before! Don ’ t you know what it is? What it means? ” His hand rattles me. 
 
 “ Yes, I ’ ve heard of it. You ’ ve got the wrong person, Steve. It ’ s ok, you ’ re safe here with me. I don ’ t have any magical powers of any kind; I ’ m not the chosen one; I ’ m not in any way special, ” I try to look over my shoulder but that just causes him to squeeze my shoulder tighter. I cringe but feel that it would not be wise to express my pain to him. 
 
 “ Calm down, ” I add. His breath is shallow; I think he might be hyperventilating. 
 
 I turn back to the bottle of champagne and find that I can still reach it, so I start pouring him a glass. I feel a sharp pain on my shoulder and drop the bottle. It shatters into pieces of what looks like glitter on the floor. 
 
 “ Is everything alright over there? ” I hear the bouncers at the end of the hallway. They will not make it on time. 
 
 I fall on my back and see the flash of the blade flicker in the air a shade of pink, reflecting the lights in the hallway and my stomach is torn open. I always thought the bigger the wound, the more severe the pain. But I don ’ t feel anything as I raise my hands to shield my face; unable to speak from the shock, unable to call for help. I am deserted with Steve, whose real name I will never know. He looks confident now, sure of his decision and full of purpose. His hand is warm on my neck and as I close my eyes I can feel my chest being crushed.
