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Musicians/Music Groups Fan Fiction >> Panic! At The Disco >> Well She Sure Is Gonna Get It

The following is a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.

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Introduction
By Tinsley

 


Dahlia (pronounced Doll-ia) glanced into the lighted mirror in her dressing room. The sadness in her eyes that had been there for…well, much too long, was all too apparent tonight. She sighed, smearing on some bright red lipstick and caking her green eyes with all sorts of colorful eye shadow. Finally, she tied her strawberry reddish blonde hair up into a bun and put a platinum blonde wig over it. She clenched her jaw tightly; she was no longer Dahlia. She was now Dolly the...“dancer”.

I suppose you could call it that, she thought angrily with a sarcastic smirk. What did you fucking get yourself into, Dahl? That thought had run through her head every night for the past two months. Yes, Dahlia worked at a strip club. Dahlia never imagined herself doing something like this. It wasn't like she had big fabulous dreams for herself or anything, but she pictured herself at least being in college at the age of nineteen. Dahlia looked over to a small, framed picture on her dressing table. She smiled sadly, running her fingers over the cold metal frame lightly. The picture was of her mother and her. Her mother's long, deep red hair was wavy and falling over her shoulders. She was smiling wide and on her lap sat Dahlia, who at the time was only four at the most. It was her favorite picture.

Wouldn't mom be proud…? she thought. Dahlia looked up to the ceiling to stop the tears from rolling down her face and smudging the makeup that she didn't want to have to reapply. Dahlia's mother, Fiona, died four years ago, when Dahlia was fifteen, in a car accident and ever since her mother's death her father had turned to alcohol and Lord knows what else he could get his hands on. Eventually Dahlia's father, William, lost his job and started going out to bars every single night. One night, near the end of Dahlia's senior year in high school, he went out to the pub and never came back. She hadn't seen him since and she never forgave him for leaving her to handle losing the house, having to move into a cheap apartment in the bad section of the city, and worrying about whether he was dead or alive everyday. She wondered frequently what he would say if he saw her now.

Bloody bastard probably wouldn't give a damn, she thought, grinding her teeth. Her main goal these days was to raise enough money to go to Ireland and live with one of her relatives there or at least to move to a better part of Vegas and get a better job. The thing that probably killed her most was the fact that she hadn't seen her best friends, Brendon, Ryan, and Spencer in months now. She barely even told them that she was leaving and she felt terrible about it. The day Dahlia left for her new apartment all she did was leave a note on Ryan's front door saying that she loved them and that hopefully she would see them soon. She was closest to Brendon (in fact she was practically in love with him, although he didn't know that) but the thought of leaving the note for him was traumatizing. They never came after her. She hadn't seen them in months. She wondered sometimes if they even really cared, but she always managed to shake the thought away, telling herself that “of course, they care about you, Dahlia.”

That little hope inside of her, the thought that maybe someone still cares, if only just a little bit, was the only thing that kept her going these days.

“Dolly,” she heard someone's voice from the entrance of the dressing room. She knew it was time for her to go on and she clutched the rosary beads that lay on the table for a moment before turning around.

 

The preceeding was a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.

Please see the Terms of Service for more information.

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