Chapter 18 Izzy
Chapter eighteen
Izzy
"Are you sure you don't want to come out with us, V? It'll do you some good to get out of this room." I stick my bottom lip out in a forced pout, attempting to convince her.
It doesn't work.
"Iz, I am not going out. Anyway, your friends all think I'm weird as fuck."
I roll my eyes. "They don't, and even if they do, fuck them. We could go, just you and me?"
"Excuse me?" Hannah says, barging into our apartment without knocking.
I flash her a glare. "I don't believe I stuttered." Rolling my eyes at Hannah, I look back at Via. "Are you sure? You've yet to come out with me..."
Via cannot stand Hannah. But Hannah’s too oblivious and self-obsessed to notice. Besides, she isn't a great friend. She's the kind of person who will stab you in the back the first chance she gets. Yet, I keep her around.
Yeah, I don't get it either.
I'm currently barely making it in school. Honestly, I'm surprised I'm passing any of my classes. Partying and drowning out the noise in my head has become my only priority.
People tend to think I'm having a great time; meanwhile, I'm just trying to mask my sorrow.
It works.
For a while.
Until it doesn't.
At night, when I come home drunk out of my mind, and the world around me grows quiet, my thoughts get loud again. Every darkness I'm running from comes to light.
There is just no fucking escape.
Fuck it, I'll face it another day. Maybe.
"And I probably won't," Via says with a chuckle, her gaze shifting to Hannah, and her whole body tenses. “Ever."
I chuckle, too, knowing she's throwing a dig at Hannah, and poor, clueless Hannah doesn't even catch on.
I pull Via into a tight hug, and she returns it.
I'm so proud of her.
She's come so far in the past two years. She still struggles mentally, but don't we all? She's finding healthy ways to cope, and I look up to her so much for that.
Ugh.
Shaking my head, I turn to Hannah. "You ready?"
"Well, duh, babe! Let's go!" Hannah links her elbow with mine and hurriedly drags me toward the door. I follow along, throwing Via a wave and a half-hearted smile.
"Where to tonight?" I mumble, applying my lip gloss in the elevator mirror.
Hannah throws me a knowing glare.
I chuckle. "Roxy's?"
"Yep."
Of course. We go to the same club every Thursday night. How lame is it that I go out to the same club where I work on the weekends?
Honestly, the routine is getting old, and I'm getting tired of it, but it helps me forget.
If even it's only for a little while, and ends with the hangovers.
When the DJ takes a five-minute break, so do I, making my way to the bar. Well, stumble to the bar—I’m five fucking drinks in. The music might be blaring, the lights flashing, cigarette smoke filling the air, but my senses are numb, and my thoughts have finally shut the hell up.
Hands finding the bartop, I all but fall onto an empty barstool. Honestly, I’m lucky to find one. It’s more crowded than a usual Thursday night. Good—more options for me.
"Hey, beautiful."
Look at that. I didn’t even have to work for it, not that I usually do. But after a second, something clicks into place.
That voice…
It forces my eyes to widen and my posture to briefly stiffen. Why does it sound so familiar? Have I heard it before? Do I even care? Hell no. So, I brush it off. At the moment, all I’m concerned about is getting another drink and waiting for my time to shine.
Damn, I’m fucking drunk.
Still, I turn to look at the man. "Oh, aren't you original? Are you going to offer to buy me a drink too?"
The tall, handsome stranger sitting on the barstool beside me chuckles darkly. He's pretty dang cute, with shaggy dark blonde hair that frames his face, a strong, square jaw line, and bright blue eyes that remind me of the sky on a clear day.
"Criticising my game?" He leans in with a quirked eyebrow, speaking low, just to where I can hear him above the bustling music. His smooth voice is delicious.
I throw a wry smile his way. "Well, I would have if there were actually any 'game' to criticize. Is this the best you've got?"
His mouth tugs into an enticing, crooked grin, his eyes darkening, pulling back slightly. The next thing I know, he spreads his legs, and his hand reaches in between mine, forcing them apart.
What the fuck!?
This isn't him having 'game'; it's overly forward. So, why do I kind of like it?
Mister Mysterious purposefully dodges my center, which he has easy access to, and grabs the barstool beneath me. He effortlessly pulls my stool in one swift movement, dragging me closer to him. Surprised, I let out a small gasp, our eyes remaining locked.
He leans in, his mouth nearly touching mine.
He raises a hand and tucks my stray hair behind my ears. Our eyes remain locked, and my heart begins to pick up its pace in my chest.
The moment is almost tender. I no longer like it.
"Do I have your attention now, beautiful?"
I hold up a hand, covering his mouth softly and pushing his face back from mine.
"I don't kiss strange men in nightclubs," I say.
His head falls back on a laugh, and fuck— it’s smooth like whiskey and awakens a part of me I thought had died off. The curious part of me that wants to know more.
His sweet laugh settles, and his eyes regain their focus on mine. "So, what is it that you are willing to do with a strange man in a nightclub?"
Fuck yes. He's right where I want him.
Like the lioness I am, my eyes are hot on my prey, and I'm ready to pounce.
I lean my top half in closer, placing my hands on the barstool between my slightly parted legs, subtly forcing my tits to push together, and knowingly displaying the little bit of cleavage I'm working with.
Holding his eye contact, I whisper slowly and softly, forcing my tone to be as sexy as I can muster, "I drink with them, and I fuck them."
His face morphs into disbelief at my admission, and he gulps audibly.
Hook, line, and sinker.
Now who’s the one with game?
"I'll buy you a drink. Gladly. But I won’t be fucking you."
What? That's a first.
"Excuse me?" I ask, sounding every bit as confused as I feel.
His smile grows, waving the bartender over, but he doesn't break our current stare down. "Let me be clear, beautiful. A woman who is willing to fuck me but not kiss me is a level of dangerous I'm not willing to sign up for."
Dangerous.
I'm suddenly hit with the same memories I work so hard to keep suffocated.
The word Jett called me when we parted ways. Well, when I broke both of our fucking hearts.
That word and the mere memory of him guts me, and I'm stunned in place, unable to respond or react.
I'm not drunk enough for this shit.
Before I know it, Mister Mysterious begins speaking while still staring at me curiously, but he isn’t talking to me at all. He's talking to the bartender.
"I'll have another water, and the lady here will have..." I don't respond. "She looks like a vodka-tonic kind of girl." He pats the bar, and the bartender walks away.
Our eyes stay locked, as if we’re in some sort of silent battle. We don't speak. My mind isn't here at all; it's off in a different time before my life turned into what it is now. It's stuck in a time with him. I remember our friendship that turned into the only love I've ever known.
A love that I never wanted, one I never thought I was capable of. Jett showed me otherwise in the way he blew down all of my defenses and managed to capture my heart and mark his imprint on it.
Thanks to Chad, I’m well aware of what trusting a man with your heart can do.
He showed me the ugly side of it all and the tormenting pain that’s possible.
Whereas Jett managed to show me the beauty.
Still, there’s that tiny sliver of chance that it can all go to shit.
A chance that, for the sake of my heart, I can’t risk.
It’s the reason I ultimately pushed Jett away and couldn’t allow him in any further.
Now, I get what I want, and only what I want. Nothing more, nothing less.
Pulling me from my overwhelming thoughts, the bartender returns and places the drink beside me. Without hesitation, I grab it and chuck the liquid into the stranger's face.
His face morphs into amusement, not anger.
Breaking eye contact, my eyes flash to the bartender.
"Fuck you and your vodka," I spit out, looking back to the stranger as he wipes his face, still not angry. Without a word and a soft smile of confusion stretched across his face, he simply walks away and disappears into the crowd.
I turn to the bartender. "Chris, you know I don't drink that shit. Why would you even fix it?"
His laugh bellows from behind the bar. "I was wondering how far you'd let this one go. Another whiskey sour, Iz?"
"Yep, and keep them coming! I'll need it after this shit!"
Three hours later, and I can barely feel my brain. Are brains even felt?
Whatever.
The club's music and flashing lights pulses through my veins, running in a stream alongside the liquor. The DJ makes an announcement that he's changing things up, and the packed club goes wild when a remix to 'Closer' by Nine Inch Nails comes blaring through the speakers.
Yes, that's my cue!
As usual, I lock my eyes with Chris across the bar, and he nods, giving me the green light like he always does.
Hannah comes running, phone in hand, knowing exactly what to expect as I hop onto the bar counter.
As soon as the beat drops, I rip off my nearly see-through white button-down shirt, sending the buttons flying.
I'm left in my pink corset-style bra, black mini-skirt, and high heels.
The guys sitting around the bar are going wild as others from the dance floor come running to crowd around.
Welcome to the show, boys.
I begin swaying, tracing my hands up and down my body, letting the music take me over. Like they always do, some of them touch, and I kick their hands off. I even stomp my heel into one of their hands, and you can tell the perv enjoys it a little too much, biting down on his bottom lip.
Spinning and bending down, giving them all a little more of a show, ass in the air, I come face to face with the sky-blue eyes from earlier.
Something about the way he’s looking at me feels all too familiar. I falter momentarily, and then everything goes black.
I hear screaming, then Hannah and Chris' voices, but I don't budge. My eyes won't open.
I just want to sleep.