For My Damn Heels

Episode 1

...BELEN CLINT...

I had the fortune, or perhaps misfortune, of growing up in an orphanage. It all depends on the perspective of each individual.

Parents were not a part of my life. The owner of this place told me I was found at the entrance wrapped in an old blanket, but nobody knows who left me here or where I come from.

I never had the luck of being adopted, and therefore I never had parents. The woman who became a mother to me was the one who gave me her last name before I reached legal adulthood, but she was already sick and died shortly thereafter.

With the money I received, I paid three months' rent at a small boarding house and dedicated myself to job hunting in order to start covering my expenses. Even if I had wanted to, I couldn't attend university; I had neither the money nor a job.

The only places where someone like me could find employment were in nightclubs, dancing for gentlemen of dubious reputation—a line of work I would never consider. Other options included being a waitress in bars, cafes, or doing cleaning jobs at various locations or private homes.

I walked the streets and found a job at a coffee shop where they gave us a blue apron and a white shirt to wear, along with a scarf to keep our hair tied back. I was content with this since I didn't have many clothes to wear.

Shifts ranged from eight to twelve hours, depending on the day of the week, as it was open twenty-four hours a day. At night, they also served hamburgers and some fast food.

The salary was really low, but the tips made up for everything else. It was either work there or die of hunger and sleep on the streets, so I put on my best smile every day, ready to work overtime even if it meant cleaning the place.

Many men said things that made me uncomfortable, especially the nocturnal clientele, so I tried to socialize as little as possible. I would greet, take orders, deliver what was requested, charge, and say goodbye.

An inspection shut down the fast-food service at night, so my hours and earnings were cut, and I had to look for another job to sustain myself. It was hard to survive, and I realized that the life I had led for years was comfortable, although I had cursed it several times.

Eventually, a bar was looking for a waitress, so I went there and immediately got the job. I would start that very night. The uniform consisted of red shoes with ten-centimeter heels, a skirt or tight-fitting shorts depending on the day of the week, and a fitted white shirt.

I disliked wearing such clothes, hated them more than anything, and didn't know how to walk in heels; carrying a tray was going to be a challenge.

I arrived early before my shift to change and practice walking with the heels and tray. I focused on performing well or I would be fired—and besides, the pay was good and I desperately needed it.

So, I began my job, receiving many looks that made me feel exposed, bold compliments, and indecent proposals amounting to being treated like a woman selling her body, but the tips were the best part.

After a month of working there, I was fortunate enough to have a few dollars for my expenses and to improve my nutrition. I decided that as soon as I found better employment, I would leave this job immediately because even though it paid well, I would never get used to it.

Walking in heels for several hours in an environment where people were often stumbling from drink was a challenge for a novice like me. Sometimes I was more than tired and came home with blisters on my feet, but I couldn't afford to leave.

That's how one night, thanks to a drunk regular, I tripped, and what I had on the tray fell onto a very handsome young man who looked to be about twenty-five.

He helped me up and gave me a smile; I apologized to him. The last thing I needed was to lose my job and be left without money, but he was so kind to me I felt captivated.

He was well-dressed and groomed, with short blond hair and brown eyes. He had a beautiful smile, long eyelashes, and a very neat and well-kept beard. He was the most beautiful man I believed I had ever met.

It was all because of those damn heels. If I had known who he would turn out to be and everything I would go through, I would have lived under a bridge without giving it much thought.

Maicol Stuart was his name. He dazzled me and, inexperienced in life as I was, I let myself be seduced, believing he would be my knight in shining armor, the man of my naïve dreams, the guardian angel who would rescue me from this life of solitude that had been my only true companion. Unfortunately, not everything that glitters is gold, and every human being has secrets; his were very dark.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the third part of "I'm Not Your Fan". If you haven't read that novel or "Let Me Sail With You", don't worry because it's not related to the previous protagonists but stands alone.

There will be intense scenes due to violent content and inappropriate language, but even though the initial theme will showcase violence, I promise there will also be romance.