The Serpent's Bargain
"My poor, sweet babygirl...carryin' the whole world on those skinny shoulders." Grams' voice is tender but grave, her eyes boring into mine with an intensity that belies her feeble state. "I need you to listen real close now..."
She takes a wheezing breath, keeping a grip on my hand as if to anchor herself. When she continues, there's a current of steel underneath the weariness.
"I did not sacrifice every last bite for you and your sister just so you could throw your life away chasin' after money from depraved, immoral men." Revulsion twists her withered features. "Objectifyin' yourself, sellin' your dignity piece by piece for their twisted pleasures? That ain't no life for my grandbaby!"
Shame burns hot inside me, but I force myself to hold Grams' stare. "But it's not prostitution! I'd just be actin' out fantasies, no actual sex."
"It's a game of sin and exploitation, sugar," she fires back without hesitation. "Them wealthy perverts get their sick kicks watchin' you prance around like fresh meat, buyin' the mirage of dominatin' a vulnerable young thing like some kind of dime-store smut novel."
Grams' words lance through me with searing truth. Swallowing hard, I try a different tack.
"Look at these numbers though! One month's pay and I could get your surgery, finally get you out of this drafty old dump..." My words die in my throat at the look of sheer heartbreak on her face.
"You think I want you sellin' away pieces of your sweet spirit so I can see a bit better?" She reaches out to cradle my face, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Oh no, darlin'... I'd rather this dusty roof keep caving in on my head before I let you sacrifice your self-worth for my comfort."
Her tone softens, but rings with unwavering resolve. "Your mama didn't die so her only little girl could be pimped out to a bunch of perverted fancy-men. I won't abide it, Zara. Not one lick."
Grams' words cut straight to my core, laying bare the harsh reality of what I've been contemplating. I crumple forward, overcome with shame and exhaustion as she gathers me into her bony arms. We stay locked like that for long moments, her hand gently stroking my hair like she did when I was little and the future still seemed full of promise.
"I'm so tired of grovelin' and scratchin', Grams," I finally choke out through ragged breaths. "All I want is to give you and Lacey a decent life away from this daily grind of never gettin' ahead. Just once, to not feel so damn helpless..."
"Shhhh now," she soothes, rocking me tenderly. "I know these hard roads, babygirl. Believe me, I've traveled plenty of wrong turns tryin' to get my family to higher ground."
Pulling back, she fixes me with her signature no-nonsense look that always cut straight through any childish tantrum or excuse.
"But markin' your soul to the night world ain't the path," Grams states with finality. "You're a Watson woman, honey - we come from folk with spines of steel under these tired bones."
I can't help but crack the smallest smile at her resolute words and quiet strength blazing behind those milky eyes.
Clasping my hands tightly, Grams leans in with reverent intensity. "You keep treadin' forward with love and grit in that strong spirit of yours, hear? I don't need surgeries or fancy houses, darlin'...just you stayin' true to the unbreakable core I raised you with."
Her weather-beaten thumb brushes across my cheek, banishing the last of my tears.
"That's a stronger remedy than any surgeon's scalpel." Grams smiles that radiant, infectious smile that's been my beacon through every storm. And just like always, it fills my heart with a renewed sense of perseverance and hope - that there has to be a better way.
As I gather her close, the serpent's bargain of Paradise lies discarded on the table behind us - a temptation I now have the strength to resist. For Grams' love and pride is the greatest fortune of all.
With her wisdom lighting the way, I make it through the following days with a fortified resolve. Still, part of me can't help replaying those staggering figures from the Paradise contract, my mind whirring with all the opportunities it could provide.
Lacey, my younger sister, remains blissfully oblivious to my inner turmoil. At sixteen, she's hellbent on becoming the next big pop star, constantly warbling the latest hit songs as she works on her choreography. Sometimes her carefree spirit is the only brightness in our dreary world.
Then there are the darker moments - like when her smarmy rich-kid boyfriend Brad swings by in his BMW to flaunt their lavish dinner dates and latest shopping splurges right in our dilapidated living room. Part of me wants to snatch Lacey up and whisk her away from his corruptive, materialistic influence.
But the real venom comes from Brad's haughty, judgmental stares directed my way as I frantically try straightening up the apartment amid my constant stream of minimum wage shifts.
"You're wasting your time with that deadbeat, babe," he sneers loudly for my obvious benefit. "Any real man would get his ass in gear and provide you with security and status instead of making you settle for this squalor."
I have to dig my nails into my palms to keep from unleashing the torrent of rage boiling inside me at his entitled, misogynistic remarks. Poverty may grind me down, but I will never allow Lacey's dreams and self-worth to become tainted by such toxicity.
These are the nights when the idea of a quick, lucrative way out of our circumstances taunts me most insistently. To not just slap that trust fund smirk off Brad's face, but to rise completely above his superficial world and all its hollow values.
Grams' gentle exhortations to stay true to my moral fiber and keep persevering are the only anchors restraining me from giving in. But her health continues deteriorating, making every day a silent battle against her emphysema and other mounting conditions.
There's a small part of me, getting harder to ignore, that wonders if pride should really stop me from securing Grams' comfort and medical care by any means necessary. Hasn't she suffered enough hardship and self-denial in her lifetime?
The internal war rages until one fateful morning, I wake to find Grams' bedside empty, the sheets disturbingly still and undisturbed. A dreaded, leaden feeling sinks in my gut as I pull on my robe and slippers to investigate.
"Grams?" I call out tentatively, making my way toward the living room. "Where you at, old lady?"
A strangled cry escapes my lips when I finally locate her - collapsed in a heap by the sofa, her spindly frame wracked by pained wheezes and gasps for air. My heart nearly stops at the sight of her clawing helplessly at her throat, eyes bugging with sheer panic.
"Oh God...no, no, no! Grams, just hang on!" I'm at her side in an instant, cradling her trembling body as the full weight of her distress seizes me.
Grams' sunken eyes find mine, shining with desperation and fear usually so foreign to her unshakable persona. Her bony fingers grasp at my arm with surprising strength, a silent plea.
Hysteria instantly grips me as I clutch her tighter, shouting futilely for Lacey who's at school. There's no landline to call emergency, my cell phone still charging across the apartment.
I'm utterly helpless watching Grams struggle and suffer, her condition deteriorating before my very eyes. At this rate, she could be gone before any ambulance arrives, just like that - everything snuffed out with one cruel gasp.
The gravity of that possibility detonates inside me with seismic force. This pillar of strength who has sacrificed everything, the one constant source of light leading me from the abyss...slipping away in anguish and pain because I couldn't provide for her most basic of needs.
White-hot anguish rips through me as the depths of my failure gape wide in this terrifying moment. All my strife and sacrifice, enduring every hardship with Grams' encouragement to stay resolute...and for what?
All my strife and sacrifice, enduring every hardship with Grams' encouragement to stay resolute...and for what? Her dying wish goes unfulfilled while I naively clung to some warped sense of pride?
Something snaps inside me then, a horrible clarity descending like a suffocating haze. I was a damn fool, letting some antiquated moral code convince me I was too good for the only viable solution right in front of me.
The fire of determination rekindles in my soul, burning away the webs of moral constraint and doubt that held me back from Paradise's bargain. With a churning new resolve, I gently lay Grams back and scramble for my phone.
"Just hang on, Grams...you hear me?" I clutch her limp hand fiercely as I dial with shaking fingers. "You didn't survive all those backbreaking years for it to end like this. I'm calling a bus, but I swear on my life, I will do whatever twisted thing it takes to take care of you properly from now on!"
The rasp of sirens splitting the air outside spurs me on as the line connects. "Nine-one-one emergency, what is your situation?"
"My grandmother...she can't breathe!" I shout, tightening my grip on Grams' hand as her eyes roll back in her skull. "Please, you have to hurry!"
In that endless handful of minutes waiting for the paramedics' arrival, my mind is made up with crystalline certainty. The clock is ticking - Grams is running out of time, her life force slipping away with every arduous gasp.
No more excuses, no more dithering about corrupting my soul. My integrity, my self-worth...they mean jack shit if it all amounts to watching her waste away in destitution and agony.
As they finally burst through the door, swarming over Grams' prone form with efficient shouts and practiced movements, I can only look on with a strange sort of calm acceptance. Whatever price must be paid to ensure she gets every resource needed for recovery, I'll gladly make that sacrifice now.
Even if it means surrendering to Julian and all the debasing exhibitions of Paradise...so be it. At least this time, there's meaning to my debasement beyond abject poverty.
Grams is zipped into a gurney and whisked away, and I'm left alone in our shabby dwelling, the weight of my decision ringing through the empty silence. My tired gaze lands on Julian's contract sitting ominously on the kitchen table, still awaiting my signature to seal the devil's bargain.
But I don't hesitate.
With a shaky inhalation, I snatch up the pen and etch my name in a decisive flourish, scrawling away the last remnants of my freedom. The instant it's done, it's as if an oppressive shroud lifts from my soul, replaced by a reckless sense of purpose and long-overdue determination.
As the clock chimes eight, I methodically gather the paperwork and head out to meet my fate at Paradise, the words of that infernal contract already branded into my memory:
I hereby agree to give myself over utterly and unconditionally to Julian Savarenkov, Owner and Proprietor of the Paradise Gentlemen's Club...