Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
Exhaustion and desperation can’t really be masked by vanilla body spray but fuck if the locker room at Euphoria doesn’t try.
I’m sitting on a bench, my back against the cold metal lockers, freshly done with my stage routine. Everything aches, from the soles of my feet to the tips of my fingers, but that deep, familiar pain in my chest is worse.
The one that never really leaves.
Tonight, everything feels off. My body is shaking, my muscles scream, and I’m still feeling nauseous as hell. The aftermath of Koen’s mind games has stuck with me, lingering in my bones like a sickness I can’t shake.
Fuck him.
My fingers twitch, an old itch resurfacing, begging for relief. Just one drink wouldn’t hurt, right? When he’s not even here? Just enough to take the edge off. But I know better now.
After I got home from that so-called training with the twins earlier, I tried to drink, hoping the burn of whiskey would wash it all away—Koen’s coercion, the intensity, the loss of control. I’d made it halfway through the bottle before I puked it all up like Koen had intended.
That fucking bastard.
The memory of his smirk makes my blood boil. He wants me sober, needs me sober, for whatever they’ve got planned. And now? Now I can’t even numb myself, can’t take the edge off the pain the way I used to. No alcohol. Just… me.
Rawdogging life.
I tug at my pink wig, my fingers trembling, but I stop myself from pulling it off.
Who would’ve thought that doing my job sober would be this fucking hard?
Glitter is supposed to be untouchable, magnetic, but tonight, she feels fragile.
The thought of facing everything—the Lane twins, my own emotions—without alcohol feels impossible.
You can get through this, I tell myself again. The truth is, I’m not so sure I can.
I let out a shaky breath and lean my head back against the locker, staring up at the ceiling, trying to keep the tears at bay.
I can’t go home, not like this. The idea of going back to that tiny, cluttered apartment and facing the silence without a bottle in my hand makes my stomach turn.
I need something to take the edge off, something to get my mind out of this spiral.
If I can’t drink, then I need a different kind of high. I need someone.
A body.
Vortex is out of the question, thanks to Hottie, but Vegas has no shortage of clubs. There’s always someone willing to fill the void, but even thinking about it feels hollow. Empty. Cold.
I’m so fucking tired of this.
I close my eyes, the weight of everything pressing down on my chest, suffocating me. My fingers dig into the velvet of the bench beneath me, searching for anything to anchor me. The itch for oblivion creeps up my spine, but instead of giving in, I let my mind drift to somewhere warmer.
Tuscany.
I force myself to picture it, dragging my thoughts away from the neon haze of Vegas to sun-drenched hills.
The air is thick with the scent of lavender and warm earth. Fields of gold and green stretch out beneath a sky so wide it feels as if it could swallow me whole. Cypress trees line winding dirt roads, their dark silhouettes cutting through the soft, golden light of the late afternoon.
The ache in my chest loosens a little. I can almost feel the warmth on my skin, the way the sun seeps into my bones, chasing the chill away.
The faint rustle of olive leaves in a breeze so gentle it’s like a whisper against my cheek.
In this imagined space, the weight of expectation lifts.
There’s no need to be Glitter, no need to be anyone but myself.
I inhale deeply, the imagined scent of vineyards and wildflowers filling my lungs, pushing out the stale air of the locker room.
I let my mind wander to the feeling of dipping my toes into a cool stream, the pebbles smooth beneath my feet.
The quiet is absolute, a blanket of calm wrapping around me—no pulsing music, leering eyes, or grasping hands.
My fingers loosen their grip, the tremors fading, and the tears that had threatened to fall retreat.
I’m not whole, not yet. But I’m not breaking apart either.
You can get through this, I tell myself again, and this time, it feels a little more true.
When I open my eyes, the fluorescent lights of the locker room are still harsh, the air still cold, and the desperate edge is gone.
I’m still here, still breathing.
Just as I’m about to pull off my wig and call it a night, Carl strides into the locker room and comes to stand in front of me, his thick arms crossed over his chest. “You’ve got a private booked,” he says gruffly.
Perfect. Just perfect.
I huff, letting out a dry laugh. The universe wouldn’t let me off that easily.
I know I could say no. God knows I’ve turned down clients before, but the idea of walking out of here, out into the Vegas night sober and alone, feels like a worse fate than dancing for some drunken asshole with a handful of cash.
“All right,” I mutter, pushing myself to stand.
I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror as I stand. Glitter stares back at me, looking flawless despite the cracks I feel inside, so I tug the straps of my G-string, adjusting them. It’s all about the illusion, right? I’m good at this.
As I make my way toward the private rooms, the familiar buzz of the club hits me again. The sound is usually grounding, something that keeps me in the moment, but tonight, it’s merely noise.
My body feels heavy, as though I’m dragging myself through water, each step harder than the last. I don’t have a choice but to keep going because if I stop, if I let the cracks show, I’ll break. And that’s something I can’t afford.
Stopping in front of the private room, I force a smile onto my face as I adjust the strap of my heel. My hand reaches out to push the curtain aside when I hear it.
“Sparkle!”
The sound cuts through the thrum of the club, unmistakable.
Fuck.
I turn toward the voice and watch Hottie weaving through the room, his eyes locked on me. My stomach twists, heat crawling up the back of my neck as I snap my attention back to the curtain. I can’t deal with this right now.
Pushing inside, I shut the curtain firmly behind me and take a moment to compose myself. The guy already sitting on the velvet couch looks up at me, his business suit impeccably tailored, his expression neutral but polite.
“Hi,” I say with a practiced smile, stepping fully into the room and letting Glitter take over.
But then I hear Hottie again, just outside the room.
“I just need to talk to her for a second,” he insists, and I can already picture him standing outside with Carl, even taller than the bouncer.
“She’s booked for a private,” Carl grunts, his tone clipped and annoyed. “You can wait like everyone else.”
“How much is a private?”
The businessman in front of me raises an eyebrow, glancing toward the curtain as if he can hear the conversation as clearly as I can. I stay still, my heart racing, my body tense.
“A thousand,” Carl replies flatly, his tone daring Hottie to back down.
There’s a pause, just long enough to make the businessman and me exchange a glance before Hottie’s voice comes again.
“I’ll double it. And the same amount for you. Cash.” There is some ruffling. “Here.”
The businessman lets out a low whistle, a smirk playing at the edges of his lips. “Well, looks like that boy’s in love,” he murmurs, standing and adjusting his cuffs like he’s not at all surprised by the turn of events. “Make sure to pluck that chicken good, sweetheart. Have a good night.”
I can’t even manage a reply before the curtain parts, and Carl steps in with his usual gruff demeanor. “You’re out,” he says to the businessman. “Diamond Diva will take care of you.”
The man shrugs, offering me a small smile as he walks out without a second glance. And then Hottie steps in, his presence filling the room like he owns it, the curtain falling shut behind him. He’s a wet dream come to life.
His eyes lock onto mine, and for a second, I can’t breathe.
Dammit, I need to stop doing these privates.
“Sparkle,” he says, but it’s a plea, tugging at something deep in my gut that I don’t need stirred up right now.
I narrow my eyes, crossing my arms. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Just hear me out.” He runs a hand through his messy hair, trying to play it cool, but the tightness in his jaw gives him away. “I’m not easy to handle, okay? I feel things… deeply. Maybe too much. But—”
I cut him off, not in the mood for this bullshit and ready to fucking bolt. “What do you want?”
“What do I want?” He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “You pulled me in. Then you spit me out like it was nothing. And it’s driving me fucking crazy.”
My pulse quickens, but I keep my face neutral.
What the fuck is even happening?
“You’re in my head. I can’t shake you off. And I’m not here to play games or bullshit around. I… I need to know what happened. Why you pushed me away.”
I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but his words are hitting all the wrong places. Or maybe all the right ones. Either way, I need him gone, even if he does have beautiful gray eyes.
“I—”
“You were into it.” He steps closer, his gaze pulling me in. “Then you just—” He breaks off, running a hand over his face, his frustration simmering below the surface. “Fuck, I sound insane.”
“Yeah,” I say dryly, but it’s hard to hide how my heart is racing now. “And if you’d shut up for a second, I could tell you that you didn’t do anything, but I don’t want to talk. I can dance, or you can leave.”
I want to get this over with, grab my cash, and be done with it.
Done with him. So, when he looks at me and doesn’t say anything more, I step over to the wall, hit play on the sound system, and the music swells around us.
He watches as I push him back onto the couch, his body sinking into the plush velvet, completely willing.